The house was a whole five-minute ride from the riverfront where I slept like a baby. I spent a good hour scrolling through Facebook before passing out though, realizing that not a soul in Florida actually misses me, except my sister. I posted a handful of pictures, and got tons of comments, but I can’t bring myself to miss a single person who took the time to say something. Maybe there’s something wrong with me? Or maybe it’s just proof that I finally outgrew Orlando completely.
The Uber comes to a stop right across the street from the historical home. It is just as beautiful in person as it was in the pictures online. The street the home is on is far narrower than it looked like from the photographs, but that doesn’t even matter. The square to the right of the home is Columbia square, in the center is a beautiful green fountain, surrounded by giant oak trees with Spanish moss hanging in every direction. It is something right out of a period picture. A home across the way is completely covered with green vines, only the black iron railway on the staircase is naked.
I thank the driver and get out of the back of the car, seeing the older blonde realtor come out of the front door with a huge smile on her face. If I was selling a million plus dollar property. I would have that huge ass smile on my face too, so I can totally put myself in her shoes.
“You must be Luna,” she says as she extends her arm and introduces herself.
“And you must be Mrs. Loretta Murphy. The pleasure is all mine,” I take her hand and continue my way up the stairs to the main entrance of the home.
“Do you mind if I just wander around? I’m a realtor back in Florida, and I know the process,” I wink at her.
“Of course you can, just let me know if you have any questions. I’m going to go check in with the inspector.” Each step in the home is more beautiful than I could have ever imagined. All of the original hardwood floors are in like new condition. The entryway opens up into a spacious living room with an original fireplace, one of the four in the home. I’m sure those will actually come in handy when it gets cold here. Winter is not something I’ve experienced in quite some time.
On the other side of the wall is the kitchen, which has been updated with a variety of blue accented Spanish tiles, granite countertops, and all stainless-steel appliances. The kitchen connects through a double-doorway to the dining area. I make my way to the staircase and climb to the third floor of the house, looking for the three bedrooms of the home. The master bedroom is at the top of the stairs. It is almost double the size of the master in my condo, which is odd for historical homes.
“It is thought that at one point in time, this was actually three separate bedrooms,” the realtor pops her head in and adds the little fact about the home. It seems right.
“Oh, I can imagine. For a historical home this is huge,” I say in a geeked out, real estate way. But I can’t stop exploring, because I know in a few steps there are French doors leading out onto the second-floor patio, which is huge and one of the reasons I actually bought the home. It looks out over the lap pool in the back yard.
“Do you think I can negotiate this patio furniture into the contract?” I really love it, and it would just make my life so much easier.
“I can certainly contact the seller’s agent and check on that for you.” I know the routine.
I wander around some more and check out the other two bedrooms, the bathrooms and make my way to the studio apartment on the first floor. Unsure of what I’m exactly going to do with that space. Maybe I can keep it for Violet if she decides she wants to come and stay with me. It certainly would be a way to entice her to get here.
“Any questions?” Loretta asks.
“Is there anything special I need to know about owning a historical home?” I know they all have different laws and rules when it comes to renovating, updating, or changing anything at all.
“We have a big packet of information we will give you at closing from the Savannah Historical Society. It breaks down the rules in the easiest way possible,” she says with a smile. Not that I plan on making any huge changes to the home at all. It is perfect just the way it is.
“Do you want to wait for the inspection report?” she asks, because that is what most people would be most concerned with, but instead I am worried about how quickly I can close and make this place my home. The word home is so unfamiliar to me, because the last actual home I had was my parents when I was growing up. My condo was nice, but to me it wasn’t exactly a home. It was just a place where I slept. I didn’t take pride in decorating it or updating the unit. I came home from work and crashed. I hired some else to come in and clean it once a week, and I pieced together old Ikea furniture to make the place functional.
“No, I’m good. It’s perfect. I’d like to close as quickly as the title company can handle.”
This is something completely different. I have so many ideas for decor, and pieces of artwork I would love to hang. I can almost see all of the accessories before they are there. My next goal is going to be finding a flea market, or some kind of antique store, for restored furniture or furniture I can restore myself. This afternoon is definitely going to be chock full of exploring. Maybe I will make my way over to the City Market? I don’t think it’s very far from here.
I take out my cell phone and snap a couple pictures to text to Violet later on today, I want to show her that not all real estate listing pictures are completely misleading. I almost hate doing this alone, but I know she has to deal with things in her own way as well. We both have to grieve. Thankfully, my change of location has completely taken that off my mind.
My phone buzzes in my hand as I text Violet the few photos that I took. I ignore the notification, as Loretta the realtor starts walking back in my direction.
“I relayed the message to the selling realtor, and it looks like they still need about a week to finish up the paperwork and for the sellers to move the things out. They will throw in the patio furniture for free since you came in with a full price offer.” I smile because that is a total win.
“Perfect! My work here is done for the day. Do you think we could meet a day or two before closing for the final walk thru and so I can do some measurements?” I ask, knowing that some of the doorways are too narrow for certain things. I’m going to have to be careful purchasing for this home.
