Dust floats in the late afternoon sun as she steps into the half-finished kitchen. The smell of fresh paint mingles with the sharp scent of sawdust lingering in the air. The floor creaks softly beneath her boots. He’s crouched by the cabinets, wrestling with a box of hardware, the faint clang of metal against wood breaking the silence.
She crosses her arms, scanning the blueprints, then frowns. “Why do you have brushed nickel handles here? I specified matte black.”
He glances up, rubbing a smudge of dirt off his cheek. “Matte black chips. I swapped them out so they don’t look like crap in six months.”
She pulls out her phone, annoyance flashing in her eyes. “You just swapped them out? You didn’t even tell me! Clients want what I show them, not what you think lasts longer!”
He leans back, wiping his hands on his jeans, a dry rasp in his voice. “You’re the realtor, not the builder. I fix problems before they happen — like I could fix that attitude of yours.”
She snaps the blueprint shut, eyes darted to his. “I can’t work like this! I’m the one selling these houses. When they see differences from the listing, it’s on me — not the construction boys.”
He stands up, so the dust motes catch the light around his shoulders. “Construction boys? I’m making your life easier.”
He steps to her, the weight of the moment pressing between them. “It’s better to have a little inconsistency than a ton of callbacks.”
She grits her teeth, jaw tight. “Or we do it like I asked and get it done once.”
He smirks, voice low and certain. “Idealism’s cute, but the clock’s ticking.”
She exhales, fighting the urge to yell but keeps her voice calm. “Just… check with me next time.”
A brief silence stretches as the dust settles, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner struggling against the heat outside.
He shifts, then nods. “Fine. Next time, I’ll run it by you. But only because I don’t want to see you drowning in angry clients.”
Dramatic Danna 