I slot the key into the lock and open the door to let Ava go inside first. The alarm signals, and I switch it off.
“Do you want the quick tour or—”
“I want to see everything.” Ava grins and runs her fingers over one of the mahogany doors, her earlier sadness forgotten. “Give me the full tour.”
I take her hand and lead her upstairs. We start in the owner’s suite and her eyes go round at the size of the walk-in closets.
“What do people do with all this space?” She twirls with her arms extended. “I’m not even exaggerating when I say this closet is bigger than my first apartment.”
“I don’t know about most people, but I played a mean game of hide and seek when I was about this tall,” I say, holding my hand around mid-thigh.
She laughs, and after months of working on the house in solitude, the sound is refreshing.
Hell, maybe that’s what this place needs, more laughter. More life.A woman’s touch.
“This is great and all,” Ava says, clasping her hands together. “But I want to see your old room.”
I gesture for her to follow, and lead the way down the hall. “Don’t get too excited. It’s a far cry from when I lived in it.”
One of the more recent owners did quite a bit of painting, none of it in keeping with the style of the home, or, as far as I can tell, good taste.
I’ve been working to patch and sand all the walls, and soon I’ll start repainting—if I don’t break down and hire a contractor to do it first.
My progress was slow over the summer and focused primarily on the exterior. Now, with hockey season in full swing,I’ve barely had any time to work on the house. There’s still so much to do. It’s starting to feel like the land of a thousand abandoned projects.
At the current rate, I’ll be retired before the house is ready for move-in.
We enter my old bedroom, which has been painted a violent shade of fuchsia, and Ava cackles. “It’s so…you.”
I swat her on the backside. “Keep laughing, and I won’t show you the best part.”
“There’s a best part?”
There is. It’s the reason I bought the house. As soon as I saw it, I knew I had to make an offer.
“Look inside the closet.”
Her eyes narrow, but she complies, poking her head inside and flipping the switch. “What am I—oh!”
Ava disappears into the closet, and when I peer inside, she’s crouched on one knee, head tilted to read the marks on the wall.
“Is this your growth chart?”
“It is.” I stuff my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “My mom wanted to put it in the pantry, but apparently my dad thought it was tacky, so she put it in the back of my closet.” I glance around the small space, taking in the nicks and scratches that cover the walls. “It turned out to be fortuitous since the previous owners painted everything except the closets.”
“This is really sweet.” Ava climbs to her feet. “I never had anything like this growing up. We moved around too much to put down these kinds of roots.” She gestures to the chart. “You should find a way to preserve it.”
She’s right, of course, and I mentally add it to my ever-growing list of projects.
We make our way downstairs, Avaoohingandaahingover the expansive windows and the pool that’s seen better days. I’vebeen on the resurfacing waitlist for months, and the pool guy assures me it’ll be done before summer.
I save the kitchen for last. It’s my favorite part of the house, and I want Ava to love it as much as I do.
She trails her fingers over the top of the island, using a combination of sight and touch to explore, just as she’s done throughout the rest of the house. “So this is where the magic happened.”
Magic?
The confusion must show on my face, because she adds, “Where you learned to bake.”