Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 59231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
I groaned.
“You know,” I said, “I think I will have to call you back later.”
Before he could interject and start on yet another sales pitch of himself, I hung up. Other people did this stuff to their own houses all the time using just research on the Internet and willpower. If they could do it, so could I.
Besides, I was starting to push it with the money I had been able to scrape together before I left Houston and what was left in the account. I really needed to talk to that bank manager about a loan, even if it meant borrowing against the house. I had gotten an email that the loan officer had returned from vacation, so I figured I would give that a shot before I just let the plumber charge me an arm and a leg.
Frustrated and needing a break, I put the tools down and used the one sink in the house that seemed to be in working order to clean up. Then I put on a skirt and a nice top, representing the last of the nice clothes I had before I was going to need a laundry trip or fixing the water for the washer at the house, and headed out.
The loan officer turned out to be a nice older gentleman and seemed empathetic to my plight. It probably didn’t help that I went a little heavy on the mascara and batted my eyes a bunch. I tried not to let my distaste for using my femininity as a tool hinder me. At this point, anything short of figuring out a pole dance routine was on the table.
As I headed out of the bank, with promises that they would look everything over and get back to me with an answer, I noticed a real estate office just down the street. On a whim, I decided to go inside. A smartly dressed woman in a pencil skirt and blazer greeted me at the door. After a half hour of chatting, I walked out with some information about opening up a bed and breakfast and the kind of locations that would be ideal for it.
Later that evening, as I stood on a ladder changing lightbulbs in the ceiling fan above the living room, I heard a knock at the door. From where I was on the top step, I could see through the windows on the top of the door and recognized Ryan’s head. Smiling with a zeal that surprised myself, I hopped down and went to the door.
“Hey,” I said.
“Evening,” he responded. He held out two giant paper bags, which were themselves inside white plastic bags with yellow smiley faces on them. “I brought some Chinese takeout.”
“You are amazing,” I said.
He shrugged.
“If I had to take a guess, you hadn’t stopped to eat again today, had you?” he asked.
“You would be guessing correctly,” I said. “I have a bit of an issue of doing that when I get over focused on something. I just forget to stop.”
“Well, never fear. I am always thinking about my next meal,” he laughed.
“Come on in,” I said.
“First,” he said. “I just wanted to apologize about last night. I don’t want things to be weird between us and I feel like I might have…”
I cut him off quickly.
“No,” I said. “Nope, nope, nope. There is no need to apologize for that. Okay? Come on in. Let’s eat.”
He grinned, and for a moment stood awkwardly, like a little boy not knowing what to do next. Then he nodded, and the grin stretched all the way across his face.
“All right,” he said. “Do you want to eat here or my place?”
“Oh,” I said. “I don’t have any plates or silverware. Or a table.”
“I brought chopsticks,” he said.
“Floor it is,” I said, and guided him inside.
We sat on the floor of the kitchen, Ryan laying out the many food options we had in front of us like a buffet. I had a few paper towel rolls, and between them and the containers the food came in, we were able to make some meal plates that worked out pretty well.
“Did you hear anything about the plumbing?” he asked as he dug into an egg roll.
“Yeah, but I think I am going to try to do it myself,” I said. “However, if I can get that done, I did talk to the bank about getting a loan and to the real estate office downtown about a place that might work for the bed and breakfast. It isn’t one of their listings, actually, but it’s amazing.”
“Where is it?” he asked.
“It’s on the outskirts of town,” I said. “I saw it in a newspaper clipping in the office. They had it up on the wall. I asked about it, and they told me it was one of the first houses built, but it has been empty for many, many years.”