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Lampposts lining the driveway illuminate the Queen Anne-style mansion sitting at the top of the small hill. Despite the warped wood and lack of upkeep, the house that once belonged to one of our town’s founders is beautiful with its elegant craftsmanship, unrivaled view of the lake, and historic connection to the town.
Not just any Founder’s house, but the one I dreamed of renovating one day. Ever since I was a little kid, I used to say that if I had three wishes, one of them would be to own this particular blue house.
Now you have the money and opportunity to make it happen.
The sudden rush of excitement sends my head spinning, making me feel drunk on the idea of restoring a house like this.
I’d be foolish not to take advantage of this rare opportunity. I’ve been obsessed with the Founders’ houses long before I pursued a career in interior design. Their backstory, aesthetics, and view of Lake Wisteria and the forest beyond made them easy to fall in love with and impossible to forget.
A house isn’t going to save you from your depression. The voice of reason speaks out.
No, but my therapist said I should engage in activities that make me happy, and this house would be a good start.
“Is this for real?” I flick the sign to be sure.
“Seems like it.” Julian stops beside me and pulls out his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“I want to know how much they’re asking for it.”
“No!” I steal his phone.
“You can’t stop me from being curious.”
“You’re not allowed to touch this one.” The five original Founders’ houses rarely go up for sale, so no way in hell am I letting Julian buy it.
“Is your name on the deed?”
“Not yet.” I’ll be damned if I let this project slip away from me. It’s the exact kind of house that could help spark my creativity again while pushing me to take the necessary steps my therapist has been recommending for months.
Julian pries his phone out of my crushing grip. “Then it’s fair game.”
“Fair game? How is that possible when you’re our local Monopoly Man?”
“I’m flattered by the rare compliment.” His dry voice doesn’t match the words.
“Ugh.Lo juro por Dios—”
He taps at his screen before placing it against his ear. “Sam. Hey. Sorry about the late call, but this is important. First thing tomorrow morning, I need you to contact a seller—”
I snatch his phone back and take off in the opposite direction. “Hi, Sam. It’s Dahlia Muñoz. How are you?”
“I—uh—I’m sorry, did you sayDahlia Muñoz?” A male voice wheezes toward the end of his question.
“Yes.”
Lo juro por Dios:I swear to God.
“As in Dahlia Muñoz, founder of Designs by Dahlia?”
“That’s me.”
“Holy shit,” Sam whispers to himself.
I stick my tongue out at Julian while hitting the speaker button.
“I’m your biggest fan!” Sam shouts. “Wait. What areyoudoing with Julian?”
