But I didn’t need to worry. I giggle at the flood of smiley face emoticons she sends back after my comment. “So, you’re gonna do it?” Grace fires back.
“Fingers crossed.” I type. I eye my bedroom door, praying my mom doesn’t peek in and ask what I’m doing. I’m not ready to tell her my best friend is coercing me to fly the coop. I look back at the tablet and type, “It’s a bit of a fixer upper, but I’m committed to making whatever repairs have to be made.”
“By yourself?”
“Can’t be too hard, right? I know my way around a hammer and nails. It’s not like I haven’t watched about a million DIY shows.” As I’m chatting, I pick up the phone and dial the number to my bank, knowing they’ll be closing soon. I want to schedule an appointment with a loan officer before I lose my nerve. “Hello, I’m trying to get in touch with someone about buying a house?” I hold my breath as the chirpy representative quickly connects me to the right department.
Grace chats back, “I just get a funny feeling when I look at this pic, homie. I can’t tell if it’s a good feeling or a bad one, but my psychic senses are tingling.”
“Your psychic senses foresee nothing but great shindigs and good times,” I type back with a grin.
“This is Whitley with Premier Banking. How may I assist you?”
“Hi, Whitley!” I answer breathlessly. “Actually, I don’t know exactly where to start. I’m hoping you can guide me through the process. I’m looking into buying a house, and I wanted to see if I can prequalify.”
“Certainly. Do you already have an account with us?”
“Yes.” I give her my full name and account details as I type into the chat box to Grace, “TTYL. I’m on the phone with the bank.”
“Kudos!” she responds. “Call me after.”
I hop up from my bed to lock my bedroom door. Once I’m sure Mom won’t walk in on me, I sit on the window seat and listen intently as the loan officer explains the basics of the process. “For starters, we need to know how large a down payment you can make, your credit score, and we’ll be looking at your income from work.”
“I’ll probably pay more than half upfront,” I say. “I have the money, as you can see. But as for the rest…I don’t have a job,” I reply.
The loan officer pauses. “It will really help if you can show gainful employment. But, the best thing for you to do is come in and talk with me so we can see what you qualify for.”
“That would be great. When are you available? I, uh, kinda want to move fast, and I’m pretty sure I can show proof of income when the time comes.”
“Well, if you can, I don’t think you’re going to have any problems, Ms. Schneider. I can schedule you for Monday of next week.”
That’ll give me a whole week to beg everyone I know to get me hired on someplace. If that's all it takes to show I’m employed, then it's no problem. “Perfect.” A few minutes later I hang up the phone with a sense of relief. I know I’m almost at the point of no return, and I haven’t balked yet. I can’t believe I’m actually setting things in motion. Letting out a girlish squeal, I lean back on the window seat and kick my legs up with delight. “You’re gonna be a homeowner, Kitrina Schneider!” I let that sink in before hitting my contact list for Grace’s number.
“What’d they say?” she answers.
“I need a job. Like, ASAP.”
“Oh, cool, you can come to Devil in the Details with me. Is that all you’ll need to get the house?” she asks incredulously.
“Obviously, I have to put a chunk of money down, but I can do that. We have to see what I qualify for, but it’s apparently a job is the next step. Who do I need to talk to at the home décor store?”
“I’ll tell Hank, my manager, that you’ll be coming in to apply. He’ll be happy to have you ‘cause we need all the help we can get right now. Things get haywire around this time of the year because of the back to back holidays—Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s. You’d be surprised at the amount of folks who buy all that seasonal crap.”
“You’ll put in a good word for me?”
“What? In a heartbeat. Hang tight, I’ll text him now.” A brief space of time passes before she says, “Done. He says give him a call before you come. I’m sending you the office number.”
