‘Sold!’ the gavel swung down, the surprisingly-soft echo rippling down the quaint Kew street.
The couple in front of us who had actually won the auction let out a cry of surprise and joy, the taller woman lifting her wife into the air and spinning her around as the rest of us politely clapped them.
‘I hope they have termites,’ my husband whispered in my ear.
‘Now, now,’ I chided him, trying to ignore how much I sounded like my mother. ‘Don’t be a sore loser.’
‘I’m more of a numb loser at this point,’ he sighed. ‘How many houses is that now?’
‘I’ve lost count,’ I lied.
‘Twenty-five?’
‘Twenty-seven,’ I corrected him, on instinct. His smirk told me he hadn’t lost count either.
‘Just gotta keep looking, I guess,’ he sighed again, wrapping his arm around my shoulder as we made the familiar trek back to our car.
‘Maybe we should look into a buyers advocate around Melbourne? To help buy a house?’
‘A buyer’s advocate?’ he frowned. ‘What do they do?’
‘Honestly, I’m not even sure,’ I admitted. ‘But Kirsty and Steve tried it and—’
‘Ugh,’ he rolled his eyes. ‘I’m sick of trying out whatever Kirsty and Steve do. We holiday where they’ve been, we go out to eat at restaurants they recommend—’
‘They bought the third house they looked at,’ I interrupted him. He stopped in the middle of the road.
‘I’m listening,’ he said.
I grinned.
‘I think they help give you the lay of the land, help you suss out the market in a particular area.’
‘Like Kew?’ he asked, looking up at the leafy street we’d sworn not to fall in love with. ‘How do you find a buyers agent for Kew homes?’
‘Did you want me to ask Kirsty?’ I offered.
‘No, no,’ he said, his desperation audibly bouncing off his pride. ‘Let me ask Mike.’
‘What’s the difference?’
‘Mike will think I’m smart. That I have initiative.’
‘And?’
‘And then he’ll have to run to Kirsty for the answer, which will make him feel less smart, and like he has less initiative.’
‘You’re an idiot,’ I rolled my eyes.