neighborhood was family-oriented and safe.
She headed up the walk and as she stepped up onto the porch, the front door opened and a woman appeared to greet her.
“Hi. Caroline?”
“Carrie,” she said, shaking her hand.
“I’m Terri. Come on in.” Like her husband, Terri was tall and dark. She was also very attractive in an athletic, tomboyish way, and not at all the sort of woman she would have pictured Nick with. “Drop your coat anywhere and I’ll give you a tour.”
Carrie’s first impression, as she stepped inside and shrugged out of her coat, was beige . Beige walls, beige carpet, beige leather furniture. Even the lamps were beige. And the air smelled like pine cleaner.
“As you can see, I left almost everything here when I moved into Nick’s place,” she said. “It’s nothing fancy.”
Carrie draped her coat over the back of the sofa beside Terri’s and set her purse on top. “It’s nice.”
“According to Nick, to say I have the decorating sense of a brick is an insult to bricks.”
“I’m no decorating genius either. I paid someone to do my place in Los Angeles. This is simple. Elegant.”
“It’s boring,” Terri said. “And if you don’t like it, don’t be afraid to say so. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
She wasn’t looking for anything fancy. Just something functional and low-maintenance that wouldn’t break the bank. “So far so good.”
Terri looked surprised. “You want to see more?”
“Absolutely.” She could hate the rest of the condo and she would probably rent it anyway rather than hurt Terri’s feelings.
Carrie had a way of reading people, and her first impression of Terri was that she had a tough outer shell but was soft and vulnerable on the inside.
The master suite had slightly more color. A queen-size bed with a pale rose duvet, a chest of drawers in a warm honey pine and a roomy walk-in closet that led to a very clean—and yes, beige—en suite bathroom that smelled of bleach and glass cleaner. The only color was pale pink towels and a pink bath mat. The countertops and walls were bare.
“There are towels, sheets…everything you’ll need in the linen closet. I just changed the sheets on the bed and scrubbed the bathroom.” Terri smiled sheepishly. “I’m slightly fanatical about keeping things clean and tidy.”
“Linen closet?” Carrie asked, gesturing to a pair of louvered doors.
“Laundry.” She pulled the doors open to show Carrie a stacked washer and dryer.
“Nice.” She didn’t miss the days before she had money, when she had to haul her dirty laundry down three flights of stairs and either sit in a dingy little laundry room down below the building in the parking structure, or drive two miles to the nearest Laundromat.
The second bedroom was set up as an office, with a desk, bookcase, file cabinet and printer stand. Again, nothing fancy, but very functional, and the window overlooked a postage-stamp-sized backyard.
“This is perfect,” she told Terri.
“This room, you mean?”
“No, the whole place. It’s exactly what I need.”
“You really think so?”
“I do. Can I see the kitchen?”
“Of course. Right this way.”
The kitchen, which was—surprise—also on the pale side, was as clean and organized as the rest of the house, and separated by a wall from the living space. She preferred a more open concept, but how much time would she be spending there really?
“I don’t cook, so it’s not very impressive,” Terri said. “Just your basic pots and pans, dishes and utensils.”
“I don’t cook very often either,” Carrie told her. “I like to, but I never have the time. I typically work eighty-hour weeks.”
“I used to be like that, too, but my ob-gyn thinks all the stress is screwing with my cycle, and we’re trying to get pregnant. So, I cut my hours way back. Used to be, when you opened the freezer it was full of frozen dinners. Thank goodness for husbands who love to cook. Although I’ve gained
She headed up the walk and as she stepped up onto the porch, the front door opened and a woman appeared to greet her.
“Hi. Caroline?”
“Carrie,” she said, shaking her hand.
“I’m Terri. Come on in.” Like her husband, Terri was tall and dark. She was also very attractive in an athletic, tomboyish way, and not at all the sort of woman she would have pictured Nick with. “Drop your coat anywhere and I’ll give you a tour.”
Carrie’s first impression, as she stepped inside and shrugged out of her coat, was beige . Beige walls, beige carpet, beige leather furniture. Even the lamps were beige. And the air smelled like pine cleaner.
“As you can see, I left almost everything here when I moved into Nick’s place,” she said. “It’s nothing fancy.”
Carrie draped her coat over the back of the sofa beside Terri’s and set her purse on top. “It’s nice.”
“According to Nick, to say I have the decorating sense of a brick is an insult to bricks.”
“I’m no decorating genius either. I paid someone to do my place in Los Angeles. This is simple. Elegant.”
“It’s boring,” Terri said. “And if you don’t like it, don’t be afraid to say so. You won’t hurt my feelings.”
She wasn’t looking for anything fancy. Just something functional and low-maintenance that wouldn’t break the bank. “So far so good.”
Terri looked surprised. “You want to see more?”
“Absolutely.” She could hate the rest of the condo and she would probably rent it anyway rather than hurt Terri’s feelings.
Carrie had a way of reading people, and her first impression of Terri was that she had a tough outer shell but was soft and vulnerable on the inside.
The master suite had slightly more color. A queen-size bed with a pale rose duvet, a chest of drawers in a warm honey pine and a roomy walk-in closet that led to a very clean—and yes, beige—en suite bathroom that smelled of bleach and glass cleaner. The only color was pale pink towels and a pink bath mat. The countertops and walls were bare.
“There are towels, sheets…everything you’ll need in the linen closet. I just changed the sheets on the bed and scrubbed the bathroom.” Terri smiled sheepishly. “I’m slightly fanatical about keeping things clean and tidy.”
“Linen closet?” Carrie asked, gesturing to a pair of louvered doors.
“Laundry.” She pulled the doors open to show Carrie a stacked washer and dryer.
“Nice.” She didn’t miss the days before she had money, when she had to haul her dirty laundry down three flights of stairs and either sit in a dingy little laundry room down below the building in the parking structure, or drive two miles to the nearest Laundromat.
The second bedroom was set up as an office, with a desk, bookcase, file cabinet and printer stand. Again, nothing fancy, but very functional, and the window overlooked a postage-stamp-sized backyard.
“This is perfect,” she told Terri.
“This room, you mean?”
“No, the whole place. It’s exactly what I need.”
“You really think so?”
“I do. Can I see the kitchen?”
“Of course. Right this way.”
The kitchen, which was—surprise—also on the pale side, was as clean and organized as the rest of the house, and separated by a wall from the living space. She preferred a more open concept, but how much time would she be spending there really?
“I don’t cook, so it’s not very impressive,” Terri said. “Just your basic pots and pans, dishes and utensils.”
“I don’t cook very often either,” Carrie told her. “I like to, but I never have the time. I typically work eighty-hour weeks.”
“I used to be like that, too, but my ob-gyn thinks all the stress is screwing with my cycle, and we’re trying to get pregnant. So, I cut my hours way back. Used to be, when you opened the freezer it was full of frozen dinners. Thank goodness for husbands who love to cook. Although I’ve gained
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