“That is no problem at all. Just give me a call or a text with the day and time you’d like to do it, and we will go from there. It’s been a pleasure, Luna,” she says, shaking my hand again. I snap one last picture as I make my way back to the main entrance of the home, and down the front stairway. I’ve been spoiled by elevators in my building for the longest time, owning a three-story colonial home just may be the gym workout I need.
Standing on the corner of the street, I decide to take a walk over to Columbia square directly across the street, and sit down on a bench to cue up my GPS for the City Market. I partially hate not knowing where I am going, but on the other hand, there is something really exciting about the newness of it all. Discovering new places, finding my new spots, meeting new people along my journey. Maybe it is just adventure and change that really makes me happy in life?
I forgot I received a text earlier, so before I punch in the address of the City Market, I check my messages. My heart skips a beat when I see the name, Liam.
How about Saturday I give you a tour of the city? Maybe some ice cream, or lunch. My treat. You give me a time, and it’s a plan. If you don’t already have plans that is. :)
I smile thinking about the fact that, for the first time in a really long time, not only is a man pursuing me, but the simplicity of a text message turns me into a smiling lunatic. I’m definitely interested in getting to know more about him, it seems like there is a lot more to his story than we were able to scratch in a ten-minute walk.
I look at my calendar on my phone, like I might actually have something going on Saturday. It’s a force of habit though. Before I said, “fuck it,” and quit my job, every day of the week had something going
on. My calendar was always jam packed with showings, listing appointments, open houses, or some kind of board event. It’s strange to me to have so much free time. I need a damn hobby once I get settled into my home.
Saturday, it is. How about 10am? Can we do one of those cool trolley tours?
The two days I’ve been here, I’ve seen the big green and orange trolleys traveling all over the city. People hop on and hop off at certain areas, and explore landmarks. I want to be a tourist for the day.
If it’s a trolley tour the lady would like, it’s a trolley tour the lady will get. I’ll meet you at the front doors of your hotel Saturday at 10am. Wear comfy shoes you won’t die in this time. LOL
I let out a laugh. Sneakers it is, this time around. I wasn’t planning on getting drunk and walking back to my hotel last night… that just kind of happened.
I’ll be way more prepared this time around. ;)
I’m excited knowing tomorrow I will have something to do, instead of wandering around like I am today. I set the GPS to the City Market, only a ten-minute walk from Columbia Square where I’m still sitting on the bench in front of the green fountain just watching people hustle and bustle their way by. People stop and take pictures, then keep on going. Some businessmen and women walk past with their long strides, knowing they are in a hurry.
I stand up and start my walk, and it really takes no time at all, until I am smack dab in the middle of the busy City Market. There are all kinds of shops, but the first one my eyes come in contact with that I just can’t walk by is a photography shop. The sign above the door reads Old Time Cameras, but I’m sure their selection is on the modern side as well. I turn the GPS off, so she will stop yelling at me, and slide my phone into my back pocket. Pulling open the door of the shop, I am met with a blast of cool air, which is refreshing since I’ve been sweating since I walked out of the house I’m planning on buying.
God bless air conditioning in the south during the summer. Without it, you might as well die from heat stroke. The store is on the small side, with tons of classic film cameras from all era’s. In the back, along the wall, I see a display of some brand new DSLR cameras. Something I’ve wanted forever. I told myself one day I would buy one and finally start taking my own real estate photos, but apparently that is no longer on my list of things to do.
“Can I help you Miss?” an older gentleman asks, as I eye the fancy cameras.
“I’m looking for a beginner level DSLR,” I say, not knowing how they work or where to really start. But if I am going to be touring the city tomorrow, I want something more than just my iPhone camera. One of those seat-of-my-pants purchases.
“Have you ever used one before?”
“Nope, I’ve used an old film 9mm before when I was a young girl. But, that’s about it.” Growing up, my dad had a pretty cool one he would use. He bought it when he was in the Navy, traveling around the world, and used it for the bulk of our childhood as well.
“The best one to start with is this,” he points at the Nikon D3000 and instead of letting him give me all the details and sell it to me, I just simply say that I’ll take it. I dig into my purse, and pull out my wallet and debit card to pay the older gentleman. I’m sure there is some kind of e-book online I can find that will help me to learn how to use this fancy thing. Although, if I can work an iPhone and a laptop, I don’t think it will be too far off from the camera too.
“Is there anything else I can help you with, Miss?” he asks, placing the camera box into a canvas bag with the store’s logo on it.
“Any chance you know of a good antique store around these parts?”
“You know, there are a few here in the market but they all have small items. If you are looking for furniture, you are going to want to go out towards the highway to the Antique warehouse.” Now, that right there sounds like an afternoon I can get down with.
“Thank you for your help,” I thank him and add the Antique warehouse into a note on my phone. Once I am all settled in the house, and have somewhere for the furniture to be delivered to, I will make a trip. That is the only problem living inside a hotel for the short term.
