Chapter 21
WE ONLY HIT ONE SNAG WHILE POSTING MY house.
Writing the copy was easy, especially after Fair Winds.
I used a lot of the same key words—dreamy, idyllic, and how could we forget coastal grandmother living?
We added spacious with scenic views and private.
Henry also encouraged me to include only fifteen minutes from picturesque Fairfield University.
“That’s strangely specific,” I told him with some side-eye.
“Au contraire,” he replied. “It’s strategic. Trust me.”
“I do,” I said, but sighed when visual aids came into play. I had plenty of pictures of my house, but my house wasn’t the subject of those shots. We needed to snap some photos ourselves. “I guess we should start on the first floor?”
Henry chewed on his lip. “The natural lighting isn’t great.”
Unfortunately, he was right. It had been overcast all afternoon. “Well, I don’t know, then,” I said. “There might be professional photos on , from when the house was for sale a few years ago, but my mom has since worked wonders on the place.”
We sat in contemplative silence for a beat, before Henry snapped his fingers. “Wait, that’s it!” he exclaimed. “I bet you anything she has photos on her computer.”
My brows knitted together as he pushed back his chair, ready to charge upstairs. “Why would she have taken pictures? It’s not like she wants to sell the house.”
“No,” Henry said, “but it was a substantial renovation, and I’m sure she’s proud of it.” He paused. “Plus, your dad wasn’t really here to see it.”
“Oh my god, you’re totally right!” I nodded and pushed back my chair too. “She would’ve sent him everything.”
We took the stairs two at a time, up to my mom’s office on the third floor.
It was small but still a showpiece room, not unlike Diane Keaton’s writing nook in Something’s Gotta Give.
Everything was light and bright, whites and creams, with her cherrywood desk facing three big windows that overlooked the vast Sound.
I slid into her swivel chair and opened her left-behind MacBook. She only traveled with her iPad.
Password? the laptop asked, and even though I knew the answer, my heart rate sped up.
Had I felt that way when I helped myself to my parents’ emergency fund?
Probably not.
Stellablue1!, I typed. Stella was my mom’s childhood dog, blue was her favorite color, and my dad always reminded us that special characters made passwords harder to guess. It was also our Prime password.
“Okay…” Henry said when access was approved. “Are you sure this is your mom’s computer?”
“I know, I know,” I told him. “She’s a contradiction.”
Because while my mom was organized in almost every area of her life, her laptop was not one of them.
Her desktop was a mess of miscellaneous folders, documents, and screenshots.
She even had some funny GIFs saved. I had to squint to sort through them and double-clicked on a promising folder labeled inspiration.
Henry and I scanned its subfolders. Each had a different vibe, from preppy to bohemian to mid-century to contemporary casual. None of them was what we were looking for, but I was impressed—my mom appeared to be a student of all styles.
“Try that one,” Henry suggested once I’d navigated back to the chaotic screen.
He pointed at the upper right-hand corner, at a folder between a PDF flyer for Dave Matthews’s book signing and an old photo of me in a blue cap and gown at my middle school graduation. The folder read house it looked like the beginning of a portfolio. house most of our classmates have offered to contribute for an epic night!
My heart thudded hard in my chest. Holy shit.
Price was no object? For accepting packages of fun decorations and games and going to Trader Joe’s or picking up a catered order in town? Price was no object?
You could do it, I told myself. You could fully refill the bank account. Four thousand plus errand-running money would get me across the finish line, even with the cuts I owed Griff and Ellie.
My email is golightlyglass@, I wrote after Joel agreed upon a price. Let me know what you need me to do!
Fantastic! Joel said. I’ll have Lana send a list. The theme is old-fashioned kegger.