House Hunting and Other Dangerous Things

It was still early when she stepped outside, keys in hand and a scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. The morning air hadn't warmed yet, and the streets were soft with hush. But the minute her eyes found the black car parked out front—he in the driver's seat—her chest did that traitorous little flutter.

She shouldn't be this excited to look at houses with a detective.

But here they were.

And she couldn't help herself.

Liam rolled the window down. "You're late."

She arched a brow as she approached. "By three minutes."

He shrugged, casual. "A lot can happen in three minutes."

She opened the door and slid in. "What, did you solve a murder while I was tying my shoes?"

"I considered committing one."

A laugh escaped her—quiet, but real. "You always this charming before nine a.m.?"

He didn't answer, just shifted into gear and pulled onto the road. But the corner of his mouth tugged slightly, and that was enough.

——————————————————

The drive was quiet in the way things were between them lately: warm, threaded with something unspoken. Esme glanced out the window as buildings turned into trees, trees into quiet suburban streets.

"How far is this one again?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"About twenty minutes. Close enough to Everflora, but far enough to not have your stalkers waving from the sidewalk."

She smiled tightly. "That's comforting."

He gave her a sidelong look. "You sure you're up for this?"

"I've survived worse than open houses."

"Still. No pressure to pick one today."

"I'm not," she said. Then, after a pause: "I just want to feel like I'm moving forward."

Liam didn't respond right away, but his fingers tapped against the steering wheel in a steady rhythm. She'd learned to read his silences. This one meant he heard her.

Really heard her.

——————————————————

The first property stood at the end of a long, tree-lined lane. The kind of house real estate agents liked to call charming. Big windows, pale stone walls, a manicured lawn with a white fence that looked too pristine to be real.

"Wow," Esme muttered as they pulled in. "It looks like it came with a Stepford starter pack."

Liam parked and leaned forward, eyeing the place. "Let's just hope there's not a cult meeting in the basement."

She glanced at him. "That was weirdly specific."

"I've seen things."

That made her laugh again. "You've got to be the worst person to house-hunt with."

"Or the best."

——————————————————

The agent—a woman with sharp shoes and a sharper smile—met them at the porch. Esme introduced herself, and Liam, casually, as a friend. The woman didn't question it. She probably didn't care.

Inside, the house smelled faintly of vanilla candles and bleach. The floors were polished to an unnatural shine. Sunlight poured through the living room in perfect golden lines.

It was gorgeous.

It was… too much.

Esme wandered the rooms slowly, fingers trailing over countertop edges and light switches, trying to imagine herself living here. Not just existing—but living.

She couldn't.

"Look at this," Liam called from the kitchen, opening a cabinet. "Spice rack's alphabetized."

"Serial killer," she said immediately.

He smirked.

They moved from room to room, her silence growing with each perfectly staged corner. It wasn't until they reached the back patio—a lovely space with potted plants and a view of the garden—that she finally exhaled.

"It's perfect," she said.

Liam leaned on the railing beside her. "Yeah."

"But it doesn't feel like me."

He looked over at her. "You're not a potted plant and faux-marble kind of girl."

"No," she said, almost wistfully. "I'm a greenhouse and cracked tiles kind of girl."

"Could always break some tiles."

She laughed. "I'll put that on my list of demands."

Silence again. But this one wasn't awkward.

Just… charged.

"Irene really sent this one first?" he asked.

Esme nodded. "She said I needed a fresh start. Thought this would be a good way to force it."

"You don't strike me as someone who likes being forced into anything."

"I don't."

"Then don't settle," he said simply. "You'll know when it feels right."

She looked at him, and for a second, she forgot they were standing in someone else's home. Forgot the agent was still somewhere behind them, probably rattling off square footage numbers.

Forgot that she'd once thought she could never be this close to someone without breaking apart completely.

"You've gotten good at knowing what I need," she said quietly.

He looked at her. And said nothing.

Didn't have to.

——————————————————

Back in the car, the silence returned, but it wasn't heavy. If anything, it felt like a quiet thread tying them together. The morning sun was higher now, and Esme tugged her scarf loose, letting the light touch her collarbone.

"Not the one," Liam said as they pulled away from the curb.

"No," she agreed. "But it's a start."

He glanced over at her. "We've got two more."

She raised an eyebrow. "You mean I've got two more."

"I'm involved now," he said. "This is a team effort."

She smiled at that, and didn't look away.