We arrive at the house, which is pretty much a mansion on a lake, putting an end to the Aaron inquisition.
I tamp down the envy as we make our way up the front steps of the lake house. It’s beyond beautiful. It’s a tough pill to swallow, being this close to a way of life that used to be mine and is no longer. I remind myself that it was all an illusion. None of it was ever truly ours. We were cash poor, lines of credit stretched thin, a facade of wealth when we were scraping the bottom of the barrel.
And even when I didn’t know that it was all a farce, I was never actually happy. Always trying to meet the expectations people laid out for me. Wanting to be perfect, be the ideal. It was never enough; no matter how hard I tried, I could never achieve the perfection I was desperate for.
The homeowner, who is the wife of an NHL player, is a woman named Stevie. She’s incredibly gracious, showing us around the house, offering us refreshments. We walk through the pool house, which is half the size of the house my dad currently lives in, and as I take in the space—huge windows looking out onto the lake, white walls and unfinished surfaces, a beautiful blank canvas—I can see it all coming together.
“Why don’t we start with flooring and favorite colors, and we can go from there?” I ask.
“Sure, we can definitely do that.” Stevie points to her pale-pink hair. “As you can see, I’m a fan of pastels.”
“All pastels, or just pink?” I ask.
“Almost all. Except for peach.”
“No peach.” I make a note in my tablet, and we talk everything from wall color to fabrics, flooring, and furniture. Dillion weighs in on things like cabinetry and flooring, but I’m the one they both look to when it comes to everything else.
It’s well past noon by the time the meeting wraps up. We plan to meet again next week, when I’ll have a floor plan, layout, and design ready.
“You’re incredible, Teagan! I had no idea you were so amazing at interior design,” Dillion says once we’re back in the truck.
“I’m not. I told you, I look at a lot of Pinterest pages.”
She shakes her head. “Stop downplaying your talents. You’ve been in the loft for less than a week, and it’s still under construction, and it already looks homey. It’s more than just looking at Pinterest pages; you have an eye for what works to bring a room together. I know you’ve already picked up a shift at Harry’s and the Town Pub, but maybe you want to come on as a design consultant? We could start with one day a week? I have to talk to my dad first, but honestly, what you just did would take me several meetings instead of one, so I can’t see him putting up a fight.”
“Sure. I can do that. But I’m also working Fridays at Bernie’s, so it’ll have to be Mondays or Tuesdays. Or a day on the weekend if that works better.”
“Bernie the town lawyer?” Dillion asks.
“Yup.”
Dillion’s eyebrows pop. “When did you get that job?”
“Yesterday.” I tap my lip, trying to remember when I stopped in there. “Or maybe the day before?”
“Wow. You’re really filling your dance card, aren’t you?”
“I’m trying a bit of everything so I can find out what I’m good at.” Most of the jobs are minimum wage, apart from Bernie’s and the pub, but for now it’s about the experience.
“If Tuesday works for you, it’s probably a good day for us, but we might need you on the occasional Saturday, if that’s okay. And we can pay you a consulting fee? I can look into what interior designers usually charge per project.”
“Sure. That works.”
Dillion pulls into the driveway and grins when she sees the Footprint Construction truck that belongs to Aaron parked in front of the garage. “Ooh, have a fun afternoon.”
I roll my eyes. “We’ll see how nice he is to me when no one else is around.” I hop out of the truck. “Thanks for letting me tag along this morning. It was fun.”
“Thank you for making my life a million times easier. See you at dinner!”
I climb the stairs to the apartment, already humming with nervous energy. I pause halfway up to take a few deep breaths, then rummage around in my purse for a pack of mints. I pop one in my mouth and climb the rest of the way. The door is propped open, and the low bass of guitar riffs filters through to greet me.
I peek through the door and am greeted by the glorious sight of Aaron’s bare back. He’s kneeling on a pad on the floor, shooting nails into baseboards. A few long white planks lie in the middle of the room on a sheet of plastic. It’s obvious that he’s trying his best not to make a mess or disturb any of my things.
I glance at the counter and smile when I notice several muffins are missing from the plate. I made banana-chocolate-chip ones this morning. Somewhat healthy, but still delicious.
I clear my throat so as not to scare the crap out of him again. When he doesn’t react, I wait until he’s finished nailing the board before I call out, “Hey there!”
He glances over his shoulder. Most of his face is obscured by the brim of his ball cap. “Oh, hey.” He unfurls from his crouched position on the floor. “I thought I’d be done before you got back. What time is it?”
“Just after noon.”
“I didn’t realize it was that late.” His gaze moves from my face down to my feet and then darts to the side, toward the kitchen counter. “Thanks for the muffins.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I shouldn’t be much longer, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“You don’t need to rush. If you’d rather, I can go up to the cottage and leave you to it.” I thumb over my shoulder, then cross my fingers behind my back, hoping he won’t take me up on that offer.
“You don’t need to do that on my account, but it’s pretty noisy work, so it’s up to you. I’ve got a few more boards to nail, and then I’ll fill the holes. Once that’s finished, I’ll get started on the door hardware so you have a bathroom door that closes properly.”
“I could help fill the nail holes?” I offer. I don’t know what all that entails, but it doesn’t sound too difficult.
“If you want, sure.” He shrugs. “It’s tedious but not hard.”
“I can deal with tedious. I’ll change, and then you can show me what I need to do.”
“Sounds good.” He grabs another board, and I head to my closet.
I grab a pair of yoga shorts and a tank top—which seem like a reasonable outfit to wear for filling nail holes. I can’t imagine it being an exceptionally dirty job. Not like painting walls.
I shove a towel in the hole where the doorknob will be so I can change. I check my reflection, apply extra deodorant, and resist the urge to dab perfume behind my ears; otherwise it means the bugs will eat me alive later. I learned that the hard way the first time I came to visit Van.
I wait until Aaron has finished nailing the board he’s working on before I interrupt again. “Okay. Ready to be put to work.” I clasp my hands behind my back so I’m not tempted to fidget.
He sets his nail gun down facing the wall and heads for his toolbox. He produces a small container, what looks like a metal spatula, and a rag.