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“And I’m doing it myself, so I need to be really budget conscious.”
“Right,” he replies as he listens.
“I want to . . .” I stop myself to try and articulate my words.
“You want a plan?” he asks, reading my mind.
“Yes. I just don’t want to start something one color and then realize six months down the road that it doesn’t go with anything else.”
“Good idea. What you need is a color consult to start with. That way we can get an overall vibe of the feel you want for the house, and then we can pick the colors and go from there.”
“Exactly.” I smile, excited. I like this guy. “How much does that cost?”
“Well, my first visit is free, and we just talk about your wish list, and then after that for small projects like this, I charge an hourly rate.”
“That sounds great. When can you fit me in?”
“Hang on, I’ll bring up my schedule.” I hear him type on his computer. “What suburb are you in?”
“Half Moon Bay, Kingston Lane.”
“Oh, nice street. One of my colleagues did a house in there.”
“It is.” I smile proudly.
“Okay, I can come two weeks from Friday.”
My shoulders slump. “That long?” Damn it.
“Too far out?” he asks.
“It’s just that I don’t even have a couch, and I wanted to order my furniture and start painting.”
“Hmm.” He thinks for a moment. “My last appointment this afternoon isn’t far from there. I could stop by on my way home. It will be late, though, around six thirtyish.”
“That would be great.” I smile.
“What house number on Kingston Lane?”
“Eleven.”
“And I can reach you on this number?”
“Uh-huh.”
“See you tonight, Juliet.”
“Bye.” I hang up feeling very accomplished. Let’s get this party started.
It’s 7:00 p.m. when his car pulls onto our street. His car creeps past my house; there’s no number on my mailbox. I turn on the porch light and walk out front and wave. He sees me and parks his car and gets out with a bunch of folders. “Juliet,” he says.
“Hello.” I smile as I shake his hand.
Oh . . .
Joel is hot.
Ha, who knew?
