It had been two days since she'd won her dream home at the sheriff's auction, and the second she'd obtained the keys, she'd begged me to go with her to see it. Although, the begging wasn't necessary-I didn't want to be anywhere else.
Nor did I want to miss seeing her face light up when she walked inside for the first time.
Unfortunately, it'd taken me two days to find time in my work schedule to make it happen. I'd been shocked she'd managed enough self-restraint to wait for me.
I laughed and grabbed her jaw, stilling her body and tilting her head back until her eyes met mine. "It's exciting. You should be really fucking proud of yourself."
I touched my lips to hers just once, softly, and she hummed a smile as I pulled back. "I am."
"You are?" I asked.
"Proud of myself. I'm a badass."
I laughed and touched my lips to hers once more. "That you are. Should we go inside your house now? See what kind of a renovation nightmare you've gotten me into?"
"Gotten you into?" Her eyebrows pulled together, and I laughed.
"I'm pretty sure I've got to help my girlfriend renovate her house, don't I? I don't want to be forever known as a prick."
"You're the best." She smiled big and sincere.
But with her excitement too much to keep in, that moment lasted all of two seconds. Charlotte jumped around me, bounding up the stairs and sticking her key into the lock before turning to look back at me over her shoulder, a wicked smile creasing the sharp eyeliner wings she'd drawn at the corner of her eyes. "Ooh. Too late," she teased and threatened to shut the door before I could step inside.
But I was quick. And in this case, too quick for her. I jumped forward and wrapped her body up, tickling her as she fought to escape and finish opening the door at once.
Her laugh echoed through the stately entrance of the old house, a checkered black-and-white tile floor giving way to one of the most impressive wooden staircases I'd ever seen.
I whistled as I set her back on her feet, her body still thrashing. "Wow, Char. This place is really fucking impressive."
"Oh my God," she whispered, her laugh cutting off as she spun in a circle to take in the walls around her. "This is amazing." She paused on some of the cracking paint at the top of the far wall. "A little touch-up work, sure, but so far, I'm impressed with my skills."
I smirked. "Skills. More like luck."
"Skills!" she argued.
I shook my head. "It was an auction for a house you'd never seen the inside of. Not to mention, your first bid was technically on the pizza. You got lucky."
"Party pooper," she accused, pointing at me with a scolding finger and giving a shake of her hips. I opened my mouth to tease her back when motion at the end of the hall snagged my attention.
"Oh, shit," I muttered. There were people here.
"What?" Charlotte whisper-yelled, turning around in paranoia after seeing the look on my face.
There were people in the house she just bought, and under any other circumstance, I would have been terrified.
But the people walking toward us, with confusion on their severely wrinkled faces and hands on their walkers, were anything but frightening. Jesus Christ, they looked like Betty White and Jerry Stiller.
"Can I help you?" the Betty White lookalike asked.
Charlotte's hair whipped as she turned to look at me, pleading for help.
I didn't know what the fuck to do, but I figured starting in a hostile place wasn't the best bet. So I introduced myself instead. "Hi, Nick Raines."
"Betty" looked back at "Jerry," who stepped forward and held out a hand to me. "Harry Williams, and this is my wife, Doreen."
I took his hand and shook it before reaching for Doreen's. "Nice to meet you."
Charlotte looked back and forth between us before discretely jerking her head at them while her eyes stayed locked with mine. I wasn't a mind reader, but her thoughts might as well have been written on her forehead. Do something.
"So, uh," I started. "You folks live here?"
Doreen's eyes lit as she ran a shaking, age-spotted hand along the ornate banister. "For fifty-seven years."
I glanced to Charlotte to see her eyes close painfully.
I'd heard of this happening. Buying a house at auction, as-is, only to get hit with the liability of existing liens and problems … even existing tenants you were then responsible for evicting. But I'd never imagined the tenants who needed to leave were something other than a hooded vagabond.
