Read Compass (Siren Songs Book 2) for Free Online Page B

in the backyard with our son chasing him or throwing a ball.
    I don’t tell Moby. I’m trying to keep an open mind, but this is the house. I love the idea of one story, no stairs to climb, no bedrooms on a separate floor. I would never have requested it but after seeing it, I want it. There’s no wasted space. Every inch of this house would be a home.
    “Whatdya think, Pipes?” I adore the way he looks at me. I hope that gleam in his eyes never leaves.
    “I like it. You?”
    “You like it? That’s it?”
    He knows me better than I like to give him credit for. “Let’s see the rest and then we can talk about all of them.” I put my hand on his chest before reaching up on my tiptoes to kiss him. “Yeah?”
    “Whatever makes you happy.” And he truly means that.
    As I knew they would be, for me, the other three were a waste of time. All beautiful in their own right but they just weren’t the ones I anticipated seeing myself in. Not one time walking through any of them did I see myself, my friends and family, or my unborn children and the dog we have yet to adopt.
    The other three were much larger than the first, in bigger neighborhoods with much higher price tags. We could afford any of them, but I’m adamant we live off one income. I never want to be mortgage-poor, although my mother would argue vehemently against that statement. She always said you buy the most house you can afford so you can grow into it. My theory is to buy what you plan to need that will afford you a comfortable life, and not be living to pay off debt. Thankfully, Moby feels the way I do. He has no interest in owning a five-thousand-square-foot house we can’t pay for.
    Pulling back up to the townhouse, Rachel lets us out in the driveway. “Give me a call when you guys make up your mind and I’ll draw up a contract for you to sign.” I love her confidence, not offering to show us more homes if these didn’t fit the bill.
    The moment we’re behind a closed door Moby breaks the silence. “So, are we making an offer on the first house?” Opening the fridge, he grabs a beer, twisting off the top. He leans back against the stainless steel, crosses his legs at the ankles, and gives me a confident smirk to say, I know you , as he arches his eyebrows .
    “What makes you think I like the first house best?” I can’t hide the grin on my face.
    He roars with laughter. “You’d have to be blind to not know you had zero interest in any of the other three. Yes, you looked at them to entertain Rachel and possibly me, but your heart is set on the first.”
    “What did you think of it?” I’m eager for his opinion but desperately hope he feels the same way.
    “I could see us living there. I love how open the floor plan is. Our friends and family would be comfortable in the space. My favorite part, other than the back porch, is not having stairs. I would be terrified our kids would fall down them when they were learning to walk.” Concern crosses his face for children who don’t yet exist. It melts me.
    Going to him, my hands on his hips, I gaze at the ocean of blue. I love craning my neck to see him towering over me. “You’re worried about our children?”
    “Of course. We need to think long-term, right?” My planning mentality is finally rubbing off on him.
    “Definitely!”
    “So, do you want to call Rachel and tell her we decided on the first one?”
    He kisses my forehead and nudges me, encouraging me to call my friend. The bitch never left the block anticipating our call. Barging through the door, she hands us the paperwork to complete and sign. Just like that, we’re making an offer on a house. My townhouse not being on the market doesn’t seem to play a factor in our desire. Rachel advises us to set closing for forty-five days out to better assure we sell my house by the time we close. With that, it’s a done deal.

“ P iper ?” I can’t find a damn thing in this house. I always thought having more space would make