Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 41016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 41016 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 205(@200wpm)___ 164(@250wpm)___ 137(@300wpm)
But let’s be real.…Chances were slim to nil that we’d like this house, so why bring it up at all?
“That’s my elementary school. And that used to be a Dairy Queen. My dad took us after baseball practice when I was little. I’d get vanilla with rainbow sprinkles every time. My brother always ordered chocolate with a chocolate dip and chocolate sprinkles. Ew. You know I love chocolate, but chocolate shellac is just gross. Oh, and there’s our church.” Aaron tapped at the window before pointing at the Mercedes we were following. “Chandler’s turning on Elm. I love this street. So many trees, and there’s a great park on the corner of Mason. They used to have Easter egg hunts around the old bandstand. I wonder if they still do.”
So…we were definitely in Aaron’s old hood, but it had to be on the other side of town from his parents’ house. I would have remembered this area. It had the nostalgic air of old-time Americana where kids played ball in the streets and drew hopscotch squares in chalk on sidewalks. Grand trees and perfectly trimmed hedges flanked well-kept homes set far from the road. This was nice.
Very nice.
I followed Chandler’s car up a short incline and parked behind him in front of a weed-ridden house at the end of the block. Okay, this was more like what I’d expected. Weeds, rats, and probably some nasty green carpet too. I unfastened my seat belt and twisted to face Aaron, intending to gently remind him not to get his hopes up.
Instead I blurted, “You played baseball?”
Aaron snickered. “Yes, Matty. I’ve told you all about my illustrious yet short career in sports. I was a disaster. My poor dad was mostly patient with my lack of enthusiasm. He didn’t like it when I drew flowers on the inside of my baseball chapeau, though.”
“Your chapeau?” I repeated with a laugh. “I hope you kept it. Could be worth millions someday.”
“Gazillions,” he agreed, reaching for the door handle. “Listen, I have very low expectations, so we might as well get this over with so I can help Mom with lunch. She’s making rellenos de papas.”
“Yum. I’m hungry. Let’s make this quick.”
We greeted Chandler on the sidewalk and wordlessly followed him along a weed-choked path to a mid-century modern brick home with wide windows that reminded me of something out of the Jetsons. It was surrounded by a forest of trees filtering summer light onto the generous lawn.
Chandler slipped his sunglasses into his pocket to fiddle with the lock. He swiveled toward us and flashed a dazzling grin. “I walked through this one earlier in the week with another client and I couldn’t stop thinking about you two. It’s different and it needs a little work, but keep an open mind ’cause this might just be the one.”
We smiled politely and shared a look before stepping inside.
And…wow.
The funny thing about low expectations was that every once in a while you were pleasantly surprised. Like now.
This house was amazing.
It was a mid-century modern gem with tall ceilings, hardwood flooring, and windows everywhere. It had a sort of fishbowl effect, but the trees surrounding the property gave the house an indoor-outdoor living vibe and a ton of privacy. You could almost imagine the house was in the woods deep in the country rather than smack in the middle of suburbia.
No, it wasn’t all great.
The kitchen was stuck in the seventies with orange Formica countertops, a very old stove, and tiles I was sure I’d seen in Brady Bunch reruns. The bathrooms were small and grungy. But there were three bedrooms with lots of closet space and a huge master suite. I wasn’t usually the one who could see potential in the midst of chipped tiles and old-fashioned fixtures, but it was almost easy to envision what this place might look like with a little updating.
Aaron was obviously thinking the same thing. “It’s shockingly…perfect. I mean it certainly needs work. I wonder if it’s possible to remove the wall between the living room and kitchen.”
Chandler nodded. “Yes. In fact, the owner’s son had plans drawn. He’d thought about keeping it initially and wanted to do some renovating.”
“Was it too expensive?” I asked, setting a proprietary hand on Aaron’s shoulder. Sue me. My husband was hot and I didn’t care what Aar said, Chandler definitely noticed.
“No, not at all,” he replied. “There was a squabble between the heirs and they decided it was best to sell. I mentioned the owner was an artist, right? The house gets a lot of natural light. Come check out the yard.”
He led us onto a deck that was in worse shape than the one from the last house we’d seen, but the expanse of green lined with lush flowers was breathtaking. It reminded me of an untended park that just needed a little TLC.