Jesus Christ, these people looked how I remembered my grandparents.
I shrugged at Charlotte. Fuck if I was going to be the first one to say something.
Her face turned a shade of nearly violet, and her voice dropped to a ventriloquist-like whisper. "Man the fuck up."
I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing as I smirked at Charlotte, and then I stepped forward to address Doreen and Harry Williams. "Sorry to bother you folks." I scoured my mind for what I could say that wouldn't seem weird as fuck. I mean, technically speaking, we'd just walked into the house unannounced. I was surprised these two hadn't already called 9-1-1. "Your house is beautiful," I added, and Doreen glowed at my words.
"I'm so glad you think so. Would you like to see the rest of it?"
"Now, Doreen," Harry muttered. "I'm sure a couple of youngsters like these two have better things to do than tour this old house."
Considering we'd just let ourselves in, through the fucking front door and with a key, I think it was safe to say we didn't have anything better to do.
I glanced back to Charlotte to find her cheeks flushed and ruddy. I pulled my lips into my mouth. God, she was cute.
"Oh no, Harry," I responded with a soft smile. "We'd love to see the house."
Doreen nearly squealed. "Oh, yay!" She clapped her hands together and held them there, ordering, "Harry, go get my cane."
It appeared these two were completely unconcerned that two strangers had just magically appeared inside their home. I was both relieved for us and terrified for them. Obviously, they needed someone to keep an eye on them. I tried not to laugh as I pictured Charlotte as their future caregiver.
"Doreen-"
"Harry, go! You know I can't climb the stairs with my walker."
Harry glowered, not altogether dissimilar from the look Charlotte was giving me, in fact. I guess, no matter their age, couples are all the same in some simple sense. One brain versus another, just trying to find some middle ground without giving in to the urge to commit murder.
"Fine," Doreen huffed, turning to go back down the hall. "I'll get it myself. But consider yourself in the doghouse!"
Harry muttered to himself before following her back where they'd come from. No doubt he was going to grovel or apologize, whatever he'd figured out worked in the world of Doreen sometime in the last sixty or so years.
"What are you doing?" Charlotte whispered angrily, yanking my arm to turn me to face her.
I shrugged playfully. "Going on a tour of the house."
"My house."
I winced. "Looks like you're not the only person who thinks that."
She smacked at my shoulder, and I laughed. "Come on! This isn't funny. This is my house. We have to get rid of them."
I chuckled dryly. "Oh, I'm sorry. Of course. We'll just tell them the home they've had for nearly sixty years is ours and they have forty-eight hours to get out."
Charlotte huffed. "We'll be nicer than that."
I ran the back of my hand along the line of her jaw and smiled. "That's what I'm doing. Easing into it. Let's get to know them. Get their story. Then we'll know how to handle it, okay?"
"Ugh. Fine. But I sure hope Doreen and Harry are into ménage because if they're not going, I'm still moving in, and I fully intend to live in the goddamn master."
It'd been almost a week since I'd won my house-and then subsequently found out that I couldn't move in to my house. We'd gone on the Harry and Doreen tour a few days ago, and I had to say, those two were pretty fucking adorable and seemingly helpless. I mean, it took them until the end of the tour to finally question how we'd gotten into their house, and when I'd vaguely admitted the sheriff's office had given me a key, they hadn't continued that line of questioning.
Either they knew a lot more than they let on, or they were completely clueless. Neither explanation felt good. And no matter what they knew or didn't know, or if they were acting oblivious on purpose, guilt clenched my gut every time I thought about giving them the boot.
But, it was my house. I'd paid good money for it, and I was tired of living in my shitty apartment, especially when I knew almost eighty percent of my bank account had gone to a much bigger, way more beautiful place.
The house had a fenced-in terrace and a rain shower, for fuck's sake. It also had an out-of-date kitchen, creaking floors, and stains on ninety percent of the upstairs carpet, but those were remarkably easy fixes for the chance to have some space.