20 #2
“No, it’s fine. He was trying to find a reason already; he said his stomach hurt, and then he told me he needed to use the bathroom. He would have found a way to get out of here eventually.”
“Noah, I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. Then he pointed. “That lady is trying to get upstairs.”
I hung there a moment longer, wondering if there was something else I should say, but when I threw a glance over my shoulder, the woman had already unhooked the garland barrier, so I hurried after her.
The night became a blur: conversations about the house, managing minor emergencies, making sure there was plenty of cider, checking in on Tracy as she played and sang and flirted with the younger men who came within range.
It was more or less how I’d hoped the night would go.
People really liked the house, and while I wasn’t crazy about answering the same questions over and over again—yes, it’s the original fucking floor; yes, the stained glass is original; yes, those are the original beams—it was hard not to feel…
good about it all. About having done it, and having done all right.
And yeah, I liked handing out the cards Noah had gotten me.
And in the little moments between those conversations, it was hard not to feel the ache in my gut because Si wasn’t there, and I wished she could have seen this.
Then, somehow, it was over. A handful of people lingered in the house, but the stream of visitors had dried up, and the street was empty and dark again.
Jonathan came in, red-cheeked from the cold and looking way too proud of himself.
Tracy had finished the flask; the Christmas songs were over, and she was singing “Memory” loud enough to scare every cat in a two-mile radius. Marty hadn’t come back.
“I want to buy it.” That was the first thing Jonathan said, while he was still stamping snow off his shoes.
“What do you mean you want to buy it?” Noah asked.
“I want to buy it. It’s a beautiful home. Howie did a great job on it. I want to buy it. Howie, how much do you want for it?”
I glanced at Noah. “You already bought it. You gave it to us for our wedding.”
“And now I want to buy it for me,” Jonathan said. “For us. For the family. Why should I keep renting an Airbnb? We could have a little vacation home here for whenever we come to visit.”
It was hard to tell from the look on Noah’s face if he was in shock or if he wanted to cry.
“You two can keep living in Noah’s condo until we find you something else,” Jonathan said.
“This is our house, Dad,” Noah said.
“Bah,” Jonathan said, waving a glove at Noah.
He kept talking to me when he said, “This was an investment. This is your business. You did a fantastic job, Howie. Now, you need to cash in on that investment. You sell this house to me—at fair market value, obviously—and then you buy the next one. You do that same good work, and next time, you buy two houses. Howie, son, you’ve got valuable skills and a great opportunity here. ”
“It’s our house,” I finally said. “Noah and I need to talk about it.”
Jonathan glanced at Noah as though he’d forgotten he was there. “Well, yes. Of course.”
“Thank you for the offer. That’s really generous of you.”
“I like to see talented, hard-working people get what they deserve. Now, where’s your mother?”
But he didn’t really seem to expect an answer, and he headed past us into the living room without waiting for a response.
I raised my eyebrows at Noah.
He held up a hand and shook his head. But then he said, “Come here. I want you to meet someone.”
In the kitchen, a middle-aged man was typing out something on his phone.
He had silver hair dramatically swept back and silver stubble, but he looked fit and toned.
I didn’t know much about clothes, but I knew the quarter-zip with the leather placket, the dark jeans, and the shoes probably cost more than I guessed.
“Howie, this is Otto Pang.”
The name sounded vaguely familiar. I held out a hand, and Otto returned my shake with a solid grip. He smiled at me, but his gaze moved to Noah as he said, “This is the one, huh?”
Before I could ask what that meant, Noah said, “Otto is—what’s the title, Otto? CEO? Owner?” But then Noah said to me, “You’ve heard of Pang and Associates?”
“Oh,” I said. Because yeah, I’d definitely heard of Pang and Associates.
They were an architectural firm. Not the biggest in the area, but with a lot of clout—they billed themselves as a boutique firm, which meant they worked with really rich people who wanted really specific things done.
Noah was still looking at me, so I managed to say, “Yeah. Yes. Nice to meet you.”
“I love what you’ve done with this house,” Otto said. “I remember when it came on the market a few years ago, thinking it would be a good property to pick up.” He glanced around. “It’s got great bones, and you’ve really outdone yourself on the rehab.”
“Took me long enough,” I said with a smile. “But we didn’t really get started until a few months ago. My partner, Si, she did a lot of it too. And Noah staged it.”
“I know,” Otto said with a smile at Noah. “I already tried to steal him from you.”
Noah laughed, and he touched my arm as he said, “Howie, Otto thinks you’d be a great fit for some of their projects.”
“Really?” I said.
“Really,” Otto said. “Look, I don’t know you.
I haven’t worked with you. But I like what I see—this wasn’t just a cosmetic job.
You guys did the work right, and you did it from the ground up, and it shows.
Our clients expect us to deliver a modern, inviting aesthetic while also preserving the historic integrity of the house.
Our firm is about quality work—done right, not fast. I know now’s not the time, but I wanted to meet you, say hello, let you put a face to my name.
And when you have a few minutes in the next week or two, I’d love to sit down with you and talk about a couple of projects we’ve got on the horizon. ”
Noah was practically glowing.
“Yeah,” I said. “Of course.”
“Fantastic,” Otto said. He shook my hand. He squeezed Noah’s arm, and his hand lingered a moment. “Great job, again. And thanks for your time.”
As soon as he was out the door, Noah squealed, bounced, and grabbed my arms. “Oh my God, Otto Pang!”
“Was he feeling you up?”
“Howie, who cares? Otto! Pang! Oh my God, this is exactly what we wanted! This is amazing!”
“Because if he was feeling you up, I’m going to kick his ass.”
For some reason, that made Noah laugh. A lot.
He was still laughing as I worked my way through the house, sweeping the last stragglers out the back with a cup of cider.
Jonathan obviously wanted to linger, but Tracy—finally away from the piano after an ear-shattering version of “I Dreamed a Dream”—wouldn’t stop talking about rediscovering her music, and Jonathan gave up and bundled her in her coat and walked her out by the elbow.
I shut the door behind them, flipped off the porch light and turned around.
Noah was there, already sliding into a hug. “Otto Pang,” he whispered.
“You keep saying that, and I’m going to think we have a problem.”
He laughed into my chest, and I found myself running a hand through his hair, smelling roses.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good. Tonight was good.” I couldn’t help adding, “Right?”
“Tonight was amazing.” He was so warm against me. He fit just right. I almost didn’t hear him when he added, “I’m so happy for you.”
“For us,” I said.
He made a sound that could have meant anything and rocked against me, and I tightened my arms.
“God, I’m dead on my feet.” He stepped back, patted my chest, and smiled at me.
“You worked so hard for this, Howie. You deserve all of it.” Whatever he saw on my face made his smile get bigger, and he stretched up to kiss my cheek.
“And we’ll celebrate tomorrow. But right now, it’s time for me to go home. ”
The lights had a halo behind him. I could still feel where he’d pressed his lips to my cheek.
“Noah,” I said. “You are home.”