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Built To Last
Liz opened the door at six when Christian knocked on it.
“Hi,” he said. He walked in and looked around. “This place is exactly as I envisioned it.”
“In need of repair?” she asked, laughing.
At least she looked more put together this time rather than the lunatic that had all but fallen out of bed when she’d heard the loud bang over her noise maker.
“That’s a given,” he said. “I know it’s had the original owners in it since it was built. They had to be in their seventies or eighties by now. I’d been banking on them not having done a lot of work to it.”
“That was them,” she said. “I guess about twenty-five years ago they did some things, so it’s not horrible. Until you see the kitchen. And the baths. Yeah, it’s horrible.”
She’d been living here for less than a week now and she was wondering what the hell she’d been thinking of.
Just because Liz could afford the mortgage—barely—and she had a ton of money in the bank to do upgrades, didn’t mean she should have done this.
But it was as she said. She remembered driving down this street those six months she’d been dating Christian. He always pointed this house out.
When Ruby pulled in front of it, her jaw dropped.
It almost seemed like fate to be brought here.
It was time to restart the clock in her life.
Begin again.
Start over.
Any number of words to her taking ownership of her life and trying to be the person she’d lost in her years of marriage.
“Why did you buy it then?” he asked. “Just moved in, right?”
“This week,” she said.
He pointed to the living room. “You’ve been busy though.”
She looked at the massive living room and you could see into the dining room past it. Not open concept, but large entryways. They were covered in bright white primer. She’d put the third coat on this afternoon for the whole first floor. She’d be ready to finally paint the rooms this weekend.
“Most houses this age have a lot of wallpaper, did this?”
“No,” she said. “Thankfully. But I won’t tell you the number of cans of primer I’ve gone through covering up the burgundy, hunter green and browns.”
He smiled, his hand reaching out for the oak banister. The large sweeping staircase all but dominated the foyer and she loved it. She loved the wood tones in the house too.
White trim and molding were modern. It was fine for some people. She liked the character this place had and the original wood.
It was like the house was built to last. She needed something to last in her life.
Maybe that was part of why she bought it too.
“Those colors alone are a nightmare,” he said.
“The whole downstairs was like that. Let me walk you through a house that is way too big for me. My father thinks it’s a money trap. That I was impulsive to buy it, but I don’t think so.”
She’d told herself she wasn’t going to be that way in life again. She’d always been a planner. Yet she came home and bought this house when she should have thought it through more.
“A hundred and fifty grand into this place and it will be worth three hundred more easily,” he said.
