Page 55 of Sunny Skies Ahead
I stumbled over the word and immediately felt my cheeks flush. The whole “not putting a label on it” thing felt good when we were in our tiny house bubble, but I had some work to do. I needed to be able to introduce Kameron as a friend without showing every sign of embarrassment possible.
“Nice to meet you,” Kameron said, removing one of his hands from his pockets and extending it to Dillon to shake. The other man took it.
“Good to meet you,” Dillon replied. “First off, the mold remediation was successful.”
I let out a sigh of relief.
“That said, we discovered a few more issues that will need to be addressed,” Dillon said. “I know you haven’t decided whether to sell the house or stay, but either way, they’ll need to be fixed.”
He gestured for us to follow him, and for the next half hour, Dillon explained some issues they’d found in the walls. Everything from pipes that needed to be replaced, to electrical wiring that needed redoing, and even showed me several places on the outside of the house where some of the siding was rotting away.
“The house isn’t in good shape,” Dillon said honestly. “It goes well beyond the mold issue we found in the bathroom.”
“What’s a ballpark estimate to get this place into shape?”
“I’m not a realtor, but I can tell you that you’re looking at a repair cost that’s pushing six figures.”
I rubbed a hand over my face, feeling slightly dizzy.
“And if I sold it as is?”
“Depends on whether you sold the land with the house,” Dillon said. “The value of the farmland would most likely offset part of what you’d lose on the house. But again, I’m not a realtor. I can put you in touch with a company in Brighton if you need a recommendation.”
“No, I can talk to Kelly,” I said, knowing Kelly Sakis would have knowledge about how to sell a house like this. The fact that she was a Watford local also brought me comfort, because she would know how much this house meant to me.
“Sorry I don’t have better news for you,” Dillon said. “It’s safe to stay here for now, but I urge you to get some of these structural repairs dealt with sooner rather than later.”
“Thanks for everything,” I said as Kameron and I walked Dillon to the front door. He waved before climbing into his work truck and setting off.
“Crap,” I groaned, knocking my head back against the door immediately after closing it.
“Tea?” Kameron asked, pressing his lips to my forehead. I sighed into the touch, leaning into him.
“Please,” I said, the sound muffled against the fabric of his shirt. He took my hand and pulled me towards the kitchen, putting water in the kettle and setting it on the stove.
“It feels like I’m stuck between the past and the future,” I muttered as I took a seat at the dining room kitchen. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“It does,” Kameron insisted, sitting down with me while we waited for the water to boil. “For so long, this place represented peace and comfort to you. It’s where you grew up. And your Nana gave it to you after she passed. There’s a lot of memory and emotion in these four walls. I’m sure the idea of giving it up is difficult.”
I looked around at the familiar walls, the kitchen that I had painstakingly remodeled soon after I moved back to Watford. It was the first big home project I’d planned and completed. I loved baking; it brought me so much joy, and the previous kitchen couldn’t hold up to how much time I spent there.
“I love this house,” I murmured, meeting Kameron’s eyes. “But I can’t shake the feeling that. . .”
“What?” Kameron encouraged gently after I fell silent.
“It doesn’t feel like home anymore,” I whispered. Kameron’s lips parted. I waited for the anxiety about throwing my feelingsout into the open to crush me, but it didn’t. Because this was Kameron. After everything we’d shared last night, there was little left to hide from him.
What’s more, I realized, is that I didn’t want to hide from him.
The kettle whistled and Kameron looked away. I let out a long breath as Kameron stood and made his way over to the stove to remove the kettle from heat.
“What are we in the mood for?” he said, opening the drawer full of every kind of tea one could hope to try.
“The stress relief one,” I grumbled. Kameron chuckled but obliged me, placing some of the loose leaf tea into one of the silver strainers and bringing the steaming cup to me. I inhaled deeply and sighed.
“Thank you,” I said. “For everything.”
“I know that we both have a complicated history with dating,” Kameron said, “but I do know that in most relationships, you don’t need to thank the other person for making you tea.”
