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She looked at the bungalow that immediately brought a secluded, and neglected, cottage to her mind.
Tucked back from the road just enough, the location suited her. Close enough to her family, but not too close. Close enough to town, but again, not too. The same with neighbors. A small lot, with plenty of trees, and if she wanted the lake, she could walk to it in a couple of minutes.
Or, in another few weeks, run.
The house itself struck her as the right size for a single woman with a demanding job who’d handle her own cleaning and yard work. Right size, right place, so she overlooked the lack of a porch, the sad brown siding, the leaky windows.
If the exterior struck her as sad, the interior hit next to desperate and teetering on ugly.
But though she hadn’t gone into the family business, she’d absorbed plenty. She saw the potential. Maybe she winced at the popcorn ceilings, but the original white oak floors made up for it. Or would after refinishing.
She’d just look down instead of up.
Over time, she thought, step-by-step she could transform it into a pretty, cozy cottage.
Resurface the brick fireplace someone had painted fire-engine red, gut the bathrooms, eventually, and the small, frozen-in-the-eighties kitchen. A little here and there—some sweat equity and a lot of paint—but she could deal with all of it.
In time.
She sat down with her father, and together they calculated what she could afford for monthly payments, mortgage, utilities, taxes.
Because she knew his level of expertise in real estate, she left the negotiations in his hands.
She made the offer, and as her father predicted, they countered. And, as he’d assured her, they met in the middle.
A little terrified, a lot excited, she signed the contract two days after Christmas. In thirty days, she’d own a house.
And in a week, she told herself, she’d take—and damn well pass—the written exam and start gearing up for her oral interview.
On New Year’s Eve, she stood firm on her parents attending their annual party at a friend’s. She didn’t feel up to that kind of socializing yet. She was perfectly happy seeing in the New Year with Mop, her studies. And maybe finishing the baby blanket.
At midnight, she toasted the New Year with a glass of wine. It would be, she promised herself, a year of change, accomplishment, and one of fully taking her life back.
“This is Day One,” she said, and drank her wine.
Nash wandered his house with a beer. Good progress, he thought. And the biggest came from new, efficient windows throughout—no small feat. Gutting the half bath and redoing even that small room top to bottom made a difference.
Robo turned out to be exactly what his aunt had outlined.
Not a real self-starter, not especially skilled, but tireless, willing, and (to his aunt’s surprise) reliable.
Like their own motto, no job was too small for Robo.
Progress in the business included a small job here, a small job there. And another, not so small, courtesy of the Coopers.
He kept the TV on in the living room to mark the end and the beginning. The screen would have to move when they tackled that room, but for now, it, the fire in the hearth, and the Christmas tree kept the holidays going.
When he looked ahead to the New Year, he saw more. A good life doing good work was what he wanted. And clearly, so did Theo. A home he enjoyed even in its current sorry state.
And the possibilities for more yet. He didn’t know what the more might be, but everything stood wide open.
As the ball began its descent, the crowd in New York counted down. His life had been there once, and now it was here, watching.
He didn’t regret any of it.
At midnight, he lifted his beer and toasted change.
“We’re ready for it.”