4 #2
She didn’t want one of those people to list her house, to let them come into it and look around with amused eyes at the simple way her family had lived. No, she’d sooner sell the house herself.
Just before she slammed the book shut in disgust, a name in bold type caught her eye.
Les Joslin. Yes, that Les Joslin, the one who was usurped by Rhys James one sweaty night when Rhett was fifteen.
Since he was two years older, he hadn’t been around when she started dating Todd and hadn’t been part of the crowd that made her last year in school so miserable. So she called him.
When he arrived at the house, he seemed genuinely happy to see her, and she was able to relax a bit. He expressed condolences about Todd and then got right down to business. Rhett appreciated that and followed him into the house.
She couldn’t help but admire him as he stopped in front of her, hands on hips as he surveyed the empty living room. He’d kept that killer linebacker’s physique that first attracted her in high school, and he still had a head full of wavy brown hair. Nice ass, too.
Flames of mortification burned her cheeks.
Where the hell did that come from? She was no longer fifteen and panting after a cool football player.
He was her real estate agent, her married real estate agent, and she had no designs on him whatsoever.
She fanned herself with the small notebook she held and willed her teenage hormones back into the dark cave where they belonged.
“Okay, Rhett.” Les sighed. “You’re going to need to do some fixing up and updating before we list the house.”
“I figured that." She flipped open the notebook and poised her pen over the blank page. “Let me have it.”
“The first thing you’re going to need to do is paint. Probably not just this room, but the whole house.” He trailed the fingers of one hand over the walls as he made a circuit of the room.
Rhett cringed in embarrassment. “Yeah, I know. I didn’t realize how bad the walls looked until we got everything out.”
“Hey, don’t worry about it.” His smile was reassuring.
“Most people don’t. You’ve got your furniture and your possessions in the house, and you don’t really see the walls.
Believe me, yours aren’t nearly as bad as some I’ve seen.
Just choose a neutral paint and a bright white for the trim, and it’ll be fine. ”
That made her feel a bit better, and she jotted down his suggestions in her notebook. But when he heaved another sigh, she looked up, apprehensive again.
“This carpet, though." He stared down between his feet with a frown.
“It’s crap, I know.” Rhett didn’t even bother to glance at it.
She knew how bad it looked. Not only was it an outdated shade of brown, anything resembling plush was now mashed flat from years of foot traffic.
“Can it be cleaned, do you think? Or am I going to have to replace it?” The ca-ching of an old-timey cash register sounded in her head.
“Hm. When was the house built?”
Well, geez. It didn’t look that bad, did it? “1958,” she answered. “But the carpet was new when we moved in.”
“’58, huh?” Under Rhett’s bemused gaze, Les went to a corner of the room and knelt next to the wall. He pulled a Swiss Army Knife from his pocket and started sawing at a corner of the carpet.
“Les, what the hell are you doing?” Rhett rushed over, determined to minimize the damage.
“Just hang on.” He tugged on the bit of carpet he loosened and looked up at her with a grin. “Rhett, you’ve got hardwood under here.”
“Really?” Fascinated, she peered over his broad shoulder. “I wish I’d known that when I was trying to mop up Kool-Aid from the carpet when Lilith was little.”
Les got to his feet, folding his knife. “Buyers want hardwood, so if you’ve got it all through the house, and I bet you do, I’d suggest just having it refinished and not doing carpet. That’s if the wood’s in decent condition.”
“What if it’s not?” The ca-ching sounded again.
“Just put down a nice, neutral carpet or that luxury plank vinyl stuff. But pray for hardwood.”
The rest of his list wasn’t too bad and were things Rhett pretty much expected. New lighting, replacing the fixtures and counters in the bathrooms, changing out the doorknobs from brass to brushed nickel. Nothing too major. She trotted behind him, writing down keywords in her notebook.
But she balked when they got to the kitchen. “Granite countertops? Tile floor? Stainless appliances? For cryin’ out loud, Les. I don’t want to install a whole new kitchen and just walk away from it.”
“I understand where you’re coming from, I really do.
But hear me out, okay?” Les leaned against the counter and pinned her with a serious frown.
“This kitchen is going to keep people from buying this house. You can’t just slap down some new linoleum and call it good.
Kitchens are a deal breaker for buyers.”
“But ...”