“They are superior in energy efficiency, noise reduction, security, UV protection, and resale value.”
“I know all that, but that wasn’t in my scope of work. I don’t have money to pay for those.”
“I didn’t ask you for money.”
He continued down the path and up the steps of her porch, then opened the front door. If she was going to have an issue with the windows, then the next ten minutes werenotgoing to go well. He braced himself. Whatever she said, however upset she got, was fine. He couldn’t have her living in an unsafe home. Her or his child.
“The front door.” She pointed at it as she walked through it and stepped into her new foyer. “It’s a new front door.”
Her expression was one he couldn’t quite put his finger on. She looked around in a state of disbelief. He tried to put himself in her shoes. Where there once had been a dividing wall between the living area and kitchen, now a wide expanse of unbroken space greeted her, bright and airy, the bare studs and dated drywall replaced by smooth, freshly painted surfaces in a shade of sunlight-drenched off-white. The soles of her sneakers stepped on what had been a patchwork of peeling linoleum and tired, stained carpet, now unified by wide-plank, honeyed oak flooring that gleamed under the new recessed lighting, splashing luminous puddles across every corner of the room.
He followed her as she walked into the kitchen and watched as she cataloged the changes. Overhead, an array of perfectly aligned can lights turned the once-gloomy galley into a stage. She walked along the new island, running her finger across ten-foot of custom cabinetry in soft matte navy, replacing the mismatched, warped doors. Gleaming hardware of brushed gold finish glistened off the sunlight spilling in through accordion doors. The counter was no longer a relic of some distant, Formica-clad era but quartz, cool and solid, with an undermountsink and a pulldown faucet. New appliances, stainless and efficient, lined up along the wall like obedient, shining soldiers.
From the kitchen, she entered the great room. He heard the gasp when she saw the built-in shelves flanking the fireplace he’d installed.
She turned to him, staring in stunned silence before finally her voice—thin, disbelieving—found its way out. “When?”
“In the morning.”
“The morning? You’ve been coming over every morning?”
“Yes.”
“I thought you said you go visit your Yaya every morning.”
“I do.”
“What time do you wake up?”
“Three.”
“What time do you go to bed?”
“Eleven.”
“Eleven,” Poppy spoke in unison, remembering what he’d told her.
She looked around, and he saw her adding up the dollar signs in her head. She walked past him, and he heard her going into the bedrooms and bathrooms down the hall. Both of the bathrooms were going to be totally renovated. Right now, they were completely torn out, just a shell of subfloor and studs.
When she came back into the room, said, “I was going to do a cosmetic makeover on this house. This isn’t a minor touch-up like Botox. This isn’t even a full-on facelift. This is the home renovation equivalent of a BBL, boob job, and tummy tuck.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that.
“Did you hire people?” she asked. “Of course you did. You could not have done this all on your own.”
“The house wasn’t safe.”
“I don’t have money?—”
“I didn’t ask you for money.”
She placed her hand over her stomach. “You shouldn’t have…we haven’t talked about this, but there’s no guarantee that?—”
“I did this foryou,” he clarified. “You can’t live in an unsafe house.”
“But the finishes, how did you know…the finishes?”
“Your Pinterest.”
