Call Me Crazy (Bellamy Creek #3) - Melanie Harlow Page 0,67
jeans he had a black apron on that said THIS IS A MANLY APRON FOR A MANLY MAN DOING MANLY THINGS WITH MANLY FOOD.
“Cute,” I told him, patting his stomach on my way to the fridge to grab the salad.
“Thank you. My sister Cat got it for me for Christmas last year.” He grabbed my arm. “You sit down. I’ve got this.”
“I was just going to—”
“You’re just going to sit down and relax. I poured you some more wine, and”—he looked alarmed for a second—“wait, can you have wine?”
“A few sips are okay,” I said.
“Good. Then you sit down right there while I get dinner on the table. You’ve done enough.”
“At least let me put the roses in a vase.”
“I will permit that,” he said, like he was doing me a big favor.
While I trimmed the stems and filled a vase with water, he moved around the kitchen, singing along to “Witchcraft,” and occasionally cursing me when he couldn’t find something. When dinner was ready, Enzo took off his apron and we sat down to eat next to each other at the island.
“There’s a house for sale I’m thinking of buying to flip,” he said, picking up his sub. “The agent called me today. Huge price reduction.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yeah. It’s in the Historic District. Center Avenue.”
“I love Center Avenue!”
“Want to go look at it tomorrow? It would be a pretty big project. It’s old as fuck, has some water damage, and hasn’t been redecorated since Star Wars was in theaters, but it would be a cool project.” He shrugged. “If you were interested.”
“Like . . . we’d do it together?”
“That’s what I was thinking. I’ve got some extra cash right now—my dad gave me a wife bonus, so thanks—and you’re really good at what you do. I think we’d make a good team.”
“I think so too.” I took a sip of wine, flushed with pleasure at his compliment. “Sure. Let’s go look at it.”
The next morning, Enzo called the agent who had the listing, and he agreed to meet us at the house at noon. Enzo was right—it was a big old thing, a hundred and twenty years old, and my sister Ellie would have refused to go in it because she’d have insisted it was haunted. But I loved its Victorian charms—the steeply pitched roof, the asymmetrical façade, the wraparound porch, the picturesque turret. Someone had painted it white long ago, but the paint was flaking off now so it looked more gray than anything.
We went inside, and even though the smell was moldy and the surfaces dusty, Enzo and I were able to see past the shabbiness due to age and neglect. Ugly eighties wallpaper could be removed, warped floors could be refinished, crumbling plaster could be repaired, cracked windows could be replaced, and the kitchen and bathrooms could be modernized while retaining its character. Both of us were thrilled that the gorgeous dark woodwork hadn’t been covered in glossy white oil paint over the years.
But it would be a massive, time-consuming renovation. In the back of my mind, I couldn’t help thinking that this project would probably last longer than our marriage.
When we were done, we thanked the agent for meeting us, and went for lunch at the diner, where I dug my notepad and a pen from my bag and we began brainstorming ideas for the exterior, the interior, and the landscaping. Enzo knew someone he could consult about original Victorian paint colors, and I had a friend in Chicago who ran a company that reproduced historic wallpaper patterns. I scribbled four pages of notes before my pen ran out.
“Hey, you know what this kind of reminds me of?” I asked him, tucking the pad of paper back in my bag. “The night you first came to dinner at my place. When we sat at my island and drew up the contract.”
“Oh yeah. You’re right, it does.” He paused and smiled. “I like this better.”
“Same,” I said, wishing my heart wasn’t beating so fast as I looked at him across the booth from me. I dropped my eyes to my notepad. “So, this is a pretty big restoration job.”
“Biggest I’ve ever tackled, that’s for sure.”
“It’s going to take a while, don’t you think? Like maybe four to six months?”
“Sounds about right.”
I met his eyes. “That’s . . . that’s potentially longer than phase two, depending on our luck.”
He shook his head. “You have no faith in my skills.”