December 26th
Always been bougie.
Ainsley
I wake up to find Damon already gone. I vaguely remember him kissing me and saying goodbye. A glance at the clock tells me I must have been tired because it’s nearly ten.
I think back to seeing my dad last night.
About him showing up and the things he said.
And I know I need to talk to my uncles about it all.
I grab my phone to text Van and find that I have a bunch of texts.
One is a big, long thread with everyone going to the bowl game.
I scroll up to the first text and read the details.
Basically, Treyvon’s family, me and Sammy, Danny and Jennifer, Lori and Van, and Tripp are all leaving at eleven on Monday morning. We’ll land in Dallas and be shuttled to our hotel. Phillip, Jadyn, and their family are arriving the next day.
I’m reading through the rest of the texts, which is mostly just everyone commenting on their excitement, when a text pops up from Apollo.
Apollo: I just got invited to join you for some bowl game. And apparently, I’m going to be sharing a suite with you and Sammy, if that’s okay with you both.
Me: That will be so fun!
Apollo: Fun, yes. I love football, but that’s not why I was invited. Apparently, Tripp wants me to see what I’m told is a very exclusive way to get into the stadium. Says he wants something similar for his hotel.
Me: I was told about that too. How we need to pay attention to how it all works, what it looks like.
Apollo: I’m flying back to KC shortly. You going to be in the office today or tomorrow? I know it’s technically closed.
Me: I’m planning on being there both days since we’ll be off for the bowl game.
Apollo: Awesome. See you soon.
I’m excited to go to work, but I’m also dying to see the house like ours, so I give the builder a call. He gives me the address of the house, a code for the lockbox, and tells me to go anytime.
I get dressed and am ready in near-record speed and then go to the main house to see if my mom or Sammy want to go with me.
When I get to the house, I find Sammy in his usual spot at the island, cup of coffee in hand.
“Morning,” I say to him. “How was Christmas with the family?”
“Fun, crazy, chaotic, as usual,” he says. “I considered staying another day, but I missed my bed, so I drove home late last night. How was yours?”
“It was really great. Well, except for …” I tell him about how my dad showed up and what he said.
“A trust fund, huh?” Sammy whistles.
“Maybe. I don’t really know how they work, and last night didn’t seem like the right time to bring it up.”
“Understandable. Did you read the group bowl chat from this morning? We’re going to have a great time at the game.
And I’m so excited to see how the rich and famous travel.
Not surprisingly, I’ve never been on a private jet before.
And we’re staying at a really nice hotel. You all are turning me bougie.”
“You have always been bougie, even though your budget might not match,” I counter.
“So true.” He laughs.
“I can’t remember if I told you this or not, but I recently found out that our builder has a house built that is the same floor plan that we picked. And I would love to go see it today, with you, if possible.”
“Oh, I would love that! We’ll have to take a ton of pictures and videos, so we will remember the spaces when we’re decorating!”
“Agree! And I’m ready whenever you’re ready.”
He looks down at his athleisure wear and says, “Can I go like this?”
“Of course. I’m casual today, too, but afterward, I’m going to go into work. You’re welcome to come with me. See the place. The sample room is incredible. Maybe we’ll be inspired and find some finishes for my house. And I’d love to show you our initial ideas for the hotel.”
“I would adore that. Let’s look at the house, have an early lunch, then go see what we can do.”
“That’s perfect. Oh, I almost forgot. Apollo is flying in this morning. Or did you already know that?”
His face lights up, but then he goes, “I most certainly did not! From now on, anything to do with Apollo is your lead story. Deal?”
I nod in agreement, then pretend to hold a microphone up to my face. “Breaking news! This just in. Apollo will be attending the bowl game and will be sharing a suite with this reporter and her best friend.”
Sammy’s eyes go wide. “I need the who, what, when, where, and why. Stat.”
“Who? Apollo. What? Is going to the game. When? With us. Where? Same answer. Why? Because Tripp is friends with the owner of the stadium and can’t be bothered with the traffic.
Instead, we will be taking a helicopter to a landing pad somewhere across the street from said stadium and going under the road in some VIP tunnel.
No crowds. No standing in line. Straight line to our suite. ”
“I’m going to die. D-I-E. Die. VIP, plus Apollo?” He looks down at his outfit and says, “You eat something. I certainly can’t wear this now.”
