another luxury my new life would no longer allow. I put on some lip gloss and smacked my lips together.
At four o’clock I was back at my loom, hurrying to the window every time I heard a car. By six o’clock, I’d concluded that Matthew would not be arriving today. I was sure that any minute he would call to tell me he’d get here tomorrow instead. I had just resumed weaving when the doorbell rang. I slipped my shoes back on, hurried over with a beaming smile and flung open the door.
“Oh, er, hi.” I tried to cover my surprise. It wasn’t Matthew but David Swanson.
“Hi there, I hope I’m not too early?” I gave myself a mental head thump as I remembered our house-hunting appointment. He gave me a quick once-over, his eyes lingering at the edge of my short dress. “Wow. You look great.”
“Thanks,” I said, hoping he didn’t think I’d dressed up for him.
I glanced at my watch, feigning shock. “Is it six thirty already? Sorry, I was weaving, and time just flew by. Let me grab my purse and I’ll be right with you.” Winston followed me expectantly. “Sorry, Winnie. You’ll have to stay here.” Under his reproachful glare, I closed the kitchen door and hurried back to the front.
A minute later David helped me into his Volvo and we took off.
“The first place I want you to see is half a mile down the street. It’s a little house very similar to Matthew’s. You could set up the front rooms for your business, the same way you’re set up now.”
“How much is the rent?”
“The owner is asking five hundred a month for a minimum two-year lease. That’s low even by Briar Hollow standards.” He slowed to a stop in front of a ratty-looking place. “Here we are.”
I took in the house, its peeling paint and rickety front porch. “Good grief, it sure needs a ton of work.” But for all its neglect, enough charm and character filtered through to make me think it was a possibility. I hopped out of the car and hurried across the street, as fast as my stilettos allowed. David unlocked the front door and we walked in.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much junk.” I was startled at the amount of furniture in the room. It was so crowded with old bric-a-brac that I could hardly visualize how it would look once it was cleared of everything. I took a few steps, wondering how I was going to make my way through without getting dust all over my sexy dress.
Next to me, David nodded grimly. “Tell me about it. I’ve been begging the owner to get rid of everything for months, but he lives out of state and doesn’t want to be bothered. Too much old stuff only makes the place less attractive to prospective buyers.”
I wandered farther into the house, sidestepping an old table piled high with chairs, almost stumbling on a rocker. Upon closer inspection, I realized the furniture wasn’t junk. It was just worn. A fresh coat of paint, a few sanded edges, and it could be transformed into perfectly attractive and serviceable shabby chic.
I walked through the rooms, noting the original tongue-and-groove walls, the scalloped trim in the fifties kitchen, the small maid’s room at the back. On the second floor, I was pleasantly surprised at the claw-foot tub in the tiny bathroom.
“Does the house come furnished?” I asked, as an idea began forming in my mind. Instead of buying new furniture, I could refinish the pieces I needed. If I could paint walls, surely I could paint furniture. However, I’d hate to go to the trouble unless I owned it. “I’m not sure about the house, but I have an idea. If the owner wants to get rid of all this furniture, I might be interested in buying it.”
David’s eyes lit up. “I think that could be arranged. I know he doesn’t want any of it. The only reason it’s still here is that he doesn’t want to pay for movers. I can probably get it for you for free.”
“It’ll depend on whether I move or not. I haven’t quite made up my mind just yet. Anyhow, I’ll
At four o’clock I was back at my loom, hurrying to the window every time I heard a car. By six o’clock, I’d concluded that Matthew would not be arriving today. I was sure that any minute he would call to tell me he’d get here tomorrow instead. I had just resumed weaving when the doorbell rang. I slipped my shoes back on, hurried over with a beaming smile and flung open the door.
“Oh, er, hi.” I tried to cover my surprise. It wasn’t Matthew but David Swanson.
“Hi there, I hope I’m not too early?” I gave myself a mental head thump as I remembered our house-hunting appointment. He gave me a quick once-over, his eyes lingering at the edge of my short dress. “Wow. You look great.”
“Thanks,” I said, hoping he didn’t think I’d dressed up for him.
I glanced at my watch, feigning shock. “Is it six thirty already? Sorry, I was weaving, and time just flew by. Let me grab my purse and I’ll be right with you.” Winston followed me expectantly. “Sorry, Winnie. You’ll have to stay here.” Under his reproachful glare, I closed the kitchen door and hurried back to the front.
A minute later David helped me into his Volvo and we took off.
“The first place I want you to see is half a mile down the street. It’s a little house very similar to Matthew’s. You could set up the front rooms for your business, the same way you’re set up now.”
“How much is the rent?”
“The owner is asking five hundred a month for a minimum two-year lease. That’s low even by Briar Hollow standards.” He slowed to a stop in front of a ratty-looking place. “Here we are.”
I took in the house, its peeling paint and rickety front porch. “Good grief, it sure needs a ton of work.” But for all its neglect, enough charm and character filtered through to make me think it was a possibility. I hopped out of the car and hurried across the street, as fast as my stilettos allowed. David unlocked the front door and we walked in.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much junk.” I was startled at the amount of furniture in the room. It was so crowded with old bric-a-brac that I could hardly visualize how it would look once it was cleared of everything. I took a few steps, wondering how I was going to make my way through without getting dust all over my sexy dress.
Next to me, David nodded grimly. “Tell me about it. I’ve been begging the owner to get rid of everything for months, but he lives out of state and doesn’t want to be bothered. Too much old stuff only makes the place less attractive to prospective buyers.”
I wandered farther into the house, sidestepping an old table piled high with chairs, almost stumbling on a rocker. Upon closer inspection, I realized the furniture wasn’t junk. It was just worn. A fresh coat of paint, a few sanded edges, and it could be transformed into perfectly attractive and serviceable shabby chic.
I walked through the rooms, noting the original tongue-and-groove walls, the scalloped trim in the fifties kitchen, the small maid’s room at the back. On the second floor, I was pleasantly surprised at the claw-foot tub in the tiny bathroom.
“Does the house come furnished?” I asked, as an idea began forming in my mind. Instead of buying new furniture, I could refinish the pieces I needed. If I could paint walls, surely I could paint furniture. However, I’d hate to go to the trouble unless I owned it. “I’m not sure about the house, but I have an idea. If the owner wants to get rid of all this furniture, I might be interested in buying it.”
David’s eyes lit up. “I think that could be arranged. I know he doesn’t want any of it. The only reason it’s still here is that he doesn’t want to pay for movers. I can probably get it for you for free.”
“It’ll depend on whether I move or not. I haven’t quite made up my mind just yet. Anyhow, I’ll
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