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Is this another woman that my men are hiding from me?
Oh, God, the mere thought is enough to send me spiraling in every wrong direction. All I can do is sit behind the wheel and wait for the sudden bout of anxiety to work its way out of my system before I can turn the key in the ignition.
What the hell is going on here?
3
Avery
As luck would have it, I manage to land a remodeling job that afternoon. It’s a client referral from Hershey, a new project for a lady named Charlene Maddox, who has just moved back into town and would like her home redone. If this gig comes through, the payout will be generous enough for me to afford a new car. I’d love something bigger for the whole family. Kellan, Fallon, and Luke already have offered on several occasions to update my vehicle, but I find security in knowing that I can provide for myself and my babies, especially with a third one on the way.
Hershey is smaller than North Platte but it’s a thriving community filled with tall townhouses that feature spacious backyards and wide windows. It’s mostly home to small business owners and local factory workers. I pull up outside the address I received via text and take a moment to look at the house.
The façade is off-white with a red tile roof and unkempt front garden. From the looks of it, the place has been neglected for a few years, at least. The garden stones are covered with muck, most of it frozen over the winter, and the trees could use atrimming. I’m betting the gutters are clogged, too. If the exterior shows such signs of neglect, I am looking forward to seeing what the interior has to offer.
“The grittier, the better,” I mutter to myself. I love a good makeover. I’m always excited to start a new project, every room glowing with possibilities, especially when the client is open to my ideas.
I feel a smile form as the front door opens but it immediately vanishes from my face when I recognize the red-haired woman that was talking to Kellan earlier as the homeowner. She’s wearing a low-cut white shirt and tight, high-waisted jeans that only serve to amplify her Aphrodite-like curves. Again, why do I feel green with envy like an insecure teenager all of a sudden?
“Hi,” I manage, trying to find another smile for this lady.
She lights up like the sun, her eyes big and sparkling blue, her makeup perfectly applied. It’s as if she walked right off the cover of a beauty magazine, not a hair out of place. “Hi! Avery, right?” she asks, boldly making her way down the steps to greet me. “I’m Charlene. Charlene Maddox. We spoke on the phone.”
“Right, yes!” I reply. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charlene.”
“Likewise. Please, do come in. Let me give you a tour of the place.”
We shake hands, and she squeezes mine firmly before I follow her inside. Just as I had hoped, the interior of the two-story house is in need of some love and care as well. The wallpaper is old and parts of it have started to peel away. There are water stains in the ceiling corners, and the wooden floors could do with a complete stripping.Walnut, I’m feeling a walnut vibe here…
“So, you didn’t tell me much about the house when we first spoke about it,” I say as she takes me through the foyer and the dayroom first. My gaze wanders everywhere, registering every detail and every inch in need of fixing. It’s a beautiful home, but it has been left to fade over the years. “Just that no one has lived here for some years and that you were moving in.”
“Well, that’s pretty much the whole gist of it,” Charlene says, her voice as smooth as a smoked tumbler of Irish whiskey. “I’ve been away. Almost five years, to be specific. I never got the chance to renovate before I left. My parents used to live here, but they passed away and to be honest, I didn’t really have the courage to come up here after I buried them.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It’s okay. Time heals,” she says, as she escorts me to the ground-floor bathroom, the guest room, and then the kitchen with its adjacent dining room. “I’ve decided to settle down in Hershey, and since I had this property already, it felt like such a shame to let it rot. I figured I could invest in a decent remodeling rather than selling and buying something new.”
“I don’t see any reason in selling,” I reply. “The structure seems sound and sturdy. The newer construction guidelines aren’t as strict as they used to be, which is why many builders have invested less in good quality materials. They don’t make houses like yours anymore.”
“So, you agree that I should keep this one.”
“Absolutely. It’ll hold for another hundred years at least. Stone foundation, right?”
Charlene nods once. “You are quite perceptive, consider me impressed.”
We head upstairs and go through each of the bedrooms, the master bathroom, and the study, before moving outside to a terrace overlooking a spacious backyard in dire need of a capable gardener. She takes the time to tell me a bit more about the house and its history, about how invested her parents were in the place and how pretty it used to be back in the sixties and seventies, before her mother’s health started taking a turn for the worse.
“Each of these rooms has a story to tell,” I conclude as we make our way back into the dining room, where Charlene serves tea and biscuits. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the first bite. “I don’t know much about your vision yet, but can I make a suggestion?”
“Of course. Your input is priceless at this point.”
“I’d try to keep as much of the original aesthetic as possible. Mid-century houses have a particular charm, and the brutalism of that age has transferred beautifully into contemporary minimalism. For example, I’d go for natural woods and greens, subtle earth tones, and plush, creamy shades for the textiles.”
“Oh, I agree. White walls?”
“White-ish. Warm whites, not the hospital kind.”
Charlene laughs lightly. “No wallpaper, then?”