Devil in the Details is a home décor store in a ritzy shopping center I’ve passed about a billion times on my way home and never given a second glance, but as I walk into the fragrant-smelling boutique and take a look around at the brilliant furniture and accent pieces, I feel like I’m in heaven. The shop is laid out like a designer’s wet dream! Displays of artwork, floral arrangements, mirrors and rugs draw my gaze around the floor, and the heavy scent of potpourri sachets makes the experience sensual and lush. The textures and colors make me want to whip out my sketchbook and plan out every room in my future house, but I don’t have time to play decorator. I’m here for a job interview.
The minute I’m sitting in Hank’s back office and he asks me why I’m the woman for the job, I say point blank: “Interior design is my life. It’s my major, and what I bring to the table is actual knowledge of the design industry…Plus, I really, really just love this store! I can’t believe I’ve never been in here before now. I don’t think I ever want to leave!”
A half hour later, I walk back out the newest employee on the team. I flash two thumbs up at Grace over at the register before I dart out the door and back to my Fiat, knowing she’ll be calling me as soon as her evening shift is over. Assignment one of Home Buying 101 is complete. I got the job. Next up, taking it to the bank!
Chapter 5
KITRINA
“Ready?” I ask nervously. I can hear the tremor in my voice.
“Kitrina Anne, it’s your birthday, not mine, darling. What’s all this blindfolds nonsense?” Mom asks, laughing as I cover her eyes and guide her to my car.
“Whoops, watch your step. I know it’s my birthday, but Grace and I have a surprise for you, Mom.” In the backseat, Grace squirms—she's completely against the whole idea of breaking it to my mom this way. I hate dragging her into what’s sure to be a fiery explosion, but I’m too scared to do it on my own.
Things had happened so quickly, like an avalanche rumbling out of control, instead of anything I orchestrated on my own. It had taken several meetings with the loan officer, but by the week before my twentieth birthday, I had signed the papers for the house in Western Addition, qualifying for more than enough to make whatever minor renovations would be needed.
It’s a foggy Saturday morning past the windshield. I take a steadying breath and crank up the car, driving the twenty minutes or so, not counting traffic, across the city to my humble new abode. “Keep your eyes closed,” I caution, as I pull up to the curbside in front of my new house. Nervous or not, I beam up at the house proudly.
Tucked in a row of similar appearing homes, mine is a faded shade of olive green that could use a new coat of paint but otherwise looks historic and charming. It boasts an octagonal turret at the front west corner, a shallow porch up a high flight of front steps and a small Victorian balcony on the upper level. It’s the little extras that sold me—the gingerbread trim and double-hung windows. Although there’s no yard to speak of, the view looks out over the rolling green hills of a park, and I can’t wait to put chairs on the balcony so I can sit and enjoy. For the money, the house is more than worth it. “We’re here!” Grace has the keys in her pocket, and I run around to the other side of the car to help Mom out.
“This is getting ridiculous, Kit. Can I take off this blindfold now?”
“Just be patient, Mom. I want to show you something.”
Grace and I walk her up the tall steps and across the springy boards of the porch to the door, and I know Mother hears the jangle of keys, but there’s no way she has any idea what’s really happening. As soon as the door opens, however, I pull away the blindfold. “Ta-da!” I shout. My eyes dart to Grace, who stands back with a tense look on her face, eyes
squinted and nose scrunched. She’s waiting for the fireworks.
Mom just takes a look around the empty foyer, then takes a few steps further into the house so she can see the living room. “What’s this?” she asks in a polite voice, staring at me quizzically.
“This,” I say, steeling myself, “is my new house. I bought it.”
Candace shakes her head in absolute bewilderment. “Are you kidding me?”
“Nope. I did it all by myself. I wanted to show you I’m ready to do things on my own now.”
“Kitrina Anne Schneider, how did you even manage to pull this off?” I delude myself into thinking there’s a hint of pride in her voice, but I can’t fully convince myself of that. The angry cant of her head, hands on her hips, gives it away that she’s absolutely livid with me. “Did you waste your entire savings on this dump?”
