A restoration project sounds like the distraction I need while I figure out what the hell I’m doing in this small, sleepy town. And sure, I’ll have to make friends beyond Natasha eventually, but… this feels like a decent start.
“Can we see the upstairs now?” I ask, trying to move things along.
The realtor points to a staircase tucked behind the dining room, connecting to the living room. It’s gorgeous in ahaunted house, please-don’t-kill-me-in-my-sleepkind of way. It looks like something straight out of a movie set where the woman in distress would swing down the staircase singing a sad song and missing her lover who’s passed onto the beyond.
“I bet the ghosts love living here,” I whisper to Memphis as wewalk toward the steps.
“Be nice, Aly. You don’thaveto live here. You’rechoosingto,” he reminds me in a quiet voice.
I draw in a breath, trying not to focus on all the house’s problems—or my own—and look for the silver lining. Like the carpet on the stairs. It’s notasstained as the carpet in the living room is. Progress, right? And the fact that if a ghost does indeed live here, I’ll be able to tell him I’m already friends with the one living in my grandmother’s house, a couple streets down. Ghost neighbors. Or cousins or something, I guess.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. But it needs a lot of work,” I whisper.
He nods his head solemnly as I step onto the first stair, my socked feet sinking into the hideous green carpet that sweeps up the staircase. Why Natasha insisted I take my shoes off before walking in—a directive sheboldedin her text to me—is beyond me. The place is blanketed in dust, reeks of mothballs and mold, and the furniture looks like it’s been here since the ’70s.
“Did the previous owners tell Natasha they’d be leaving their furniture behind?”
The realtor flips through some paperwork in her hands and shrugs. “It’s not in the contract, but these things do happen.”
I grip the banister for balance, trying not to pull it completely out of the floor as it wobbles under my hand. The stairs creak and groan with every step, but I manage to make it to the top without busting my ass. Small victories. At least I know not to rush down the steps if I hear someone at the door.
“Okay, so there are four bedrooms,” she says, as Memphis and I trail behind her. “That’s great if Natasha wants to rent out any of the others to make some extra cash...”
“Oh, perfect.” I try to sound positive, but adding more roommates to the mix doesn’t sound appealing right now.
“Well…” The realtor glances at me over her shoulder, her voice dropping into that overly sweet, pitying tone. “Shemightchange her mind when she sees how much her mortgage is. Just renting out one of these rooms could probably cover the entire payment and let her live here for free. I saw what she’s charging you; that’s very generous of her.”
Ouch. Message received loud and clear. She thinks I’m ripping Natasha off by what I’m paying her in rent.
I force a tight-lipped smile and blow my dark, curtain bangs that I’ve been growing out of my face before tucking them behind my ears. I can feel my cheeks pinking up from embarrassment, but I try not to let her see. Between teaching at the elementary school, my occasional bartending shifts, and clawing my way out from under my divorce lawyer’s bill, it’s all I can afford. And Natasha gets it. I’ll make it up to her someday.
I push open the door to what I assume is the primary bedroom. The air smells stale, and every surface is covered in a thin layer of dust. The bed frame is stripped bare, the mattress beneath it is boasting someverysuspicious stains. It’s a disaster, to put it mildly.
“Please tell me the owners are covering the cost for us to haul this furniture out of here after she closes?” I ask, my voice laced with desperation.
The realtor’s tight-lipped expression says it all. They aren’t.Fantastic.
Pinching the bridge of my nose, I step further into the room and veer toward the bathroom. At least this space has potential.
There’s an old, deep soaker tub with claw feet, the kind you’d see on a Pinterest board titledDream Antique Bathrooms. It looks pristine, as if no one’s ever bothered to use it which is a win. The floor-to-ceiling window next to it overlooks the backyard, and—holy hell.
The view. Dammit this view is worth the ghosts andmothballs.
I move closer to the glass, my boots leaving faint prints across the dusty floorboards. Outside, a broken dock juts into the lake, but even in its’ sorry state, the scene is simply breathtaking. The water stretches everywhere, framed by a patchwork of snow on the banks from last week’s storm. Ducks sit in the middle of the lake like tiny guardians, and other homes dot the shoreline, their matching docks stretching into the blue.
“This is… beautiful,” I murmur softly.
The realtor nods knowingly. “The lake is the selling point for just about every house in Brookhaven and the fact that this bedroom has a balcony makes it even more special. Most of the older homes around the lake don’t have this.”
I press open on the very rusty door handle and step out onto the balcony but not before Memphis pulls me back. “Let’s make sure the beam holding that thing up is still stable before you go walking out there.”
Good point.
For the first time, I get it. Natasha’s impulsive decision to purchase this fixer-upper might be smarter than I gave her credit for. It makes sense now.
Way to go, girl.
“And this part of town is safe for a single woman to live in?” Memphis asks, stepping up beside me.
