Mr. H.O.A. by Carina Taylor (readera ebook reader .TXT) 📗

slipped up to rest on my shoulder where she squeezed, sending a warm tingle around to my heart. "I’m so sorry you had to grow up with that."

"No, no. It's not like they were abusive or anything. I don’t want you to think that. But I think I’m a little overzealous about the way I handle money, based on my growing-up years."

Nola nodded and began kneading my tense shoulder with her lean fingers.

"One time, they had a windfall. A great uncle died, or something like that. I was only eleven at the time. My parents inherited some money and promptly went out and bought a big house. I don’t know how big, but as a kid, it had seemed incredible. There wasn’t much of a yard, because the backyard had a rock garden and an in-ground pool. Other houses in the neighborhood had yards. I made friends with the other kids in the neighborhood.

"In the summer, we made the circuit, swimming at our house, eating popsicles across the street at a friend’s house, then moving on to tackle football in my friend Dale’s backyard. Then we moved. I didn’t understand it, not for another year at least. When I was fourteen, I found out that my parents had worked with a crooked real estate agent. Someone who helped pre-approve them for a loan far above anything they could actually afford. He told them they needed a 5/1 ARM. They ended up being foreclosed on, and we spent the next four years living in a small apartment until I moved out and started in on real estate."

She nodded. "That’s why you don’t like that other real estate agent. That’s why you’re adamant about helping people find just the right place."

I studied the back of my hands, not sure what to say. I’d wanted to open up to her because she made me feel seen. Like she understood. And now she was being accepting, and I was the one who didn’t know how to respond.

"It’s important to me. When people already struggle with making good financial decisions, I don’t want to be the one to push them over the edge. I want to be the one advising them on how to make it better."

"I think that’s an amazing thing, and I know you are so good at it. Heck, you’ve already gotten me to be more careful with my spending habits, and you did it without making me feel dumb. I’d say you’re doing amazing at your job, even if it’s not the usual way realtors operate."

"Thank you." I reached over and squeezed her hand. "Thanks for letting me vent. It feels nice to explain my actions to someone. I know we should all be confident enough to not care what other people think, but sometimes it gets old feeling like no one understands."

"I understand. I think recognition is a good thing. I think as humans, we crave it. Not always because of vanity, but sometimes recognition is the encouragement we need to continue on the path we are traveling. The recognition helps when you start to question how emotionally exhausted you are, or how much of a bigger check you would make if you convinced someone to buy a house out of their price range. Recognition is a form of encouragement."

I leaned closer to her and placed a kiss on her temple. Her hair smelled like vanilla and coconut. "You’re kind, do you know that?"

She squeezed my hand. "I hope I am, but you’re easy to be kind to."

Just then my phone chimed loudly.

Unknown number: Why not let the dogs have a swim day too? This is Tori, btw. And can I have Nola’s number?

I flipped my phone around to show Nola the text. "How do all these people have my number? And why would she think letting dogs have a swim day is a good idea? I’m going to resign. That’s what I’m going to do."

Nola tipped her head back and laughed. "Not yet, Mr. HOA. I think you finally won a voter for next year. Fredrick told me what a nice young man I was married to. The polls are looking good for you to maintain this job for the rest of your life."

I groaned, and her musical laugh filled the evening air.

We were probably breaking a noise code.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Homeowners Association Rule #23:

No ice cream trucks.

Coming home from work, I opened the front door and immediately tripped over a giant pair of shoes. Bane was home.

"Excuse me!" I called. "Could you possibly pick up your snow-shoes and put them away?"

Bane walked around the corner, coming from the master suite. He picked up his running shoes and looked at me with an expressionless face. "Happy now?"

"Yes, thank you. It’d be nice to not trip the moment I walk in the door. And good grief, what size shoes are those? Fifty?"

"Thirteen."

"That’s almost two of mine."

"I know. I was wondering if I had a mouse for a roommate when I saw yours sitting by the door. Someone your height should have enormous feet, but yours are tiny."

"I like to think that I have dainty Cinderella feet." I smiled and passed him the paper bag.

"What’s this?"

"Smell it."

He took a deep sniff of the bag. "Teriyaki?"

"Hawaiian."

His thinking face softened into a contented smile. "You’re the most beautiful, wonderful, thoughtful woman in the entire world."

I kicked off my shoes. "Oh, stop it. Just kidding, tell me more."

He surprised me by leaning over and giving me a quick peck on the cheek. It was the second time he'd done something like that. He chuckled and carried the bag into the kitchen, then began dishing up two plates for us. "Do I have to share the mac salad?"

"Only two bites. I don’t want to completely deprive you. You’re a growing boy."

"I’ll definitely be a growing boy if you keep bringing home take out," he joked as he poured the glasses of lemonade then carried them to the table. I gathered up the containers of food and set them on the table. There was