I drop my head. Grace steps up behind me and rubs my back. “Mrs. Schneider, this is a foreclosed home. She didn’t buy it at market value.”
“Even at a bargain, I hardly think this house was worth whatever she sunk into it. Kitrina, I can’t fathom why you went behind my back and did this, but here’s hoping you didn’t screw yourself.” Mom yanks her cellphone out of her purse and starts dialing a number. “I want to show you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m calling an inspector. This place probably has all sorts of unseen problems, and you’re too naïve to have gotten it inspected on your own before buying. I know it.”
I open my mouth to counter that statement, but she’s right. It didn’t occur to me to have the place inspected before signing papers and making it mine. Suddenly, I look around and see the dusty paneled walls of the living room and old-fashioned appliances in the kitchen as just the tip of the iceberg. I gnaw nervously on my bottom lip as she talks into the phone to one of her friends. “Yeah, Nance. I need Bill to come out and take a look at something for me. Is he available?”
And, just like that, my dream house starts to look like a nightmare. Grace leans toward me and whispers, “I told you my psychic senses were tingling.” I blow out an exasperated sigh, wondering just how bad the damage might really be.
* * *
The silent dining room reminds me of the calm before the storm. I peek up from the unappetizing tuna salad in front of me to see what Mom is doing. She’s glaring at me. I drop my gaze.
“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she says after a beat.
“Mom, how was I supposed to know there would be wiring issues or problems with the pipes?”
“By not assuming you know everything. By asking. You just better be glad Bill didn’t condemn the property outright, and I’ll have you know he did that as a favor to me,” she replies tersely.
I shrug sadly. “Buying a house seemed like a good idea. I thought I could fix it up and make it something beautiful.”
“No, it was a foolhardy idea, Kit! When are you going to wake up? So, you decided on a whim you wanted to buy a house, you found one, and you forked over nearly all your savings for it, but you didn’t do any research into how to spot the hidden dangers or what it takes to be a homeowner. You didn’t even do any research into the piece of crap you paid good money for. This is a prime example of how irresponsible and immature you are, Kitrina. This is what I mean when I say you’re a dreamer.”
“I’m not just a dreamer! I made my dream come true, didn’t I?” Mom throws up her hands and shakes her head at me, and the look of disappointment in her eyes confuses me. “Mom, you see me as immature, but I’m trying to show you I’m adult. I am twenty years old now, okay? I have to make decisions for my life, and you can’t begrudge me that. You don’t think the house was worth it, but I do.”
“Twenty.” She smiles as if I’ve just said I’m two. “Look, we’ll use this as a lesson on how to salvage what we can of a terrible decision. I’ll front you the money to flip the property and put it back on the market. Hopefully it won’t be a total loss.”
“Mom!”
She looks up at me with icy blue eyes that brook no argument. “As soon as it sells, you’ll pay me back the money I’m investing to fix this mess. You want to prove your adulthood? Take ownership of what you’ve done. You screwed up…. Now I have to find someone to take on the renovation.”
The lump in my throat feels big enough to choke me. I fight the tears that threaten to fall. I feel so beaten and defeated that all I can do is nod at first and try to swallow past the urge to cry. “No, I’ll do it,” I croak, clearing my throat before trying to speak again. “May I be excused?”
Without waiting for her answer, I get up from the table and flee to my room where the tears can fall freely. I get online and spend some time researching construction/carpentry firms. The first few I look at are too established—and expensive. I find one that has online reviews extolling their amazing work and low prices. I do another search with the name, making sure there aren’t any disgruntled customers complaining on another forum. Nope. Looks good. Picking up the phone, I dial the number displayed on my computer screen.
“Zephyr Brothers Construction. This is Jayson.”
“Yeah,” I say, sniffling. “I, uh, need to hire a crew to do some renovations for me.”
