Page 35 of Buried Roots

“I guess we should.”

13

The Reception

Ibreakthenewsto Mary Louise that I’m not selling Bo’s Château until after I renovate, which she doesn’t take well. All her saccharine sweet manners disappear when she says, “This is a decision you’ll regret, no doubt in my mind,” before hanging up on me.

It stings—for about a minute. Then I realize, firsthand, why she’s not the town’s favorite person.

Owen and his family are getting ready for Kayla’s rehearsal dinner today, and I’m on a mission. Working my way around the house, I’m taking notes and making a list of what needs to be ordered—faucets, tile, fixtures, windows, cabinet hinges, and quartz for the kitchen countertops.

After putting together cost estimates of the restoration and repairs, I see that it’s a good chunk of change. Some of the walls have to go just because there’s mold and bad piping. On the flip side, there are many things I want to keep—the doors, the clawfoot tub, the chandeliers, the crystal door knobs, and many of the fixtures. They’re old but sturdy and have a country charm that you can’t buy at Home Depot. Specifically, in the primary bedroom, there’s an antique iron candelabra that looks hand-crafted and medieval.

I’m excited about implementing a floor plan that would never work in New York City. It’ll be a gorgeous farmhouse with stunning views, so peaceful and quiet—and I can’t wait to see the finished product.

To celebrate, I’m sitting on a blanket at the lookout spot with a pint of Ben & Jerry’s Strawberry Cheesecake in my hands. My laptop’s here on the ground—I’m about to meet Natanya on Zoom.

When she comes on screen, she’s wearing her checked pajamas and holding Tesla.

“Oh, my baby!” I cry out. “I miss you.”

“He doesn’t miss you,” Natanya says.

“He does too! He’s following me with his eyes.”

“Mm-hmm.”

After filling Natanya in on everything, including the possible loan for a historic landmark, she says, “You should sublet your apartment while you’re gone.”

I swallow a big bite of ice cream, shivering off brain-freeze. “That’s not a bad idea. It’d probably go for forty-five hundred a month.” Money I need to live off of right now.

“I’ll get it ready; you do the listing.” She notes it on her tablet.

“Really? You’re the best, Nat.”

“I know. And I’ve got everything here handled. Antonio’s back from Argentina. Hallelujah.”

What? I didn’t even know Antonio was in Argentina! But I move on, saying, “Great. Let’s keep the Zoom calls going.”

“Ugh, Willow, I can tell they’re getting frustrated with that. We’re just gonna have to be honest with the Klein brothers and tell them you had to oversee another job in Georgia, and I’m taking over the account. We’ll assure them all is taken care of, which it is.”

Logically, I know she’s right, but this is too important. I want to tell her to go ahead, but my mouth can’t form the words. I simply can’t do it—not yet. “Let’s keep the calls going for now, then transition the work over to you more slowly.”

“You’re the boss.” Natanya leans into the screen. “Just worry about getting that house sold and sold right. Then, we’ll have two jobs earning us income.”

“That’s what I thought. Good.” I flutter out a breath.

“So, what happened with Mr. Sexy Small Town?”

I look away. “We kind of kissed.”

“Kind of?”

“I mean, it was totally amazing and incredible, and now, I’m screwed. We were kind of naked.”

“This ‘kind of’ crap has to go. You kissed him naked.”

“Yes, but that’s all.”

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