I point to the roof over the porch. “This structure is very old. And I can’t see what’s under those panels yet. But based on what I can see from here, it won’t safely support the weight of a swing and two people.”
Her face falls and her shoulders dip for a second before she catches herself, smoothing it out like it never happened.
“I don’t want to put something here that could hurt someone,” I add.
“Okay,” she says, nodding once.
“But talk to me about the rest of it,” I say, tilting my head toward the porch under our feet. “If the swing’s off the table for now, what’s your plan for the space itself?”
She straightens her posture, relief threading back into her expression. “I’d like to refinish the entire thing: clean white slats and wider posts. I’m going for the classic but polished look.”
I shrug. “Polished often means expensive. It also means impractical.”
“Practicality isn’t the goal for the porch,Tucker.” She says my name with a warning tone. “A welcoming beauty is what I’m going for. You can tell a lot about the inside of the house from the outside.”
I hold up my hands in defense. “I get that. All I’m saying is we should consider using treated lumber.”
She exhales, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “Do you ever stop arguing with me?”
“Nope. It’s part of my charm.” I wink.
“You’re insufferable.”
I lean in close, and the faint smell of coffee and vanilla hits my senses. I let it linger before I cover the mic on my shirt with one hand and let the other rest on the small of her back. “Yeah, but you secretly love it,” I whisper.
She doesn’t step away from where my hand rests on her back, but turns to look directly into the camera. “Like I was saying, this porch is one of my favorite spots,” she continues, her voice steady. “I want to create a place that feels cozy yet welcoming. A place where someone can sit, enjoy their coffee, and just breathe in the fresh air.”
The cameras cut out for a moment as Andrea tells us we’re going to head inside now. I don’t register much of anything she’s saying because the only thing I’m thinking about is how I can’t seem to keep my hands off Scottie, and how she’snotpushing me away.
And right now, I’m taking every minute I can.
Because standing next to her, watching her talk about bringing light to something broken, and turning this old house into something worth saving…
It makes me wonder if I could be saved.
She wants this house to represent second chances.
And maybe I do, too.
The camera crew follows us in as we head through the front door. Dust fills the air as we walk through, kicking up everything in the process.
I’ve thought about the inside of this place a dozen or so times whenever I came to this property for quiet and to look at the stars. I built this image in my head that the inside was perfectly put together, and it was just the outside that was weathered. But standing here now, I realize there was never anything to preserve. It’s hollow—like someone packed up the memories of the place and left the shell behind.
I understand that more than I’d like to admit.
I follow Scottie through the house, stepping carefully over the warped floorboards.
Once we enter the open living space, Scottie stops and faces the camera. “This is the living room. It has great bones, but I want to open up this wall,” she says, tapping the one to the side of her. “It will create a more open-floor concept, and I’d also like to add custom built-ins around the fireplace with modern lighting,” she says moving around the space. Then she stops in the middle and points a finger at the ceiling—and I cringe. “And most definitely investigate the water damage in the ceiling before replacing any drywall.”
The longer I stare at the ceiling, I wonder if any second now will be the moment it decides to give way and fall on top of everyone in this room. It looks dangerous. It looks ready to cave.
She finishes by telling the camera about the type of couch she can see and where she would place a TV before crossing the room and heading toward the archway leading into the next room.
“As you can see, this is the kitchen.”
The tone in her voice pulls my attention away from the mustard yellow scattered around the space and onto her. The lasttime I saw this exact look on her face was back in San Francisco. It’s one that radiates pure joy.
“If you can’t tell, it’s a total gut job. It’s wildly outdated with mismatched cabinets and old linoleum flooring. But even with it looking likethis…there’s something about a kitchen that makes me feel alive.” She pauses, looking around and closing her eyes as if she envisions everything in this one space. I’m transfixed by the way she looks right now that I can’t tear my eyes away. “When you think of a family gathering, it’s usually in a space like this. Everyone surrounding the island and enjoying appetizers over the holidays.”
