“What about the outbuilding?” she asked, nodding toward the low structure beyond.
“That’s the real prize,” Kara said. “Come on.”
The outbuilding had a concrete floor and three broad bays, each with its own roll-up door. Inside, old shelves lined the walls; a workbench sagged under the weight of rusted tools.
Hank’s eyes lit up. “This,” he said. “This is where my heart lives now.”
Bree laughed. “The shop at home,” she said.
“Exactly,” he said. “We could set up bikes here, do small jobs on the side when we’re not at the warehouse. Or just keep all the personal projects out of your way.”
She walked the length of the space, fingertips trailing over the worn wood of the workbench. The idea of coming out here late at night, mug of tea in hand, while Hank fussed over some stubborn engine part, warmed something deep in her.
“Could I have a corner?” she asked.
“You can have half,” he said.
“Corner’s fine,” she replied. “A little table, some storage. A place to work on messy experiments I don’t want near the studio. Sculptures. Large canvases. Things that get… splattery.”
He grinned. “You planning on splattering the barn?” he asked.
“Maybe,” she said. “You won’t know until it’s too late.”
Kara looked between them, something like fondness on her face. “I like seeing people fall a little bit in love with a place,” she said. “You’re both doing that thing with your eyes.”
“What thing?” Bree asked, startled.
“The one where you’re already hanging curtains in your head,” Kara said. “And figuring out where the coffee maker goes.”
Bree felt a blush creep up her neck. “Rude,” she said.
“Accurate,” Hank murmured.
They sat at the rickety kitchen table with Kara, running numbers.
“The asking price is here,” Kara said, pointing at the tablet. “But based on days on market and the inspections we’ve seen so far, we might be able to come in a little under. You’ll need to factor in immediate repairs; roof work within the next five years, some electrical updates, cosmetic stuff.”
Bree thought about her accountant’s voice: calm and practical. About the tightened margins on the warehouse if the board dragged their feet. About the way her chest had opened up while walking through the house and barn.
“We can do it,” Hank said. “If we’re smart. Cut back on some non-essentials this year. Eat more frozen pizza and less restaurant sushi.”
“You don’t like sushi,” she said.
“I was trying to sound sophisticated,” he replied.
She studied the line labeled monthly payment. It was a lot. And also… not insurmountable. Not compared to what her old rent had been in the city for a shoebox with mystery stains.
“When do you have to decide?” Kara asked. “The sellers are motivated; they’ve already relocated upstate. They’d like an offer sooner rather than later, but they’re not in full panic mode yet. If you want this, we can put in an offer tonight with a financing contingency and an inspection clause. You’ll have outs if the house turns out to be secretly infested with raccoons.”
“Is that a thing here?” Hank asked.
“Only on Tuesdays,” Kara deadpanned.
Bree met Hank’s eyes across the table.
“We’re already in deep with the warehouse,” she said. “We’ve got the board hearing in two weeks. We’re talking about taking on a mortgage on top of construction loans, permits, insurance…”
“I know,” he said. “If it’s too much, we walk away. We keep looking.”
