Page 45 of An Introvert's Guide to Life and Love
The words have left my mouth before I can stop them.
“You mean…” Daniel presses his lips together, looking not so much puzzled as amused. “As in, you’re going to do it yourself?” I see his bright-hazel eyes flick from my face down to my (puny) arms. I cross them defensively, and he looks back up at me, now trying and failing to hold back a snort of laughter.
“Size is no indication of strength,” I say.
Laughter bursts out of him like he just can’t hold it anymore.
“I never said—” He takes a deep breath to calm himself. “I mean, I’m sure you are—have you ever pulled up carpet before?”
I would very much like to lie and say yes, but instead I say, “No, I have not.” This only makes him laugh again.
“Is this a point-of-pride thing or a money thing?” he asks.
I stare at him, my face stone-cold. I am obviously not going to tell him it’s a money thing.
“Right,” he says. “Pride. Got it.” He glances around the room, and I follow his gaze, realizing how much work I just signed up for. There’s carpeteverywhere. What is wrong with me? Why did I say it?
“Weren’t you planning to go home soon?”
“I was. I mean, I still am. But a few things came up. Including… all this.”
“Oh, this? If you know what you’re doing, you can change out the flooring and paint the place in a week or two.”
And if I don’t know what I’m doing? And if I’m doing the work in addition to my full-time job? How long will that take, six months?
“What are the other things?” he asks curiously before I can reply.
“Some stuff with my grandpa.” I tap my keys anxiously against my thigh. “I need to help him with a few things. Actually, he took my advice and went to therapy, so that was a win.”
“That’s great!” Daniel taps my shoulder in a manly way-to-go kind of way. He checks his watch. “I should get going. Keep me updated on your progress, all right? I’ll have my photographer buddy on standby to take photos when you’re done.”
“Photos?” I follow him to the door and stop short when he turns around.
“Yeah, for the listing. The rental listing.”
“Oh. Okay. Makes sense.” I’m clutching the doorknob and squeezing my belly in to make more space between us. He doesn’t seem to notice that we’re two inches apart.
“We won’t bother staging it. With the touch-ups and the right price, it’ll rent quickly, even with empty room photos.”
“Great.” We descend the two front steps and turn right toward his bike, into the sweet-smelling St. Augustine grass. The idea of some strangers moving into the house and filling it with their own furniture, their strange belongings, makes my stomach clench. Obviously, this is the goal. So that I can collect rent and return to my own place across the country. But walking through the empty house and then picturing it filled with other people’s stuff—I don’t like it.
Of course, I can’t tell Daniel this. He wants to find new tenants as soon as we can, so he can take his cut of the rent. That’s his job.
He buckles his helmet and swings a leg over his bike.
“Howdoyou do it?” I ask. “Bike, I mean.”
His mouth quirks to one side as he gives me an appraising look. “I drink a lot of water, for starters. And also…” He stops, apparently trying to think of the right words.
“What?” I prompt.
“Once you start, you can’t stop.” I feel my forehead scrunch with skepticism. He laughs and continues, “I mean, the feeling of fresh air whipping you in the face, compared with the cramped feeling of being in a car with the AC blowing at you—there’s no going back.”
“Okay…” I’ll keep the comfort of a climate-controlled car any day.
He lifts his chin and gives me a knowing sort of smile. “You’ll see.”
“I will?”
