As soon as I stand, my mom gives me a hug. “Be nice to her,” I whisper in her ear. Mama bear is about to come out, I can see it in her face. She tries to smile, but it barely moves her lips. She has always been protective over Quinn because of what his biological mom did to him, and now that he’s brought someone home, well I have a feeling my mom is about to show a side of her that rarely comes out.
“Love you, sweetie,” she replies before letting me go.
I take a few steps away before looking back. My mom’s face is expressionless, her lips are moving, but I can’t hear anything. She’s keeping her voice down and by the look on Nola’s face, my mother is laying down the law. Poor Quinn. If it’s not Elle and I always up in his business, making his life crazy with sisterly drama, it’s our mother. She’s a hen most of the time, but damn if her claws aren’t out right now giving this poor unsuspecting girl the rules of dating her son.
14
Noah
Peyton and I drive up and down the coastline. Her arm is hanging out of the window and her long ponytail is blowing in the breeze. I figured if we are staying in L.A. until training camp starts, we might as well take advantage of the beautiful weather and rent a convertible. Honestly, I am a bit shocked that Peyton agreed. There’s still some hesitation when it comes to getting into cars, which I try to accommodate with full-size SUVs.
Up ahead, the real estate agent Allen suggested we hire, signals that she’s about to make a turn. I feel bad for her, having to deal with us. We’re excited, eager, and very particular about what we want. The house must have a view, beach access and a pool. We’ve seen half a dozen so far, but none of them are what we’re looking for.
We pull up along the curb and the first thing I notice is there isn’t a gate. Well there is, but it’s more like a fence. There’s no privacy from the onlookers. I’m not sure I like that. Peyton and I look at the house. With the trees in the front, it’s hard to see, but honestly, I’m not feeling it. “I think this is going to be a no for me.”
“Me too,” she says. “I can’t smell the ocean.” Peyton and I get out of the car and meet Phyllis as she’s rushing toward us. She opens the small gate, which we could’ve easily stepped over and waited for us to pass by.
“This home is new within the last two years. It has eight bedrooms and bathrooms and is eight thousand square feet. Now it’s a little different than what I’ve shown you already, but I believe it has everything you’re looking for.”
While she continues to talk, Peyton and I look at each other. We’re not superstitious, but certain things stick out, like the number eight. We rush to get out of the car and follow our agent up the cobblestone steps.
“This home has a traditional New England feel. The builder added cedar shingles and…” She opens the front door and has us step inside. “This is something fun.” We watch as she unlatches and opens the top half of the door.
“That’s neat,” Peyton says. She’s skeptical, I can see it in her features.
“Yes, it gives the house character. Now if you’ll step inside, this is what we call an open-air living home.”
Peyton and I step into the living room and stand there. I don’t know about her, but my mouth is hanging open. The sheer beauty of what I’m looking at, aside from my fiancée, is unbelievable.
“There are numerous sets of pocket doors that slide away, giving you open indoor living areas to the loggia, terraces, the courtyard and main patio where the pool is located. Throughout the main floor, there are skylights to bring in more natural light, vaulted ceilings, and tongue and groove flooring. All the rooms have walk-in closets. The great room has a fireplace, the kitchen is state of the art, and downstairs you’ll find a lounge with a pub bar and wine cellar. As well as a home theater.”
I can hear Phyllis talking, but the words don’t make sense. I’m stuck on the view and the curtains blowing from the light breeze. Peyton and I stand next to each other, overlooking the patio below and the ocean. We may not have direct beach access, but there’s a wooden walkway leading to the beach.
“The beach access is shared by the houses on each side of you,” Phyllis says as if reading our minds.
Reluctantly, we have to finish the tour of the home. Phyllis takes us by an elevator to the basement showing us the six-car underground garage. I don’t even have two cars, let alone six. As I stand there, looking at the pristine concrete, I see myself throwing a football with my son or daughter. I see my children driving those hot wheel motorized cars. I see a happy life developing. The next floor is nothing but entertainment. The wine cellar, home theater, swimming pool and outside shower. Everything we want, with a few things we hadn’t even considered.
“Sunsets from this patio are going to be amazing,” Peyton says as we stand outside. She’s right. Three Adirondack chairs sit perfectly on this small patch of turf, facing the ocean. I can easily see Peyton and I out here, each night, holding hands as the sun goes down. It’s her words that spur me to do the most irrational thing ever.
“We’ll take it,” I say to Phyllis, who just nods. Selling multi-million-dollar homes is her job, nothing fazes her.
“Noah, we haven’t even looked at the rest of the house.”
I kiss Peyton on the tip of her nose. “We don’t need to. We’re already in love with this house. I can see us living here, having our family over. Most importantly, I can see us raising a family within these walls. The minute we stepped into the living room and saw the view, I knew you’d want to live here. It’s like your parents’ condo. The only drawback is that the beach is yards away, not inches, but the view makes up for it. We’d wake up to this every morning and go to sleep with the sound of waves crashing not far from us.”
“I agree, Noah.” She rises and kisses me hard. “We’re buying a house.”
We are, and it feels right.
“I still want to see the rest of the house,” she says to Phyllis, who motions us to follow her.
Bedroom after bedroom, and bathroom after bathroom, we tour our new home. Phyllis is on the phone, yammering about closing the deal, while Peyton and I walk in and out of closets, sit in bathtubs, and marvel at not one but two kitchens, plus a massive laundry room.
“I think Thanksgivi
ng, will be here this year.”
I push down on the countertop in the kitchen and then tug it. “I think we should spend a week christening each room.”