Chapter 4
By the timeBrinkley finds a halfway decent spot to relieve himself and I manage to drag all my luggage inside, I’m sweating and exhausted, despite the wintery chill in the rancid air outside. The plane trip and car ride finally catching up with me, I need a shower and some food and Brinkley needs a walk. But first… I shuffle past my bags cluttering the tiny entry and step to the right, entering the kitchen. Like most homes in New Orleans, mine is a shotgun style. From here, I can see through the kitchen and dining room all the way to the living room at the front of the house. Just as I expected, the room is quite dim due to the shutters being closed. Once I get settled, I’ll have to figure out how to open them. But, just as Aidan promised, the inside is nothing like the outside. I can definitely sense my designer’s touches—accentuating the old by providing just enough new for modern comfort.
Fresh white paint brightens the walls and ceilings, making the cottage appear taller than it truly is, while stained wood planks with the slightest hint of red stretch the length of the home. As I move farther into the kitchen toward the slender white quartz-topped island, the floors creak beneath me. That’s the old-world charm I love. I imagine they’re original, unlike the cabinets anchoring the galley-style kitchen. The upper cabinets are painted a deep gray while the lower ones are stained an even darker brown than the floors. The paint and stain choices accompanied by the brass hardware serve to warm the space up a bit while the tall, narrow window overlooking the gross alley I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to allows in just enough light in all the right places.
Despite the small size, Aidan and my designer did an excellent job at making the most of the space. There’s tons of storage in the kitchen, although most of it is out of my reach. Maybe there’s a step stool around here somewhere, not that I’ll be cooking despite the brand-new stove and oven I know costs over five thousand dollars just by the brand name. The sight of it makes my stomach growl.
I take a moment to wash my hands, pour Brinkley some water in his travel bowl, and search the cabinets and fridge for some quick sustenance. Just as Aidan said, the fridge and pantry are full of my favorites. I won’t even need to go grocery shopping for my morning coffee. “I wonder if he thought of tampons too,” I mumble to myself. Letting out a small chuckle, I grab a water and a chocolate-iced honey bun, munching on it while finishing my tour. Brinkley loves honey buns. Maybe a few bites will be enough bribery to keep him calm while I unpack.
The dining room is a quick pass through. Another narrow window overlooking the alleyway casts a small stream of light on the round table set atop a neutral-colored rug. The living room is where I’ll spend most of my time, at least while at home. It’s there that I see a plush emerald-green couch calling my name. “Ah!” I sink into its soft cushions. This is either the most comfortable sofa I’ve ever sat on or I’m more tired than I thought.
I take several bites of my honey bun, giving Brinkley a nibble, before scanning the rest of the space. A navy-blue handwoven rug with an intricate floral pattern anchors the room while tiny end tables topped with lamps and cute knickknacks fill out the perimeter. Colorful art covers the walls, while a brass-framed mirror and black metal candlesticks sit atop the white-painted fireplace before me. Like the rest of the house, the room is small and so is the furniture. But the colorful pieces seem to overset the white walls nicely and make it feel more warm, lively, and homey. I probably would’ve opted for a palette of pinks and purples, but the blues, greens, and oranges chosen go better with the other fixtures and the old French architecture. I’ll consider it Anastasia Cross New Orleans’ Version. From the green couch I sit on now to the aquamarine chair to my left and the orange one across from me, to the antique trunk turned coffee table centering the space, I could get used to this, and I haven’t even seen my bedroom yet.
“What do you think, Brink?” Brinkley tilts his head to the side while his eyes move back and forth between me and the honey bun. I offer him a small smile and the last bite of sugary goodness. I don’t know what I’d do without him. In a way, getting Brinkley after my parents passed away was my first dose of responsibility, the moment where I felt myself truly growing up. He was, is my companion but also completely dependent on me. Maybe, at first, I put all my attention on taking care of him so I could avoid taking care of me. I could avoid a world in which my parents were no longer alive. But, eventually, all distractions run their course. Once I’d made it through the worst of my grieving, Brinkley was fully grown and happy. Seeing him so full of life made me realize I’m capable of that joy too, and for the first time, I started believing myself capable of attaining it. He made me want more for myself, and now, here I am. Here we are.
“I love you, Brink,” I say, pulling him into my lap. He licks my neck as I cradle him against my chest. Although, one quick whiff of his thick white fur makes me realize he’s more absorbent than I thought. “Uh-oh, baby. I don’t think the bowties are going to work down here. Tomorrow, you’re wearing boots and a vest or jacket, whatever covers you the most.” At that, I put him beside me on the sofa, thankful that I packed his spa kit since I’m sure Aidan forgot despite all he did for me.
Just as I stand, working up the strength to start my unpacking, I spot the envelope Aidan said he left for me. Oh, right, the surprise! I grab the envelope from the coffee table and plop back down on the couch. Inside it, I find a how-to book, for lack of a better word, written by Aidan himself. Everything from how to operate the stove/oven to how to change the water filter in the fridge to details on my security system to which day is trash day, and, oh, the Wi-Fi password. “Yep, definitely going to need that.” I almost laugh at how overbearing he is. The whole point of this move is for me to do everything on my own. But I can’t lie. This city is already intimidating. I don’t know what I’d do if I had to figure all of this out on my own. But where is the surp— The very last document in the folder is a lease with an address I don’t recognize. Attached is a handwritten note from Aidan.
Dear Anastasia,
I hope you’re settling into your new home comfortably.
I know how hard you worked in school to earn your degrees and that you’ve never had a chance to put them to use. Well, now you do. I’ve taken the liberty of leasing you a unit in a building just up the street for you to do with what you please. You have a meeting with the landlord of the building tomorrow morning at ten. (I know how you like to sleep in.)
Good luck, sister. Despite our arrangement, if you need me, you know you can call anytime. I love you.
—A
PS There’s an app you can download to have access to your security system. Do that ASAP.
“Oh my gosh!”I squeal. I jump up off the couch, clinging on to the lease as I do a happy dance. Brinkley barks, sharing in my excitement. I’d planned to try some business venture with my newfound freedom, but I had no idea where to even begin. I can’t wait to see the space and start dreaming up ideas. “What am I going to do, Brinkley?” Though, as I spot the hoards of suitcases I’ve yet to unpack, I know where my passion lies—clothes. And from the looks of the people on my drive in, a store full of my favorite romantic, feminine styles would definitely stand out.
“Think of the Instagram!” I coo, pulling Brinkley into my arms and dancing around the living room with him. “This is going to be good,” I reaffirm to myself yet again. Though this time I actually believe it. Although, my meeting tomorrow morning is all the more reason to unpack tonight. Tomorrow, I hit the ground running on my new boutique and make my first impression on my landlord.