“I don’t know. I just want to see the inside; don’t you?” he asked, and his eyes lit up with something I couldn’t pinpoint.
“Sure?” As he fiddled with the lock I glanced around, noting the orange trees, the honeysuckle vines, the shrub roses. This Mrs. Shrewsbury was definitely a gardener. Looking past the debris, I could see the white clapboard, the faded shutters flanking an enormous picture window. A traditional two-story home, its porch curved away from the street and wrapped around toward the back.
“There we go,” Simon announced, the door swinging inward. We walked in, the afternoon light showing us an outdated interior. I gazed at the mauve wallpaper with a calico cat border. But as we moved farther into the house, the entire back wall opened up into a view of the bay.
“Oh,” I gasped, seeing the little lights of Sausalito just beginning to twinkle down below, and farther out, San Francisco. The porch wrapped all the way around the back, with two comfortable-looking lounge chairs positioned to take in the view. The grass needed mowing, the weeds needed weeding, but it was a killer porch.
I turned back toward Simon, who was leaning against the mantel of a stone fireplace flanked by bookshelves with leaded-glass doors. They were covered in shelf paper, but the craftsmanship was unmistakable.
Thumping my feet along the pink wall-to-wall carpeting, I made a guess. “There’s hardwood under this Pepto rug, I bet you anything,” I said, my heart racing a little.
Whoa, slow down Heart. What the hell were we even doing in here?
I passed Simon on the way toward the kitchen, finding avocado green appliances but ample space. My mind began to work. Not you too, Brain—settle down!
“Interesting?” he asked, reaching out his hand to me.
“Interesting,” I allowed, letting him pull me toward the stairs. On the way we passed a formal dining room, complete with bay windows facing the . . . bay. The carpet on the stairs continued the pink, but was only a runner, exposing the hardwood underneath. As we made our way upstairs, golden sunlight broke through the stillness, another huge window hiding under an eave but making for great light. I held my breath as we reached the second floor, peeking inside rooms and counting one, two, three bedrooms, a hallway bath with subway tile, original probably, and heading into what was the . . . master bedroom.
High in the trees, overlooking the porch and the undeniable view, it was a large room with windows on two sides. The hardwood floor was stained a honey that could easily be lifted or darkened. My mind began to whirl, placing a highboy dresser on one wall, a desk in the nook in the corner. Would the bed be four poster or sleigh . . . Oh no, I was staging the room.
Simon came out of the bathroom with a smirk. “Holy shit, you are going to lose your mind when you see what’s in here.”
I pushed past him.
Claw.
Foot.
Tub.
“Sweet merciful God,” I managed, leaning against the wall as he chuckled.
He caught me up in a close hug, leaning his forehead onto mine.
“Nightie Girl, we should totally buy this fucking house,” he said, laughing when I shrieked.
My legs literally turned to jelly. Everything south of my navel liquefied, and if it were not for the core strength I possessed from hours spent in the yoga studio, I would have melted into the hardwood floor and dripped down onto the Pepto carpet below.
“Simon,” I started, an eyebrow moving north.
“Caroline,” he came right back, his eyebrow mocking mine.
“Simon,” I repeated. “Slow down. And when did you start smoking the marijuana?”
He laughed again, then disappeared into one of the closets. I followed him, tamping down the hysteria that threatened inside.
“Listen to me. Seriously, are you high? You must be, because otherwise— Holy shit.” I stopped, my voice echoing. It echoed, you see, because the closet was as big as our entire block. I immediately envisioned miles and miles of custom cabinets: drawers, open shelving, shoe racks. I let out a whimper.
Simon stood in front of the window (the closet had a window. I can’t even.) and gestured at the view. “I wonder if my closet has a window too.”
I gulped. “There’s another closet?” I spun back into the bedroom. Yep, there it was. Two closets. I more than whimpered this time. I looked at Simon, who was leaving my closet (the closet) and coming toward me. I backed into the wall as each step came closer.
“No. No, Simon.”
“We could totally do this.”
“We could totally not do this! Not kidding.”
“This house is incredible.”
“This house is a money pit. Haven’t you ever seen that movie?”
“Have you ever seen a view like the one from that porch?” he asked, placing his hands on either side of the wall, caging me in. “Quit trying to talk yourself out of this,” he said with the tiniest bit of . . . annoyance?
“You haven’t even seen the basement,” I said.
“So we’ll go to the basement.”
“I’m scared of basements, Simon.”
“Everyone’s scared of basements, Caroline.”