“That price includes a decent chunk of land. Plus, the home was owned by one of the founding families of Long Acre. It’s historic,” Kincaid countered, not sure why she was trying to defend the house. Maybe because if she didn’t make a big sale soon, the agency was going to start questioning whether they needed three full-time agents.
“Ha. Another real estate agent word. Historic not old.” Liv stepped a little to the left and aimed her camera at the second story, in all its peeling-white-paint glory. “I have faith in you, though. You could sell hair products to a bald guy. I’m sure you’ll find someone who finds it…quaint.”
“I think Bethany will love it.” Bethany Winterbourne was moving from Austin and wanted the perfect fixer-upper house to create her “super adorable, glam dream palace away from the city” after her divorce. Bethany Winterbourne had also watched too many home design shows and thought small-town Texas would be chockful of big houses that would be cheap and fall in her lap.
Kincaid had been on the hunt for Bethany for six months now, with countless smaller houses in Wilder discarded out of hand. Now finally, she’d come across this prospect in Long Acre, which had the square footage Bethany wanted. Plus, it hadn’t come onto the market officially, so no one had seen the house yet. Maybe she could get a good price without competition.
Ferris had given her a heads-up because he knew Kincaid was more than ready to get Bethany out of her hair. Plus, after a particularly dry year where Kincaid had barely made a sale, Ferris knew she needed a win. This could be the answer.
However, now that Kincaid was looking at the old house, she got a spoiled-milk taste in her mouth at the thought of it being filled with Bethany’s style, which, given the decor of Bethany’s current condo, would be white lacquer furniture and pink sequined pillows that had things like Shine Bright printed on them.
Kincaid could appreciate unique tastes. She was currently wearing underwear with purple llamas on them, so who was she to judge? You do you, girl. But this house had old, beautiful bones—hopefully not the attic kind like Liv was talking about—and was begging to be restored to its former glory. She could almost feel it shudder at the thought of a sequin passing its threshold.
Kincaid let her gaze travel over the facade, her mind smoothing over the peeling paint and the warped windows, imagining what the grand house must’ve looked like when it was first built right outside of town. Nothing for miles around, the Texas wine country not yet rolling with grapevines and tourists, and the land rich with possibility. It was the kind of house she’d dreamt of living in when she’d walk home from school through the nicer neighborhoods on her way back to the broken down rental house she’d shared with her mom. Houses with warmth and laughter and good smells coming from the kitchen. Houses that didn’t have a dry-rotted hole in the floor of the bathroom, dingy tan walls, and nothing but boxed macaroni and cheese and Vienna sausage in the cabinets—food her mom knew a kid could cook for herself since she was rarely home at night.
Liv sidled up next to Kincaid, pushing a lock of hair that had escaped her loose bun away from her face. “Don’t worry. I’m just giving you a hard time. I’ll be able to make the place look really cool in my photos. It’s all about the angles and lighting. Plus, worn and damaged can look beautiful to the right person. I mean, Finn sees what I look like in the morning and still wants to sleep with me.”
Kincaid rolled her eyes at her friend, who even in jeans and a T-shirt looked like a goddess with her long lashes, light brown skin, and thick black hair. “Oh, hush your mouth. You are neither worn nor damaged, and you know it.”
Plus, even if Liv looked like a troll, Kincaid knew that Finn wouldn’t look at Liv any differently. That guy was so in love he practically glowed like a radioactive superhero when he was around his woman. Kincaid had only been looked at like that by one person long ago, b
ut she remembered the all-encompassing high of that, of knowing you were loved so completely. Familiar sadness welled, but she pushed it down before it could make it to her expression. She pasted on a smile instead—a tactic she’d used so many times over the years that it felt like second nature now, to smile when hurting.
“Please. We’re all a little damaged,” Liv said, bumping her shoulder into Kincaid’s. “It’s what makes us interesting, though, right? Like this house.” She grabbed Kincaid’s hand. “Come on, let’s see what this old girl looks like on the inside.” She peeked back over her shoulder as she dragged Kincaid along. “But fair warning, if I see any spirits seeking a host or hell demons wanting to eat some souls, you’re on your own, sister.”
Kincaid’s smile eased into a genuine one at that. “So nice to hear you have my back. Sweet as sugar, that Olivia Arias.”
Liv laughed. “Hey, you’re wearing heels you can’t run in. Plus you know they always go after the busty blond first. You’re doomed. I’m just being practical. I’ll run for help. Promise.”
Kincaid snorted.
Liv led her up the charmingly crooked front steps, and Kincaid got the key from the lockbox. She opened the front door, squeaky hinges announcing their arrival. She half expected the witch from Hansel and Gretel to pop out and toss her and Liv in a cauldron, but when they stepped inside the foyer, only dust motes and the stale smell of a closed-up house greeted them.
Still, despite the air of neglect overlaying everything, Kincaid could see the potential. Hardwood floors that could be refinished. High ceilings. Beautiful door casings and original moldings. A grand old house with soul baked in. Perfectly imperfect. She groaned inwardly—that’d be something else Bethany would put on a pillow. Probably in this very house if she got the chance.
Liv was looking around curiously and snapped a few pictures of the entryway, the soft click of her camera the only sound. She sent Kincaid a glance over her shoulder. “No sparkly vampires.”
Kincaid ran her hand over the worn banister at the base of the stairs. “Bummer.”
“But hey, no one in a hockey mask attacked us either, so that’s good.” Liv gave her an exaggerated thumbs-up.
“Small victories.” Kincaid put her hand on her hip, her eyes scanning the space as she tried to be objective. “Original details. Needs a lot of refurbishing.” She pulled a printout from her purse. “The plumbing was replaced a few years ago. Wiring updated. Mostly needs cosmetic work.”
“Cosmetic work?” Liv lifted a skeptical brow. “Girl, this is more than a hair fluff and a little blush and lipstick. This needs full-scale plastic surgery.”
A gust of wind rattled the windows, and the front door slammed shut, sending a sonic boom through the foyer. They both yelped.
“Son of a bitch,” Liv said on a pant, her hand to her chest. “Totally unnecessary, House! Don’t try to scare us away.”
“Uh-oh, you’ve angered the poltergeists,” Kincaid teased. “You shouldn’t say mean things about the house.” She placed a finger over her lips and glanced up the stairs with a pointed look. Then she called out, “You look so pretty, darlin’. Like a new flower on a spring morning. Just the sweetest, most beautiful house on the block. All the other houses are so jealous.”
Liv nodded and announced, “The belle of the ball for sure!”
They both peeked upward as if they were expecting the lady of the house to descend the stairs and then laughed when they realized they’d actually waited for a response. Kincaid cocked her head to the right, and Liv followed her into the main living area. The floorboards creaked in protest beneath their feet. The living room was high-ceilinged and sun-dappled from the dusty light shining in through the tall windows, making it look like an Instagram filter had been applied.
“This place is big,” Liv observed, her head tilted back to take in the ceilings.
“Especially for a house this age,” Kincaid agreed. “Must’ve been a really large family.”