Page 31 of Passion and Privilege

To my surprise, she was lingering near the staircase, eyeing me skeptically. “Hey, Paisley,” I began, approaching her cautiously. “I wanted to apologize for earlier. I didn’t mean to startle you. I wasn’t aware anyone was home.”

“Whatever,” she said, shrugging her shoulder.

“I’m happy to meet Mr. Hastings’s daughter. He told me a little about you when we were getting your room ready.”

Paisley raised an eyebrow, her expression guarded. “Is that what Mr. Hastings called me?” she said slyly, looking down at her perfectly manicured nails. “Hm, interesting.”

I blinked, caught off guard by her question. “Well, yes. He mentioned you’re his daughter.”

She flipped her long dark hair over her shoulder and sniffed. “It stinks in here. Is that you?”

My eyebrows shot up. “No, I haven’t been working long enough to get ripe.”

“It really smells. He didn’t tell me it was going to be so stinky.”

I chuckled nervously. The girl was intimidating. I tried to remind myself she was just a teenager, but damn, she was scary. “I’m just here to help restore the house. I didn’t mean to intrude or make you uncomfortable. I’m going back to work.”

Paisley shrugged and her demeanor slightly softened. “Whatever. It smells weird up here.”

It was her way of asking what I was doing. It had been a long time, but I could still speak teen. “It’s probably just the wax for the floors and the fresh paint on the walls. We’re working on restoring everything.”

“My mom wanted to paint everything white,” she said, shrugging. “My mom thinks Timothy’s idea of restoring the house instead of tearing it down is ridiculous. It’s so old. Do you know how old this place is?”

I couldn’t help but wonder why Paisley referred to her father as Timothy. It wasn’t my place to pry. “I do know how old it is,” I said, nodding. “It’s an architectural gem. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s old.”

“Yes, it is. What do you think about the house so far?”

Paisley’s eyes flickered with a hint of curiosity. “I hope it’s haunted.”

I couldn’t contain my laughter at her unexpected comment. “Haunted? Why would you want that?”

She smirked, a glimmer of mischief in her eyes. “I like dark, spooky places. This house is too nice.”

I shook my head, still amused by her determination to be difficult. “Well, I can assure you, it’s not haunted. But it does have its own charm.”

As I started making my way down the stairs, Paisley followed, her steps hesitant at first, then more assured. The air seemed to lighten, the awkward tension dissipating as we descended together. When we reached the ground floor, I headed toward my truck parked outside.

Paisley followed me. I didn’t say anything. She was obviously curious but too proud to ask questions. She circled my truck, eyes darting from one tool to another when I opened the toolbox I carried at all times.

“What’s all this for?” she asked.

“Just some tools for the restoration,” I explained. I opened another toolbox to reveal an array of brushes and scrapers. “We’re trying to bring the old beauty of the house back to life. The idea is to make it look exactly as it did when it was first built, with only a few changes.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Well, some people believe that old things have a value, a beauty, that can’t be replicated in the new,” I replied. “This house has seen many years, many lives. Can you imagine the stories it could tell?”

Paisley ran her fingers over a set of old chisels. “It’s just wood and bricks,” she said dismissively.

I smiled at the sullen teenager’s determination to remain indifferent. “True, but to some, it’s more than that. I have studied carpentry pretty much my whole life. When I see something like this, I’m so excited. This house was built before modern machinery. All the wood you see in there was done by hand. People had to carve out those intricate designs and cut every piece of wood.”

Paisley squinted at me, her eyes narrowing in consideration. “Sounds like a lot of work for something that’s just going to get old and break again.”

I shrugged, shutting the toolbox with a soft click. “Everything gets old and breaks eventually. That doesn’t mean it’s not worth appreciating while it’s here.”

She paused, her fingers idly twirling a strand of her dark hair as she mulled over my words. I could tell by the look in her eye that she wasn’t quite convinced yet, but I had planted a seed.