“Perfect. Well, let’s go scope it out, shall we?” I run around to her side and open her door. “You can leave the hat and glasses in here. We’re far enough from public eye. There’s no one around to recognize us.” Lord knows I ditched mine the second that gate shut.

“This place is beautiful.” She glances around in awe.

“Reminded me of that dollhouse you and your dad built.”

Her mouth falls open. “You know, I was trying to figure out why it seemed familiar. That’s exactly what it looks like.”

“Well, hello there.” Our realtor Wanda comes out before we’ve finished climbing the steps, greeting us on the wraparound porch. “You must be Lyle and Sammi.”

“That’d be us.” I usher my wife up ahead of me.

The women shake hands and get acquainted.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you after conversing on the phone all week, Mr. Livingston.” Apart from a little flush in the woman’s cheeks, she keeps her composure. As a realtor specific to Boulder City, she likely has frequent run-ins with celebrities and knows how to handle herself accordingly.

It’s refreshing.

The guys and I regularly discuss how wild it is that we spent the first part of our lives wondering what it’d be like to be famous, only to get here and live for those rare moments when we’re treated like everyone else.

“Likewise.”

“All right.” Wanda makes a show of opening the door and waving us in, “Let’s get started.”

A musty smell assaults my senses the moment I walk in, but I school my features, not wanting to ruin it for my bride in case it doesn’t bother her. I’m sure it’s nothing the right cleaning crew couldn’t remedy if she fell in love with the place.

“Ohh.” Sammi clutches her stomach, her nose scrunched. “It smells like sewage in here.” Her body lurches.

“Bathroom?” I ask, trying to avoid a mess. I’ve come to recognize her “I’m about to blow chunks” face.

“Over there.” Wanda points to a skinny door beneath the stairs.

With a hand at the small of her back, I guide my wife toward the facilities, lifting the lid—

“Oh, hell no.” Li’l Bit moans, turning and making a run for the exit.

After dropping the lid to cover the massive dookie someone left behind, I chase after her, just in time to watch her empty the contents of her stomach off the porch onto what once was a lovely patch of purple flowers.

Wanda rushes out behind us. “Oh, my goodness! Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine.” I smile back at the woman, while retrieving a wet wipe from Sammi’s purse so she can clean her face. “Someone left a souvenir behind in that bathroom.”

“Oh, gross.” Wanda’s face pinches.