In those early days, I didn’t wait for the fanfare or assistance. With the ink barely dry on the paperwork, I ordered a dumpster, slipped into a pair of rugged overalls, and dove into the chaos of renovation. The house, once a relic hidden under layers of neglect, now stood bare and echoing, ready for transformation.
I stood amidst the empty rooms, the sledgehammer feeling almost surreal in my grip. The walls, stripped of their old, peeling wallpaper, loomed around me like blank canvases. Sunlight streamed through the grimy windows, casting a hopeful glow on the faded wooden floors. I could almost hear the echoes of laughter and conversation that would soon fill these spaces, transforming them from hollow echoes to warm, vibrant scenes of life.
The deep-cleaning crew had done wonders, erasing years of dust and grime, and leaving behind a sense of purity and potential. Now, as I roamed from room to room, each step resonated with possibility. The high ceilings and spacious rooms whispered secrets of elegant dinner parties, cozy winter nights by the fireplace, and sunny afternoons with sunlight streaming through the windows.
My phone vibrated against the fabric of my overalls, snapping me out of my daydream. It was Max, his message a simple yet exciting prompt: “On my way. Ready to bust some walls?”
A grin spread across my face as I typed a quick response. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I could already feel the adrenaline kicking in, a heady mix of excitement and anticipation.
We had decided to go all-in on each other over the last month or so. We were kind of going backward and actually dating and getting to know each other. I hadn’t missed a Sunday dinner at his mom’s house since.
I’d learned Max loved the big family he came from and had always talked about wanting a mess of kids running around. One of his sisters had shared with me how hard it was when their dad had died when all the kids were so young and how Max had stepped up to help out. He had played Dad at such a young age but had been really good at it. Like he was meant for that role.
I also learned less serious things, like how he hated green peppers and loved popcorn as a midnight snack. One time, when I was snuggled up on his couch, he had randomly decided to make cinnamon rolls from scratch so we could have them for breakfast. All of these little things filtered through to let me know who Max was at his core. And all of those things were making me fall for him.
As I waited for Max, my gaze drifted over the expanse of the main room. The grand fireplace stood as a stoic centerpiece, its mantel dusty but dignified, a silent witness to the home’s storied past and its promising future. I imagined where we might place the furniture, how the light would look streaming in during the golden hour, and where we might hang the art that would bring our personalities into the space.
Max’s arrival brought a new energy to the house. His presence seemed to fill the rooms, his laughter and optimism infectious. Together, we stood, side by side, on the threshold of our shared project. This wasn’t just about renovating a house. It was about building a life, a future that was as exciting as it was unknown.
With a deep breath and a shared look of determination, we raised our sledgehammers. The walls that had confined the brownstone’s potential would soon fall away, opening up a world of possibilities. This was more than just a physical undertaking. It was a leap into a new chapter of our lives, one filled with hope, hard work, and the promise of something beautiful to be built together.
But first, we needed to tear them down. The walls that were too damaged had been marked with an X from an inspector. They would all need to come down, but Max had promised he’d be the one to put them back up.
We made our way through the living room, swinging our sledgehammers and forcing sections of wall to crumble down. After tackling the downstairs, we both turned to face each other, covered in dust, chunks of wall, and sweat. My stomach growled loudly.
Luckily, we had working plumbing, so we were able to wash up in the kitchen even though the sink had chunks of porcelain taken out. I’d brought a stack of rags and soaked one to wipe down my face, chest, and arms. I swear I could taste plaster in the back of my throat.
“Wine and snack break?” Max asked, pulling out a small cooler and bottle of wine he’d brought in.
“Absolutely,” I replied.
Life hack: date a sommelier and you’ll always have a glass of wine ready every time you turn around.
Max poured a buttery Chardonnay into plastic cups. He held his cup up as he said, “To you, to the house, to your hard work.”
I smiled like a maniac at him. Everything was truly coming together exactly how I’d wanted it to even though I was too afraid to admit it just a few months ago. I tapped my cup against his before drinking. I couldn’t fight the giddiness I felt in my gut.
Tipping the wine back, I swallowed my pour in one gulp and set my cup down on the counter. I pressed myself into Max’s chest, standing on my tiptoes so I could wrap my arms around his neck. I pressed a kiss against his lips, both our mouths cold from the wine. My tongue parted his lips and slipped in his mouth, and I smiled against him as he groaned.
“I think it’s time we christened the house, don’t you think?” I asked as my hand trailed down his chest to the waist of his pants.
“We can count it as christening the kitchen because I plan on taking you in every single room of this house,” Max replied.
I hurriedly unfastened my overalls and pushed them down to the floor. There was a fever in me that only Max could ease. Max tugged his shirt off and I couldn’t help the way my eyes tracked his every movement. God, this man was sexy. He had a small sprinkling of dark hair below his belly button that made my stomach do flips.
I looped my fingers in his waistband and tugged him toward me. My kisses were frenzied, and my hands moved everywhere. Max reached between us to unbutton his pants and stepped away slightly to kick them off. The sight of him, even underneath the fabric of his black briefs, had me swallowing deeply.
Max scooped me up, and I wrapped my legs around his waist. His mouth was on mine, matching my energy, as he pushed us against the counter.
“Please,” I said, “I need you inside me.”
He reached in between us to pull himself out and pressed himself against my entrance. I shifted my hips so I could slide down on him. My hips stilled as I adjusted to the feel of him between my legs, my breath finally releasing.
Max held my hips as he pulled me back only to bring me back down. This wasn’t slow or sweet. This was frenzied and full of emotions. All the anxiety I’d held onto about Max, about us, was unraveling with every thrust. I pressed my mouth against his and tangled my fingers in his hair. I wanted to be closer, closer.
Max leaned me against the counter so he could release one hand from my hip. He brought his fingers in between us and pressed firmly against my clit, rubbing in small circles with two fingers. With one roll of his hips, he hit the spot he knew would bring me over the edge. I shivered as my orgasm flowed through me, Max never releasing his hold.
As I came down, Max increased his pace. His fingers dug into the flesh of my hips as he pushed himself inside me over and over. Sweat dripped down my lower back and Max moved furiously between us. I clenched around him and felt a low hum leave his chest as he found his own release.
