From the entryway I spied items too old and ornate for a twenty-nine-year-old man’s taste level. In the formal dining room, rows of old random trinkets and knickknacks were displayed neatly on the dining table. The room was lined four boxes high so you couldn’t see the aging wallpaper. I clutched my purse, eyeballing Edison. Was he an undercover hoarder? His truck was spotless and from the outside this former haunted house gave off quaint family friendly vibes.
“Shit, this is a lot of?—”
“Junk, you can say it. I’m going room by room trying to clear all Mr. Castle’s shit out.”
“If I were you I’d get a dumpster and just get to tossing. You could make a party of it. Invite a few friends, add some drinks and you have a cleaning crew.”
“Some of this stuff is sentimental and worth money. I bought the house and the items in it as is.” He pointed to a velvet portrait of Jimi Hendrix. “That monstrosity is worth a thousand dollars.”
I gasped, pushing him hard. “Shut up.”
Edison chuckled while bumping into a nearby doorjamb. “Yep, I’ve become a bit of an antique roadshow type guy. Initially I was going to hold an estate sale, get rid of all this shit in one shot. But then I found a vintage tea pot and sold it for five thousand dollars.”
“And you’ve been chasing that high ever since.” My eyes pinged from one hidden treasure to the other.
“Pretty much. I reached out to his daughter to let her know I thought her father got the raw end of the deal considering what I paid for the place. I offered her the five grand, but she refused.” Edison led me to the living room which was less cluttered than the parlor and hallway. “That didn’t sit right with me, so we came to an agreement that I’d give her half of the sales price on every item.”
“That’s very generous of you.” I tossed my purse on a high back velvet chair.
“Just seemed fair.”
“What are you going to do when it’s empty?”
“Renovate, make this place a proper home.”
“That sounds like a lot of work.”
“Luckily I’ve never been afraid of hard work and I’m good with my hands.”
“Are you going to do all the work yourself?”
“What I can. Anything else I’ll hire out.”
This house certainly had good bones. I’d watched tons of home renovation shows when Whiskey Wild was on the road. My favorite were the shows that restored older homes that had somehow been forgotten or neglected. The Castle house would make an interesting episode. “Do you know what you want the place to look like in the end?”
His face brightened. “What do you take me for? I have a whole vision board in one of the spare rooms.”
“For a few thousand more I bet you could have gotten a place that was move in ready.”
“Where’s the fun in that? I’m going to curate this home. When it’s done it’ll have the modern amenities while preserving the vintage charm.”
“How long will all that take?”
“I don’t have a timeline for it. I find when you rush shit, you end up settling. Sometimes it’s best to let shit marinate and develop its richness.”
This was also true of relationships. Take Chap and I for instance. He love bombed me. Answering my text and calls in record time. Spoiling me with fancy dinners and gifts from Hermes. When he introduced me to his stepmother, I was so appreciative I sucked his dick on the drive home. I was a fish out of water in LA looking for connection and community, and Chap opened doors to all that.
“Fancy?”
“Yeah.”
“Are you good?”
“Uh-huh. Why?”
“You just went away for a minute there.”
“Nope I’m right here on this very nice Persian area rug.”
