Page 11 of The Hometown Dilemma
On the short journey out to Ridge Heights, we made polite conversation about the brokerage and how Austen seemed to be killing it. His sales talk didn’t always come across as genuine, but I’d met realtors before and knew it came with the territory.
“Ready?” asked Austen as he pulled up in the driveway.
I nodded, my mouth dry again.
Austen rang the bell and within seconds, Mrs. Channing appeared.
“Jaime Harlow! When Austen said he was bringing an interior designer, I didn’t realize it would be you.”
It seemed like a backhanded compliment, but I smiled gratefully. “Yes, I’ve come back home to start my own design business.”
“How’s Sylvie?” she asked, almost oblivious to what I’d told her. “Is she still in Florida with Jerry?”
“Mmmhmm.” I didn’t want this meeting to turn into a conversation about my mother and her boyfriend. Nor did I want Austen to think I was gossiping when I should be working.
Moira flapped her hands. “Sorry, I got distracted. You’re here to talk about making my house look even more attractive to prospective buyers, not to discuss your mother’s love life.” She ushered us into the foyer. “Come in, let me show you around.”
On the tour around the four-bedroom, three-bathroom house, it was blatantly obvious why people were put off. In almost every single room, there were a myriad of knickknacks and over the top decorations, which made it difficult for prospective buyers to imagine themselves in the house. Simply stripping them away and giving people a chance to view the actual space would be a start. Replacing the zebra print wallpaper in the downstairs study would also go some way to toning things down.
I wrote notes as we went, not sure whether I should say something now or wait until afterwards. There were so many changes I could suggest, but I didn’t know how far I should go with it.
We finished in the living room, which looked out onto the generous garden. Not many properties in Abbott Ridge had that amount of outdoor space.
“So, what do you think?” Moira asked me directly.
Glancing over at Austen, who gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shake of his head, I took my lead from him. “I’ve got some ideas of what we can do, but I’d like to spend a bit of time formulating them properly. There’s scope to make changes without losing the essence of the house.” Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Austen nodding. “So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll write up a proposal and have it to you as soon as possible.”
Moira looked between Austen and me. “Will you discuss it together? Austen, I know you had some thoughts too.”
Austen took over. “Yes, we’ll go back and talk now. I’ll have something to you by the end of the week.”
“Can I get either of you a drink?” Moira offered.
“No thank you, Mrs. Channing. I’d like to get back to the office and discuss the potential staging for your house,” said Austen, standing up. “We’ll leave you to it and I’ll be in touch soon.”
Once again, I followed his lead and stood, extending my hand to Moira.
“Lovely to see you,” she said, clasping my hand between hers. “Give my regards to Sylvie.”
“Of course.” I forced a smile. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a conversation with my mother, except to tell her my plans to return to Abbott Ridge. My ears still rang with her disapproval.
Once back in the car, I expected Austen to take us back to AR Real Estate, so when he pulled up to Dempsey’s I was surprised.
“What are we doing here?”
“I thought it would be easier for us to discuss things outside of the office, rather than get distracted.”
I frowned. Surely they had a meeting room there we could have used. Not entirely comfortable with talking business in a bar, I had little option but to follow him.
The bar was all but empty, which I should have expected for early afternoon, but I couldn’t help feeling a little sad for Wade. There had been a time when the bar would be packed at any time of the day, but it seemed times had changed. I guessed a lot of the college kids these days frequented the coffee shops with their free Wi-Fi and skinny decaf mocha lattes. There had been far fewer of them in Abbott Ridge ten years ago.
Austen pointed to a booth on the far side of the bar. “Why don’t you go and take that table? What do you want to drink?”
Unsure if they did coffee, I decided on a soda, although truthfully, I would have preferred a glass of wine. While he went to the bar, I pulled out my notes on Moira Channing’s house. Reading through them to make sense of the scribbles, I hoped I would be able to convince Austen and Moira to make the changes. None of it was too out there, and the majority I could do myself without having to hire outside help.
And if I could make it work, would there be more to follow? Austen and Moira had indicated other clients could be interested in what I was doing. Word of mouth in Abbott Ridge was everything.
Finally, it felt like this was something that could take my career in the direction I truly wanted it to go.