Once he’s ready—which takes quite some time, even for him—we drive to the house.
When we pull up to it, tears form in my eyes. “Oh, it’s so pretty.”
“All it needs is a white picket fence,” Sammy teases.
“I don’t know about that, but I do love how welcoming it feels. I can’t wait to sit on the front porch of ours and watch the sunset with Damon.”
We get out of the car, get the key, and open the front door, finding a two-story entry with an ornate iron staircase and views out to the backyard.
“Hmm,” Sammy says.
“What?” I ask him.
“We need to dissect their finish choices. Like, what do you think about the staircase?”
“It’s beautiful, but I feel like it doesn’t really match the outside of the home.”
“And how do you envision yours?”
“More traditional, wood-style probably. I want wood floors, and while I think the dark ones here are gorgeous, I want white oak floors. Herringbone pattern. It’s about the only thing I know for sure.”
“I’ve never seen you use them in your designs,” he says.
“That’s because I’ve been saving them for myself since my mom and I went to France after I graduated high school.
It was funny that I was at the Louvre, where I was supposed to be looking at the art, but almost every photo I took was of the amazing architectural details—floors, fireplaces, molding, ceilings, and doors. ”
“You’ve seen one masterpiece, you’ve seen them all,” he quips.
We wander through the rest of the house, taking lots of videos and photos. The decor of this house isn’t what I’m wanting for ours. It’s got more of a Mediterranean vibe, but it’s still quite beautiful. I note a few places where I’d like to tweak the floor plan for better traffic flow.
“You think we’ve got it all?” Sammy asks.
“I think so. Thanks for coming with me. It really helped me visualize the space better. Especially when it comes to walls and artwork and focal points. That day you were showing me the tea set your grandmother gave you really affected me, by the way. I want a house that feels like that.”
Sammy puts his hand to his chest. “Be still, my heart. And speaking of my heart, maybe you should invite Apollo to have lunch with us.”
“I absolutely can do that.”
We meet Apollo at our favorite barbecue restaurant in the Plaza. And while I eat, the guys talk. Like, the entire time. You’d think I wasn’t even here.
Which is cute.
I know they like each other, but they also feel like good friends. And isn’t that how a lot of relationships start?
Well, except for me and Damon. I tried to be his friend—for all of about a day.
I’m daydreaming about him. About our future. Everything from seeing him win his first bowl game, to him holding our baby when she’s born, to us rocking on our front porch when we’re old and gray.
“Earth to Ainsley,” Sammy says.
“Oh, sorry,” I reply.
“What do you say we head to the office?” Apollo says. “I’ve got to get to work.”
“If it’s okay with you,” I say to him, “Sammy is going to join me in the sample room. We just toured a house with the same floor plan as the one Damon and I are building, and I want to pick out a few things while it’s fresh in my mind.”
“That’s fine,” he says. “I’ll probably be in my office. I need to figure out a way to organize all the ideas I have.”
“In what way?” Sammy asks.
“Well, I have to share my ideas with the design team in a way that will work for them.”
“I’d organize them on a document and tag each point. That way, the document can be diced and sliced in whatever format they want,” Sammy says before I get a chance to reply.
“Yes,” I agree. “When I interned with Jadyn this summer, that is exactly how she keeps track of everything. Massive spreadsheets. They are all kept in the cloud so that everyone on the team can access them whenever they need them. It helps keep everyone on the same page. For example, if you have a thought about the traffic flow in a certain area, you would tag it with traffic flow and another tag for the space or function. If you had specific ideas for finishes or decor, do the same—add finishes and then the name of the space.”
Apollo frowns. “I’m not great at spreadsheets, to be honest.”
“Maybe Sammy could help you. He’s practically a wizard.”
Apollo looks at Sammy and goes, “Would you?”
“Of course. When we get to the office, I can help you set up the spreadsheet. Then all you’ll have to do is input your ideas.”
“And I’ll need to be able to—what did you say, slice and dice them?”
“Yeah,” Sammy says. But then he looks at me and goes, “Or does your team already have something started?”
“I’m not sure since we just started discussing right before the holidays. Let me text Jadyn real quick.”
I text her, and she replies, telling me that she has some notes, but hasn’t had anyone input it yet and to go ahead and get it started.
