Holly said she only needed two bedrooms, but even the smallest houses in the neighborhood she liked had three or four, with at least as many bathrooms. I didn’t want her to have to deal with aging plumbing or outdated air-conditioning, so I limited my search to new construction or recently remodeled. She wouldn’t have the wherewithal to replace a leaky roof, so whatever I got needed to have a new one.
I knew the house the moment I saw it. It was elegant but romantic, with beguiling gables and swirls of flowers hugging the front walk. It wasn’t new, but the previous owners had completely gutted it, installing new everything—floors, windows, light fixtures, appliances. It was a “smart home,” which meant it was wired with sensors that would alert the alarm company, and ultimately me, if she left the garage door open or if a smoke alarm went off. I had no intention of spying on Holly, but we were paying for the house—if someone was climbing through an open window, or the sprinklers stayed on for hours on end, I needed to know about it.
But what sealed the deal for me was the kitchen. When I’d asked Holly what kind of house she wanted, she’d mentioned two things: Calabasas neighborhood and a cook’s kitchen. She wanted a kitchen she could make dinner in, she’d told me, because she cooked every night. The oven needed to be “decent,” she’d said, because she also liked to bake. This kitchen had two ovens, both brand-new and top-of-the-line.
I called the agent and arranged for a tour. It cost more than I had intended to spend, but I didn’t want a house with problems. If something’s a bargain there’s usually a reason, and I couldn’t afford to run back and forth fixing things. Plus I wanted her to have something nice. I thought she’d earned that. That I liked the house was irrelevant. Because she would never invite me over. Once I handed her the keys, I would likely never go inside it again.
I took the tour, then immediately made a cash offer.
I don’t know why I was excited when they accepted it, I wasn’t going to live there.
I had a perfectly nice place to live, but I suddenly realized I wanted more. Not just a home. But also someone to come home to.
But it wasn’t my time to dream. I would give Holly the home she deserved. Then go back to my HOA and Sub-Zero full of beer.
CHAPTER 23
I was on the freeway when the alarm company called.
“Sorry to bother you,” the dispatcher said, “but we got a flood alert at your Calabasas home.”
“What’s a flood alert?” I asked. It wasn’t raining, so what could be flooding?
“Sensors indicate water is pooling inside the house,” she said. “An appliance might be leaking, or the washing machine could be overflowing, I’m sorry I don’t know, I can’t see inside.”
I thanked her, then hung up the phone to call Holly. It went straight to voice mail.
I thought about water pooling somewhere in the house. If it didn’t get mopped up soon, it would warp the floorboards, seep into the walls. If not dried out properly, mold could grow, and suddenly we’d have a costly repair and a bunch of insurance adjusters asking a lot of questions.
I canceled my plans and headed to the house. Most likely it was nothing—a sensor malfunction or false alarm. Or maybe something had spilled but had already been cleaned up, and the sensors needed to be reset. I hadn’t walked Holly through all the functions of her smart house. It was probably time I did, to avoid these false alarms in the future.
I parked across the street, jogged up to the front door, and rang the bell. No one answered, so I knocked—gently at first, then more aggressively. “Holly!” I said to the closed door. “It’s Evan.”
No answer.
I didn’t have a key, but I could open the garage with my phone and enter through there. I felt uncomfortable just barging in, but I had canceled my day, I wasn’t leaving until I was sure nothing was wrong.
I walked the curved stone path toward the driveway, which was shaded by trees bursting with vibrant purple flowers. The colorful front yard was one of my favorite things about this house, I loved how in California you could have flowers all year long.
I opened the garage. Holly’s car was there, and I felt a flutter of nervousness, and not just because I was barging in on her unexpectedly. It’s my fault, I planned to tell her, I should have told you how your smart features worked. And then hopefully we’d have a laugh.
“Holly!” I called out as I entered the house. “It’s Evan.” I started down the hall, making as much noise as I could so as not to startle her. “Hello??”