Page 37 of Take My Hand

“Thank god for that…” Nikolai mumbles, and Carter presses her lips together, hiding a smile.

“You’re free to leave, you know?”

“Nah, I think I’d like to hear all these projects you’d like to do. No offense, but this place has always been a snooze.”

I glare at him, then look to Carter.

“Let me show you around.” I start walking down the hallway and veer off to the left first, passing the formal dining room on one side and a set of large doors on the other that lead out to a huge patio area overlooking the pool.

“I don’t love that room, but I don't really see the need to do anything to it as I barely use it,” I say over my shoulder. “But the kitchen definitely needs some work.”

We enter the space, and I turn, watching Carter take it in for the first time. Her eyes are expressive, even if she’s trying to keep her face neutral. She’s unimpressed.

“What don’t you like about it?” I ask her.

She brushes a hand down the opposite arm, stalling.

“You can be honest.”

Nikolai jumps up and sits on one of the countertops, pulling out his phone and typing away on it.

“It’s just so…cold.” Her body shivers as she says it, as if the neutral color palette and sterile feel carry with them a draft in the air.

“It is,” I agree, looking around. “I think changing the cabinet colors would help, and I was thinking of new barstools along the island there. Maybe a fresh coat of paint. Too much white.”

She nods her head. “That would definitely help and wouldn’t be too challenging to do. Some personal touches are always nice in the kitchen as well.”

“Like what?” I tilt my head to the side.

“You know, like a favorite cookbook on a little stand on the corner of one of the counters. Or a decorative dish towel hanging off of the oven handle. A rack to hang your favorite coffee mugs on, or hell, even a candle or two. Anything that screams that a person actually lives here and this house isn’t just a model home.”

Scanning the space, I see exactly what she means. While I didn’t necessarily expect design advice, I’m grateful for it because that’s just as much a part of this whole makeover as the bones of these rooms.

My parents’ kitchen flashes through my head and with it brings a sense of comfort and nostalgia, a feeling of home. The pictures covering the fridge, tacked on with magnets from various family trips. Dishes passed down from generations and some on display on top of the cabinets. A set of salt and pepper shakers in the shape of chickens that Will bought my mom one year as a gag gift for Christmas that she treasures as if they were made of crystal.

It doesn't have top-of-the-line appliances and beautiful modern lines that sell houses like hotcakes out here, but it feels like a home.

“I see where you’re going with it. Let’s keep going.”

We move from room to room upstairs and I show her things in each of them I’d like to do. Knocking down a wall to expand a room here, ripping out the shower in the guest bathroom there, rewiring the light fixtures in the living room to create a more relaxed environment.

She offers tips where she can, while letting me know when she’s out of her depth with others. More than once, she offers to take photos to send to her dad to get his opinion on them, and finally, I cave and give her the go-ahead. But only if they will let me pay him for his time.

We move to the lower level of the house, but this is the one area that I don’t see much work needing to be done. Around the corner from the stairs in front of a huge set of windows overlooking the landscaping, I have a gym set up. Off to the left, I have a studio space. Carter’s eye catches on the door to it, so I guide us over and open it for her to look inside.

The walls are a deep chestnut color, with a navy-blue couch on one end and a recording set up on the other. My collection of basses decorates the walls, as well as some band memorabilia from over the years. I used the space a lot with the guys when any of them would come over and we’d bounce ideas off each other in a more relaxed environment than when we're in an actual studio trying to record our songs.

“This is a great space,” Carter says as she steps inside, gaze dancing over the records I have framed.

“It is.” I love this room. But looking at the career highlights hanging on the walls now doesn’t bring the same joy and sense of accomplishment that they used to. Not now, knowing that the days of Whisper Me Nothings are coming to an end.

Nikolai’s face reflects my thoughts and the two of us exchange a sad smile.

Carter plucks the strings of one of the basses before turning around and shooting me a small sorry.

“Intrusive thought won.”

I laugh. “Don’t be. That one hasn’t been played in years.”

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