“It may be an old house, but it has great bones. Based on what you told me about wanting to update the electrical, plumbing, and HVAC, the interior will need to be taken down to just its frame. I know some great contractors who will be able to rewire this place and not destroy its character. We’ll need to test for asbestos, but since it was built in the 1850s, I doubt we’ll find any. That wasn’t really commercially available until later in the century, and not used regularly until the 1900s, so that definitely works to our advantage.”
“Guess it’s a good thing we bought an ancient house instead of one that’s just really old.” Julia laughs.
I smile. “Always good to look on the bright side, especially with historic renovations. You have to go in with the mindset that anything can go wrong, and probably will. With all that said, I have no desire to completely redo this house. Like I mentioned, I’m not interested in tearing down the walls. I want to keep as much of the original ceiling, flooring, and hardware as I can. And definitely the fireplaces and the stained glass throughout. Where you see walls right now, you’ll see walls when I’m finished. The kitchen will be updated and modernized, but it will still have a historic feel to it. I’ve seen state-of-the-art stoves and refrigerators that have a more antique style. I don’t enter into a historic remodel to destroy. I do it to preserve. So I’d like to save everything I can. Maybe recycle some of the broken fixtures into art pieces.”
The more I speak, the more animated my voice becomes, idea after idea popping into my head. There’s so much potential here. It’s an interior designer’s wet dream. At least it’s my wet dream.
“This is an incredible house that’s filled with history. The last thing I want to do is erase that history. In fact, I want to weave its history throughout the renovation.”
Julia exhales a long breath, almost out of relief. Then she grabs my hands in hers, squeezing them. “You’re the first designer I’ve spoken to who gets it.”
“I hope so. And if you hire me, I promise to treat your baby with the care and attention she deserves. With the care and attention necessary to preserve your memories of spending summers here with your grandparents. This is a stunning house, and I promise to make it stunning again. Will make it somewhere you can create new memories.”
“That’s it. You’re hired. When can you start?” She laughs, and I join in. Then she levels her gaze on me. “But seriously. Do you have other pressing projects, or can you get started right away?”
I furrow my brow. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely. When you know, you know. And with you, I know.”
I blink, caught off guard. I didn’t expect to get hired on the spot, especially without drawing up any sort of budget. “I didn’t even tell you what it’s going to cost.”
She waves me off. “Doesn’t matter. You can’t put a price on history. Plus, my brother has more money than he knows what to do with, and I don’t mind spending it.”
“But I really should—”
Before I can finish my statement, the sound of barking cuts through, followed by a rambunctious dog flying through the now-broken screen door and jumping on me, panting and tail wagging.
“Oh god.” Julia’s expression turns horrified as she peels the Pointer mix off me. “No, Zeus. Down, boy.”
I inhale a sharp breath at the name. Most people wouldn’t think twice about a dog being named Zeus. It’s a common name for dogs. But most people weren’t betrayed by a man obsessed with Greek mythology. I wonder if this is a sign I shouldn’t be here.
“Your dog’s name is Zeus?” I ask in a small voice, telling myself it’s just a coincidence, that I can’t allow the memory of him to destroy one of the first good things to happen to me in years. If I avoided everyone who named their pet Zeus, or some other character from Greek mythology, I doubt I’d have many acquaintances.
She struggles to hold the dog back from jumping up on me again. “A Greek god he is not, I’m afraid.”
“Well, he seems just as promiscuous as Zeus. He couldn’t keep it in his pants, either.”
“Zeus!” a deep voice calls out, followed by heavy footsteps on the front porch. “Get back here, you obedience school dropout!”