When we get to work, I set Sammy and Apollo up in my office with my computer. Then I finally get to the place I’ve been dying to be in since I woke up this morning.
I grab one of the clear acrylic trays to put stuff in so that I can keep it separate from the hotel board and start by looking at wood samples to find the perfect color for my herringbone floors.
I match the floor color to a paint sample—a pretty beige that’s got just a hint of gray in it.
I really want to do the doors and trim in that color and then the walls, for the most part, in a soft white.
It’s so funny to say that I want white because I really don’t want the white from a crayon box.
I want something with a warm undertone that feels cozy and not stark.
I choose my favorite and add it to the tray.
Then I think about an overall color palette for the home. I love the way a home flows when you choose four or five colors and use all of them in the home, but in varying degrees.
I think about when I was at the Louvre and take a moment to scroll through the photos I took there.
I find the one with the herringbone floor.
The walls of the room are drenched in a light celadon color that looks like it’s softened with age.
There is a simple wood mantel set over a fireplace with brick trim.
My other favorite seems like it’s totally opposite—rococo in style, teal with gold trim and mirrors, but Louis XVI in its furniture style and restraint.
I print those two pictures out and add them to my tray, trying to figure out how to use that inspiration in something that will work.
I scroll through more and find a gorgeous painting that is whimsical and romantic and features lots of bold pastels. I add that to the tray, too, knowing I now have a color palette as I put it on one of the shelves on the island.
Then I turn my attention toward the top of the island and the hotel.
I added a few items to the board and am cleaning the room back up when Sammy struts in.
“I’m going to head home soon,” I tell him. “Did you help Apollo get everything in order?”
“Yeah, sorry. Took longer than we’d thought, but the guy does have a lot of ideas. It’s going to be a lot to incorporate, but at the same time, how great to have a list like that when you are in the design process.”
“It’s very helpful, and more importantly, it makes the space function well.”
“We also took the time to add all the lists from the resort renovations, and he’s now going through all of those to delete items that don’t fit this project. Said he’ll be working late.”
Sammy puffs his bottom lip out in a pout.
“And I’m going to head home. I’m tired and hungry, and I need to decide what I’ll pack to take to Dallas.”
“Any chance we’ll get to go see the work in progress at the Fort Worth hotel?” he asks. “I’d love to see it.”
“Oh my gosh! I didn’t even think of that. Of course we have to go see it! Apollo would probably enjoy it too.”
“I’m sure he would,” Apollo says.
Sammy’s eyes get huge, and I can tell he’s replaying our conversation and wondering if he said anything about Apollo. But he didn’t. Just pouted a little.
“Great,” I say. “I’m sure Tripp was already planning it, so I’ll let him know we’d like to tag along. And on that note, I’m heading home.”
“But you haven’t shown me your mood board for your house yet,” Sammy says.
I walk over, pull it out, and set it on the island.
Sammy comes over, takes a look, studies one of the photos, and whistles. “You have good taste.”
“It’s just inspirational. I want soft pastels, a few color-drenched rooms, warmth, and classic styling. Comfortable but pretty.”
Apollo looks at Sammy and says, “You have any plans for tonight?”
Sammy goes, “Not really. Why?”
“I’d love to get out a little. It is Saturday night. Do you know of any cool bars? Maybe somewhere with music. Country preferably.”
“Power and Light District,” Sammy says. “There’s a lot of food, music, and something you will love. A bar where you can play mini golf.”
“That sounds fun,” Apollo says. “Ainsley, you want to join us?”
“Hmm,” I say. “I’m not really up for a night of dancing, but one of my favorite taco places is there. What if we went there for dinner? Like, now. I’m starving. We can play mini golf, and then I’ll leave you two to your own devices.”
“That’s perfect,” Sammy says. “We can drive down in your car, and we can catch a ride home since I’m sure we’ll be drinking.”
“Are you drinking?” Apollo asks him. “This summer at the Lodge, when we were out with Damon, it sounded like you were going to cut alcohol out.”
“I actually did. I can probably count on one hand how many drinks I had last semester. I make some mean mocktails now. But I have been a little lax on that lately. But then again, I’ve had a lot to celebrate—new job, graduation, moving here, and of course, the holidays. What about you?”
“It’s been a crazy few days, and I’d love a martini or three.”
“I think we can make that happen,” Sammy says.