He asks questions, I answer them, and then ask some questions of my own. Honestly, I’m not sure what to ask, but I don’t want him to think I’m a sucker. He answers patiently, seeming to know just what I might worry about, and I recognize him as someone who knows his stuff and takes pride in his work. I give him the address, and we set up a date and time for the initial consultation. As much as I want to have a place of my own, I can’t deny Mom’s offer to help me pay for renovations is a godsend. I just pray Zephyr Brothers Construction can do a good enough job to turn a profit. I don’t have room for error in my life, and buying that house is turning out to be the worst mistake I’ve ever made.
* * *
Standing in the main living area, I kick at the ugly grey carpet with a disgruntled sound. The guy from Zephyr is late by ten minutes, which I know shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, but I’ve already spent hours in class and put in a half shift at Devil in the Details. It’s almost seven in the evening, and Mr. Jayson Zephyr had made special arrangements to see me after closing time just to make it easier on my schedule. I try to be patient as I shift from one foot to the other, waiting for the knock at the door.
When it finally comes, the unexpected echo through the empty house startles me out of my sour mood. I swing open the door with a ready smile. “Jayson, right?” My eyes bounce from his head to his feet as my heart jerks in my ribcage, stunned by how attractive—and how young— the man standing in front of me is.
“Jayson Zephyr,” he introduces himself, sticking out a large hand for me to shake. He towers over me, and I’m tall for a girl. He has to be about six and a half feet of buff, muscular, hot male body. I look up at him with widening eyes. His skin is tanned, presumably from working outdoors, which adds a glow to his complexion. With his deep-set, hooded eyes the color of amber honey meeting mine, I lose the ability to speak. His forehead furrows in amusement as I gape at him, and I snap out of my awestruck pose to actually shake his hand.
“Hi! Yeah, I’m Kitrina Schneider. We spoke by phone. Come on in.” The stranger lopes into my house, his blue-jean-clad legs long and sturdy and so terribly sexy. The very sight of his ass when I glance over my shoulder after closing the door causes my palms to sweat. The black crewneck t-shirt he’s wearing clings to his chiseled torso. He turns to face me, and his shapely lips are curved slightly upwards. His hair is cut low to his scalp—not really a buzz cut, lower than that—and he has an urban ruggedness that sends my lady parts into a tizzy. It’s the scent of his cologne assailing my nostrils. It’s his very manliness. He looks very capable…of renovating my house… and much, much more.
I find my voice and mentally shake myself out of gawking like an idiot. “So, this is the place,” I reply brigh
tly.
“I see that. It’s a great house. Lots of personality. Is it okay if I do a walk through and check things out right quick?”
“Certainly! Er, let’s see. I have the building inspector’s write-up here, if it helps. I think, based on what I can understand of this, the place has some faulty wiring and needs some pipe. Pipes,” I blush. “There’s, um, something about the foundation, but I’m not sure of the extent of the damage there. I’m sure you’ll know better than I will.”
He nods and takes the papers I extend to him, peering at the small print with interest. “Thank you. This does help. I’ll be right back.” He tips his head to me before sliding out his phone. Starting in the living room, he snaps pictures. As much as I try to ignore him and let him do his job, he has my full attention. Even when he exits the main living area, I find myself drifting into the hallway so I can watch him work. The way his wide shoulders bunch as he kneels down to inspect the baseboard, pulling up the carpet in the bedroom and inspecting what’s underneath, makes me want to reach out and touch him.
“This carpet is pretty rough, but the floor underneath looks salvageable.”
“It might be better bare,” I reply.
“Yeah, I prefer it bare. But, I mean, carpet is fine too,” he recovers, and we both chuckle as I wonder if the comment was meant to go south of the border the way it did in my mind. He sneaks a glance at me. I don’t avoid the eye contact. His gaze is like fire on my skin. “What other problems are you having?” he asks in a mellow baritone that sends a chill through me.
Jayson: A New Adult / Coming of Age Romance Page 4