As soon as we empty the box, she sighs. “You want to see what I’m doing here?”
I nod and wipe my hands off with the napkins I brought along. “I’d love to.”
She rolls her eyes, and I hold my hand out again. “Chase Ryder.”
“I remember.”
I wait for her to tell me her name again, but I remember the name of the pastry. “You’re Lou Lou Hamlin?” I remember Hamlin because it’s on her old pickup.
“Lou.”
“Is that short for something?” Like Louisa? Louann? Louisa would fit. She looks like a Louisa.
“No.”
“No?”
“No.”
Okay. I guess that’s all I’m getting about that. “Want to show me around?”
“Sure.” She starts to turn but stops. Looking back at me, she asks, “What did you say you did for a living?”
My turn to be evasive. “I didn’t.”
“Well. Tell me now.”
I’m not about to answer that question, so I say something to put her off. “I used to work for a construction company. In high school and some in college.”
“But you don’t actually do this kind of work now.” It’s not a question. She’s looking at my dress shirt. I think I’m glad I left my jacket in the car.
“Used to.” A hundred years ago. And to be honest, seeing this place, taking in the scent of fresh-cut wood, stain, and paint, well, it makes me miss things about it. It takes me back to some very fond memories.
“Okay. Well, let me know if you need me to explain anything.”
We start in the room where the stain incident happened. Speaking of, I had to throw away my shirt. No saving that thing.
“This was originally the office, as you can see by the built-in bookcases.”
Reaching out, I run my hand over the wood. “Oak?”
“It is. I assumed walnut or pine for this style.” She looks over her shoulder at me. “Queen Anne.”
“Ah.” I nod. I knew that because I did a little reading up on this place last night since I couldn’t fall asleep. In an attempt to sound smarter than I am, I add, “But it’s late. Less ornate than earlier examples in that style.” Verbatim from the article.
Sue me.
Seeming unfazed by my immense knowledge in the style of the house, she keeps talking. “The rotunda in this house is what drew me.” She points to the window in this room. “The glass is original. Hand blown. See the air bubbles?”
I don’t know much, but I’d bet my signed Mickey Mantle baseball that the cost to replace a curved glass window would be astronomical. I touch the trim around the window. “You already redid the trim here?”
“Yes. There was a lot of rot, but I think I’ve got that remedied. It would’ve taken me forever to reform the wood in the turret. Because of that, I’ve decided to repair rather than replace.”
“Makes sense.” I nod. And it does.
“Besides, that’s how I prefer to work. I want to restore it, not make it new.”
I nod again. “Let’s see the rest.”
