Page 8 of Nailed

The old me wouldn't even have considered it and in fact, up until my last text exchange with Clara from the night before, the current me wasn't considering it either.

But she'd been so helpful during this whole process, and it was now thanks to her recommendation that I had the best remodeling company in the city working on my house.

The least I could do was take her up on her offer to meet.

When I arrived at the spot wearing a midi skirt, chunky sweater and knee-highs, Clara waved me down the second she saw me. She looked different out of her work clothes, younger somehow. She had on flared yoga pants, an oversized blazer and baseball cap with small gold hoop earrings.

I felt awkward as I approached her table, nervously anticipating a hug. But instead, Clara simply put a hand on my shoulder before taking her seat again.

We played out idle, casual greetings before she asked how things were going with the renovation plans.

“Good,” I said honestly. After the walk through with the guys, I had to make arrangements for the separate, general inspection that would signal one of the last hurdles before the renovation could actually begin.

“I was sorry to hear about the drama with your plumbing,” Clara said, looking and sounding genuinely sympathetic. “The agent who handled this house before me swore up and down that he had everything checked before he retired.”

“It's okay,” I shrugged. “The guys from Cornerstone already managed to get it fixed.”

Clara beamed. “They're pretty good, huh? I've only heard fantastic things about them but I was curious about how you were getting along.”

I pressed my lips together, my fingers tapping on the table. Despite it being the first thing that came to mind, I could hardly tell Clara that I found all three of the main crew members to be insanely hot. Even if we'd been lifelong friends, I wasn't sure how much of that I’d be willing to admit to anyone… Including myself when it came to a certain black-haired, leather-clad jackass.

“They're mostly very professional, especially the foreman. He seems very competent so I'm sure things will go well,” I told her diplomatically. “I have to thank you for the recommendation."

She looked happy with my answer. We chose some items off the menu and carried on with our conversation in between taking bites of pancake and scrambled eggs and maple bacon. Everything was so good.

Over the course of the meal, I learned a bit more about where Clara went to school, how she got into real estate and how long it took her to carve out a stable career to the point she could live off of it.

In return, I gave her the sanitized version of my own backstory, sharing how I got into photography and what made me move down to Chicago in the first place.

“A feeling?” she pressed in disbelief. “You packed your life into a few suitcases and moved out based on a feeling?”

“It's not like I had any real home before this,” I noted. “It wouldn't have taken much.”

“It's still brave of you,” she said, taking a sip of her mocha.

“Some might say stupid,” I replied.

“Yeah, some who are less brave.” The silence that dipped behind her words felt surprisingly comfortable. She pursed her lips. “I'd give anything to have that kind of courage, you know?"

“Are you thinking of moving out of Chicago?” I asked.

“Well, that wouldn't exactly be the most practical move, would it?” she said, her upbeat voice more subdued than usual. But then she quickly shook it off. “One day, maybe. I'd rather hear some more about the places you've traveled to.”

I wanted to tell her that it wasn't too late for her to be spontaneous, if that's what she wanted. But I wasn't sure if we were quite on that level yet. So instead, I told her about some of my favorite shoot locations and as I did, I realized that she may very well end up being my first friend here. Was that weird at all? To befriend my real estate agent?

As the conversation wore on, it dawned on me that I didn't care if it was.

Clara was funny and easy to talk to. It felt nice to be seen and heard for the first time in a long time, to feel present. And I hoped that one day, I might return the favor.

*

“These floors have obviously lost load-bearing capacity.” The inspector, a broad-shouldered man with a salt-and-pepper buzz cut drew his nose up in open disapproval. He might have looked like an active high school sports coach if not for the noticeable gut overhanging his belt.

Any nerves that his words could’ve amplified were set at ease when Brock shook his head. “Yeah, and that matters only if the floor needed to meet the weight requirement to take a 30-ton pumper truck.”

The inspector scowled but checked something off on his clipboard hard enough for me to hear the pen. This is what the entire inspection had been like so far; a push-and-pull between a man who clearly took his job too seriously, and one who was good enough at his own to know when that overzealousness would run the entire operation into stagnation.

Callum had quietly filled me in on how Brock was already not too fond of what he referred to as “DOB lackeys.” They tended to lean towards being as overly critical as possible for the sake of liability shielding, audits or sometimes just straight up reputation-building.