“What’s with this house?” Zac looks up from his binder. “You don’t like it?” “It’s…” I stare around at the massive porch that wraps around the corner of the stone house. A few feet away from the table where Zac sits is the sweetest looking porch swing, hanging from the roof overhang, facing the view of the bay. Down by the water, by the tree-lined edge of the property, is a wooden bench sitting in the middle of a patch of flowers. Daisies?
