Chapter 2 #3
“No, I don’t mean a B and B. I mean you could rent rooms by the month.
Thanks to the lack of affordable housing, a lot of homeowners in Greenwood are doing it.
You’d be surprised how quickly they get snapped up.
Do you have any idea of how much a room goes for in this town?
” Windy followed her down the stairs, describing some listings she’d recently viewed and how much landlords expected.
“A lot of them are real dumps too. I can hardly believe they get that much. Makes me wish I’d hung onto my home and rented rooms there. But that ship has sailed.”
Riva paused on the landing. “I wonder how much I could get?”
Windy tossed out a number she said was fair for a single room. “Multiply that by three for these rooms, although I’m sure you could get more for the ensuite.”
“Really? That much?” Riva considered it. “That would cover my mortgage payment.” She sighed. “But not my property taxes.”
“You have that lovely spare room downstairs.” Windy pointed up the stairs behind them. “And I’ll bet there’s a roomy attic up there. I noticed third-floor windows from my drive-by dreaming days.”
“You’re right. The third floor is large. Paul had it insulated and had drywall installed for a playroom when the kids were little. After they left, we talked about getting a pool table up there, but eventually we just used it for storage.”
“Can I have a look at it?”
“Of course.” Riva changed directions, heading back upstairs. She opened the door at the end of the second-floor hallway. “These stairs are a little steep,” she warned. But Windy was already scrambling up like a mountain goat.
“Oh, Riva, this is a glorious space. I would rent it from you in a heartbeat if you’d let me.”
“Seriously? You want to live in my attic?” She pointed to the high windows in the gables.
“Not a lot of light up here.” She frowned at the teal paint on the walls.
“And this dark wall color doesn’t help. My daughter picked it out when she was a preteen.
” Riva looked down. “This old carpeting is pretty atrocious too.”
“Those are easy changes. Fresh paint. Rip up the carpet. Add some cheery furnishings and additional lighting, and it’d be perfect.”
Riva wrinkled her nose. She sure wouldn’t want to live up here. “I don’t even know what a spot like this would rent for.”
Windy spat out a number slightly higher than what she quoted for the bedrooms below. “Anyway, that’s what I’d pay for it. And I’d give you first and last, plus a cleaning deposit if you like, or you could let me invest that into improvements. You know, like paint and flooring.”
“Really? You’d want to rent this for that much?”
“That’s what I have set aside for my next move.
It’s what I was originally paying for where I am now, before the rate increase.
And believe me, my apartment is pathetic.
Of course, I’d want kitchen privileges since I don’t think cooking up here would be such a great idea.
I might like a hot pot for tea, though, and a tiny fridge for drinks .
. . but I do love to cook. Not so much in my apartment though.
My stove has just two burners that sometimes work, and the oven is useless so I don’t really bother anymore.
But I miss it.” Windy turned her attention back on the attic room, strolling about, guessing on wall measurements and scrutinizing the whole space as if she planned to move in today.
“You really love to cook?” Riva studied the colorful woman she’d only met a few hours ago. “I don’t mind making soup or something simple occasionally, but I don’t particularly love it.”
Windy’s brows arched. “I’m surprised. I figured with that well-equipped kitchen and all that counter space, you’d be into cooking. It would be such a fun place to whip things up. And if I lived here, I’d love to cook for you as well.”
Riva didn’t know what to say. Windy seemed to be jumping to conclusions here.
“Well, I used to enjoy cooking back when my kids were home.
We remodeled the kitchen about twenty years ago, and putting meals together was fun for a spell.
But then Kenzie headed off to college and Brent—that's my son—joined the Air Force, and I had to adjust to cooking for two instead of four.”
“I know what you mean. I had to do the same thing. But after I got used to it and quit overbuying at the grocery store, I really enjoyed it.”
“I sort of did too. Then Paul got sick and his appetite changed.” Riva stood by the door, ready to call this house tour done.
“I mostly made smoothies for him the last couple years . . . It wasn’t much fun.
” To be honest, life wasn’t much fun, but she didn’t want to be a complete killjoy since Windy seemed so hopeful and optimistic, still obsessed with the horrible attic space.
Riva sighed and, overwhelmed by Windy’s enthusiasm and tired of the stuffy attic smell, headed back to the second floor. “Look around as long as you like,” she called over her shoulder, eager to get back downstairs and to her sanity.
All this talk about renting rooms to strangers and the possibility of letting this eccentric woman move into her attic, share her kitchen, and work in her backyard was discombobulating.
What was Riva getting into? How could she put on the brakes?
Good grief, she didn’t even know this Windy person!
What if she turned out to be a hoarder with twelve cats?
Or what if she had a bunch of wild friends that she planned to invite over for noisy parties?
Or worse, what if she were a criminal looking for a hideout to hole up in?
Or what if she was involved in drugs? That’d be disastrous.
As Riva went into her kitchen, which really was pretty swanky with the stainless appliances and sleek countertops, she replayed how Windy had admitted to admiring and even “loving” this house for years.
What if she was on a mission to get rid of Riva and attain the property for herself?
Riva had recently watched a creepy Lifetime movie about that very thing.
And it had been based on a true story! No, Riva decided, before this craziness went too far with Windy—if that was her real name—she would nip it in the bud!