“I’m fine.” Sammi plasters on a smile. “But I think we’re ready to move on to the next one.”

“Of course.” Wanda sprints back inside to turn off the lights and hopefully flush away the unwelcome bathroom dweller, before leading the way to option two.

The second house is a Greek Revival style home with massive white marble columns and enormous sprawling oaks. I can easily picture our little one climbing the branches that nearly hang to the ground.

“This is fancy.” The color has returned to my wife’s face. “Look at all the statues in the landscaping. Kinda looks like a museum.”

“Right this way.” Our realtor waves us over from across the expansive lawn.

“This place is really cocky,” I say, observing all the nude male statues along the way.

“Oh, but they’re all so tiny and cute.” Li’l Bit pinches two fingers together for effect.

I shake my head. “I’m sure it won’t take much to have them all removed.” I point to a near nude female statue with a sheet draped around her form, big ol’ titties fully exposed. “That one can stay.”

“I bet it can.”

“I already made a run through and checked all the facilities.” Wanda’s cheeks are radiating her embarrassment. “I’m so sorry about the last one.”

“Don’t mention it.” I hope my smile alleviates a little of her anxiety. It’s not like she left the shit in there—at least I hope not. What a plot twist that would be…

“Lyle…” Sammi gives my hand a tug, pulling me from my overactive imagination. “Let’s go see the inside.”

“The current owners of the home are huge art aficionados.” Wanda sweeps a hand around the foyer, presenting the massive headless trunks protruding from pillars in the walls. “They really poured their love of the human form into every facet of this house.”

Sammi and I share a sideways glance, but reserve casting final judgment until we’ve seen more of what this place has to offer.

The kitchen is a chef’s dream. No ass or titties in sight. My wife is enamored with the giant picture windows and ample natural light.

“Can you see it?” she asks, nudging me in my side. “A breakfast table there…” She points to a bright corner off to the side. “And our little girl doing her homework here at the island while we prepare dinner?”

“I can.” I can’t help but smile at her enthusiasm. “Little George is gonna color all over these white cabinets.”

“George?” She looks at me like I’ve lost my marbles. If I have, they’re likely somewhere on these grounds. Hah.

“After the king, of course.”

Her forehead scrunches. “Of England?”

“Of country music, babe. George Jones.”

“Oh…ew.” She shakes her head. “No. We will not be naming our child George.”

“So, you’re admitting it’s a boy.” I quirk a brow.