My stomach rumbles, and I’m reminded that I ran out of the hotel this morning without even having a cup of coffee. I overslept and I was going to be late to meet the realtor, so I just hauled ass to not look like a hobo and make it on time. That’s the first time in a decade that I’ve slept through my alarm, or maybe I didn’t set it? Who knows, but I was super unprepared to start my day, that was for sure.
I open Yelp! on my phone, and search for a decently rated local place to grab something to eat. I’m starving! I look through a couple spots, then Zunzi’s comes up. Not only do they have a lot of really awesome reviews, but apparently, they make a world-famous sandwich. No joke. I’m sold, so I cue up my walking GPS and head in the direction of the eatery. As I make my way down the side streets of Savannah’s historic district, I can actually smell Zunzi’s. The mixture of spices wafts through the hot summer air in every direction. I turn the corner and there it is with a line down the street to go with their world-famous food. I laugh because I should have known better.
I jump in line behind a disgustingly in love couple. I thumb through my phone, checking my email for the first time in days. Work e-mails are off the charts. People are looking for me, wondering why I left. I guess tonight I will have to get onto my laptop and send a bunch of replies. The line moves pretty quickly, and I can finally see the menu in the distance. I decide on the Godfather, minus the tomatoes. I don’t know how anyone can eat them, all squishy with seeds and shit. Tomatoes are the devil.
Chicken, with homemade South African sausage, lettuce, cheese, and a special sauce on homemade French bread. I’m drooling here, waiting for my turn in line.
“You ever been here before?” the guy behind me in line asks, striking up conversation.
“This is actually my first time,” I reply with a friendly smile.
“You will be floored by this food. I promise.”
“That’s a tall order from a stranger,” I add. He lets out a laugh, his sandy blond hair is cut short, almost military style, and his dark sunglasses cover his eyes. From what I can see he isn’t bad on the eyes at all. Apparently, now I have a sign on my forehead that says, flirt with me.
“So, I take it you are a tourist?” he adds, guessing wrong, but I am still brand spanking new to the city. I probably put off the tourist vibe, with my map of Savannah hanging out of the top of my camera bag.
“Kinda?” I admit. “Well, I just moved here, but I’ve literally lived in Savannah for like, thirty hours so I guess I am still in the tourist timeframe,” I laugh. Finally, it is my turn at the beginning of the line, so I order my sandwich and step out of the way so the next people can place their order. The place is so packed, I am worried about holding the line up or doing something wrong.
“NEXT!” the guy behind the counter yells at the man who struck up a conversation with me earlier. My food is passed over the counter, and I head to the patio set up in a makeshift parking lot next to the tiny eatery. Unwrapping my sandwich, I am astonished at the size of it. There is no way in hell I am going to be able to finish this myself, but damn am I going to try. Or this can totally be my dinner tonight too, and I don’t even have to leave the hotel.
“Do you mind if I sit with you?” the guy from earlier pulls out the hair across the four top from me, and puts his bag down almost assuming I would say yes. I’m half tempted to say no altogether just on principle, but he’s in luck today.
“Sure.” I take a huge bite out of my sandwich and just start going to town. Washing it down with a huge gulp of Dr. Pepper.
“So, what brought you to Savannah?” he asks unwrapping his food, almost the identical sandwich, except he apparently likes tomatoes. Obviously, there is something wrong with him, I laugh to myself.
“Needed a change of scenery, something new I guess.” I wanted to start with the short version, knowing the real story is far mo
re complicated. I don’t want to be that complicated girl.
“Well that must be nice. I was born and raised across the bridge in South Carolina. Came here for college and I guess most of us just never leave the city,” he laughs.
“Lemme guess? SCAD?” It seems like everyone around here works for the Savannah College of Art & Design. Or, at least, came to Savannah to go to school there.
“Actually, Georgia Institute of Technology, but it’s good to see you are picking up on how things work around these parts so quickly.”
I continue my meal, and he keeps chatting, but all I can think about is what kind of a dude just sits down and starts eating lunch with someone? Or maybe it’s a certain British guy I have a date with in the morning that is really throwing me off track. I mean, it’s not like we are married or anything. Maybe I should be more open about all this, especially if I plan on having sex again sometime in this century?
“So, what do you do?” he asks, and I can only assume he means work. I laugh to myself that I should answer, “Professionally eat around Savannah,” but I catch myself.
“I’m a realtor.” Which is totally the truth. It may only be partially true, but leading with, “hey, I won the lottery,” doesn’t seem like a great way to find a good guy.
“Nice, I’m an engineer. I work about two blocks from here, but this is hands down the best place to come eat so I am here probably two days a week at the least.” Sounds like me at Panera Bread. I’m so glad Savannah has much more to offer than chain restaurants.
“I didn’t catch your name,” I ask.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Hunter.” He extends his hand to shake. I quickly grab a napkin and wipe the sandwich residue. It’s good, but it is messy as all hell!
Nice to meet you Hunter, I’m Luna.”
“Luna, huh? Not exactly what I would expect from a realtor. I would think maybe a Marge, or a Claire, but definitely not a Luna,” he laughs.
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