Tucking the zipped leather folder beneath his arm, with two fingers he pulled the key from the pocket of his jeans and let himself inside. He didn’t stop until he was in the small kitchen. Placing the key on the discolored countertop, he surveyed the room. Like many of the older homes built fifty years ago it had a single oven, gas stove, refrigerator without an ice maker, a single sink, and no dishwasher. All the appliances were copper colored. All were woefully outdated. Not for long. Leaving the kitchen Tristan easily found the two small bathrooms. The master bath wasn’t much bigger than the hall bath. Serviceable, but with no punch. Nothing about either of them would make a person happy, make them feel pampered and like they could start the day in style. Again, Tristan would change that. Pulling the notebook from beneath his arm, he opened it. They’d start tearing out on Monday to remodel the house. He’d gotten the rehab bug after doing research for his first article for an interior design book.
