“The door,” I gasp.
“Yes?”
I look up at him, my eyes glistening. “It’s yellow.”
“That’s the color you picked, baby girl.”
“I know, but it’s so much more beautiful in person.”
“I thought you’d say that.”
I point to the flowers on the way in. I can’t name a single one, but they are stunning. They look like they belong in some garden by a cottage in the English countryside, not a cliffside mansion in Rhode Island.
“Did you pick these out?” I ask. Gardening is not really my thing; I told him he could handle that.
“I let the landscapers do their thing. I gave them a little direction, but I leave the professionals to that usually.”
The porch is wide, and while it doesn’t wrap around the house, it is large with plenty of room for furniture. It will be a cozy spot for mornings in spring, summer, and fall. I pause to picture Miles and I sitting on the porch in some rocking chairs a few years from now and have to shake my head and remember that this place isn’t ours.
Maybe one day.
“Ready?” Miles asks as he types in a key code on the front door, opening it so we can step inside. He takes off his shoes and I follow suit, trying to comprehend the size of this place. He’d said it was nearly 7,000 square feet, and I’m trying to wrap my head around that as I take in the foyer and the open space to our right.
“That would be a dining area down there.” He points to more open space toward the back of the house.
“You went with the hardwood I suggested,” I say, delighted to see the light pine I’d picked from the options he’d presented me.
“You were right, it maintains the light, airy feeling of the house.”
“White walls in the living and dining room isn’t bad.”
“There’s more color in some other rooms. Let’s go this way first.”
Miles leads me to the left down a short hall that opens to a massive laundry room and a pantry. The laundry room has white cabinets and a white countertop. Another suggestion of mine. And the bathroom has some color, a seafoam green that’s part of the paint scheme I’d chosen for Miles.
“It’s so cool to see my vision in real life,” I say. That’s been one of my favorite parts of my graphic design program, as it’s always been one of my favorite things about art. Seeing the images in my mind come to life with my own hands. Flipping a house has to feel similar. You buy a place, set a vision, and make it come to life. That I got to have a hand in all of this is thrilling.
I lace my fingers through Miles’s and squeeze his hand.
“Thank you for letting me be part of this,” I say, and when he smiles at me, I swear my knees go a little wobbly.
“Ready to see the upstairs?”
“I want to see the kitchen.”
“Upstairs first, then kitchen.”
I feign indignance. “Why did you make it seem like I had a choice about what we were seeing next?”
“Because it’s cute when you think you’re in charge,” he says with a wink.
The stairs lead up from the living room to a hallway that leads to the primary bedroom off to the left and a sitting area and more bedrooms off to the right. Each room has windowswith incredible views of the water. I point out every suggestion I made that he took.
The look on Miles’s face is pride, and I feel that in myself. The graphic design program I’ve been part of has given me that. Every time I complete a project, I feel accomplished in a way I didn’t feel while teaching. I show Miles everything I make, and every time, heoohsandaahslike it’s the best thing I’ve ever made.
Miles has given Hazel a run for her money as my biggest supporter. Not just about my art, but about everything. He’s always encouraging me to use my voice, to advocate for myself, and if I say I want to do something, it’s always yes.
Except for a second cat. He keeps vetoing that, insisting that Captain is perfect and we shouldn’t mess with perfection. And Captain does love Miles, to everyone’s surprise. I don’t think Captain would want to share.
