Page 45 of Rhett & Moses
“We’re here,” I announced, feeling a flutter of nerves as the house came into view around the final bend.
The farmhouse stood on a gentle rise, its white clapboard exterior gleaming in the late morning sun. A deep porch wrapped around three sides, dotted with rocking chairs and hanging plants. The renovations had been tasteful, preserving the historical character while incorporating modern necessities. Behind the main house, partially visible through the trees, sat a smaller structure, the caretaker’s cottage I’d mentioned.
Moses was silent as I parked in front of the house, his expression unreadable. I resisted the urge to fill the silence with nervous chatter, allowing him to take in the property at his own pace.
“It’s beautiful,” he finally said, his eyes taking in every detail. “Peaceful.”
“The real estate agent left the key under the mat,” I explained, gesturing toward the porch. “We have the place to ourselves for the viewing.”
Moses nodded, opening his car door with a deliberate movement that suggested he was steadying himself. I followed suit, meeting him at the front of the car. Together, we walked up the gravel path to the porch steps, the crunch of stone beneath our feet the only sound in the rural quiet.
The key was where the agent had promised, and the heavy wooden door swung open with a gentle creak to reveal the interior. The entryway opened into a spacious living room with original hardwood floors, a stone fireplace dominating one wall. Large windows allowed natural light to flood the space, highlighting the craftsmanship of the exposed beams and built-in bookshelves.
“The previous owners were a retired professor and his wife,” I explained as Moses wandered further in, taking everything in with an architect’s appreciation for detail. “They did most of the renovations themselves, preserving as much of the original character as possible while updating the essentials. New plumbing, electrical, a proper central heating and cooling system.”
Moses nodded, running his hand along the smooth surface of a built-in bookshelf. “They did beautiful work.”
I watched him explore, a sense of rightness settling over me as he moved through the space. He belonged here, among the warm woods and soft light, in a way I hadn’t fully anticipated. I could see him mixing drinks at the kitchen island, curled up with a book by the fireplace, his curls catching the morning light as we shared coffee on the porch.
“What are you thinking?” I asked when he paused at one of the windows, looking out at the property beyond.
Moses turned, his expression thoughtful. “I’m thinking it suits you. The blend of historical and modern, the attention to detail, the sense of solidity. It feels like a place built to last.”
Something in his phrasing caught me, not that it suitedus, but that it suitedme. I tried not to read too much into the distinction.
“Let me show you the rest,” I suggested, leading him through the kitchen with its updated appliances and original cabinetry, past a small study that could serve as a home office, and up the stairs to the second floor.
The main bedroom was spacious yet cozy, with windows on two walls offering views of the surrounding woods. An en-suite bathroom had been added during the renovations, featuring a clawfoot tub and separate shower. Two smaller bedrooms shared a second bathroom across the hall.
“Perfect for guests,” I commented as we explored the additional rooms. “Or a home office, if the downstairs study isn’t enough space.”
Moses nodded, his fingers trailing along the doorframe of one of the smaller rooms. “It’s a lot of house for a weekend place,” he observed neutrally.
“True,” I acknowledged, sensing the unspoken question beneath his comment. “But it offers flexibility. For now, it could be a meeting point, a retreat. In the future... who knows?”
Moses met my eyes, understanding the implication. “Who knows,” he echoed, neither accepting nor rejecting the possibility I’d laid before him.
We continued the tour, exploring the porch that wrapped around the house, the small but well-maintained garden, and finally the caretaker’s cottage, a charming one-bedroom structure with its own small kitchen and living area.
“The cottage could generate some rental income,” I explained as we walked back toward the main house. “There’s a market for weekend rentals in the area, people looking for quiet getaways. Or it could be a workspace, a studio for you to experiment with new gin formulations, perhaps.”
Moses raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised that I’d considered how the property might accommodate his professional interests. “You’ve thought of everything.”
“I’ve tried,” I admitted. “But ultimately, what matters is how you feel about it. If it’s too much, too soon, or just not right, I need you to be honest.”
We had circled back to the front porch, where two Adirondack chairs offered the perfect vantage point to take in the property. Moses settled into one, and I took the other, both of us looking out at the landscape before us.
“It’s not that it’s too much,” Moses said carefully after a moment of silence. “It’s beautiful, Rhett. Truly. I can see why you’re drawn to it.”
“But?” I prompted, hearing the hesitation in his voice.
“But I’m trying to be practical. Boston to here is what, a two-hour flight plus driving time? Atlanta’s closer, but still a commitment. How often would we realistically use this place?”
I’d anticipated this concern. “Boston to Charlotte is under two hours,” I confirmed. “A regional airline now flies Charlotte to Asheville three times daily, and from there it’s about an hour’s drive. Not ideal for a weekend trip every week, but manageable for longer stays.”
“And our careers? Your architectural practice in Boston, my bar in Atlanta?”
“This is where technology helps,” I replied. “Much of my design work can be done remotely. I’ve been shifting toward smaller, more personal projects anyway, residential designs that don’t require constant presence in the office. As for your bar, you have Bronwyn. She’s been running things while you’ve been here for the reunion, right?”
