After that, Kyle leads us back to the first floor, through the front and back parlor, and the balcony—or the ‘tea room’—that overlooks the yard.
“This is beautiful,” Mom gushes as we head into the front parlor, but Dad rubs his jaw in silent contemplation.
I glance around, realizing it doesn’t look like much without furniture, and feel a brief flicker of panic that we didn’t think to stage the house to really showcase it. What if Dad can’t picture it the way we can? He remains quiet as Kyle notes the ornamental plaster work that’s been restored, including the rosette around the pendant light fixture in the center of the ceiling, and the way he’s painstakingly stripped back the paint on the original walnut mantel.
“This is probably my favorite room,” Kyle says, looking around the parlor we’ve spent so much time in.
“Mine too,” I murmur. His eyes meet mine for a moment and he sends me a tiny smile. It’s enough to make my pulse relax a little.
Everything will be okay.
Kyle leads us downstairs to the basement, which is a large, open-concept space. The kitchen runs along one wall and the dining area opens out through bi-fold doors into the yard. I chose an apricot and navy-blue color palette for the kitchen, keeping the rest of the room a warm off-white. I love the simplicity of the color scheme, how it feels fresh while still respecting the historical touches of the space.
Mom runs a hand across the kitchen counter. “I love these colors.”
I smile, looking to Dad for his approval as we lead him through to the yard. He’s still deep in thought, and my stomach nosedives as I wonder if he hates everything. He asked us for modern and this isn’t exactly that. I might feel inordinately proud of the work we’ve done, but it’s not really what he requested. At least, not originally.
We stand in the yard, Dad taking it all in, and I wring my hands miserably. Why didn’t I fight Kyle harder on the whole historical thing? How could I let Dad down like this?
“I’m sorry,” I blurt, and Kyle’s gaze zips to mine. I plow on. “I know you asked for modern, and this isn’t—”
“Violet.” Dad puts his hand on my arm to stop my nervous rambling. “This is… I have no words. This is so much more than I could have imagined. I’m astonished.”
I turn to Kyle, uncertain. Am I hearing right?
“I’m so glad you talked me out of gutting this place and turning it into apartments,” Dad continues. “So much would have been lost.”
Mom nods vigorously. “I agree.”
Beside me, Kyle beams. His pride is contagious, and warmth tentatively spreads through me. Dad isn’t disappointed—he loves it!
Thank God.
Dad grins back at Kyle, taking his hand in a hearty handshake. “I knew you were the right man for the job.”
Kyle chuckles, but I hear the nervous thread running through it. The house is only half of the issue here.
Dad turns to me. “I’m so proud of you, Sweetpea. I knew you could do it.”
I want to bask in his praise but I can’t let myself fully appreciate it. Not when I know what’s coming.
“Thanks, Dad, but—”
My phone buzzes in my pocket, interrupting my words, and I swear I’ve never been more relieved in my life. I check the screen and when I see it’s Deb calling, I hold up a finger and mouth an apology as I answer the call. Anything to postpone this.
“Hello?”
“Vi!” Deb’s voice is high and excited. “I’m just calling to tell you”—she pauses briefly for dramatic effect—“the job is yours!”
Surprise socks me in the gut. After everything going on with Kyle and the house, after the weekend at the lake, I’d all but forgotten about the job at DigiSwap.
“It’s… what?” I ask, Mom, Dad, and Kyle watching with interest.
“It’s yours. Scott was going to call you, but I asked if I could do it. After everything we’ve been through, I wanted to give you the good news myself. You can start right away.”
I open and close my mouth, unsure how to respond. My dream job is being handed to me on a platter right when I’m about to tell Dad I want to stay in the city with Kyle, and I don’t know what to say. This wasn’t part of the plan.
“Wow, that’s… Thank you.” I pause, glancing at the others. My head is spinning. “Can I call you back? I’m kind of… in the middle of something.”