Also, surreal moment: just hit almost 5K followers and got my first potential sponsorship inquiry? Turns out documenting a catastrophically bad decision in excruciating detail resonates with people. Who knew?
#ThisLoveIsUnderConstruction #TinyHouseHugeFeelings #SponsoredContentOrJustDelusion
I hit post and immediately text Abby:
EMERGENCY: A company with actual products and followers just asked about a collaboration on my renovation account. Is this real life?? Do I respond professionally or play it cool? DO I EVEN REMEMBER HOW TO BE PROFESSIONAL?
Her response comes seconds later:
OMG YES!!! This is the universe validating your terrible life choices. Respond like the PR goddess you are.
Also, does Lumber Owen know you’re getting famous off his forearms?
CARPENTER Owen doesn’t follow social media. And I very specifically don’t post identifying photos of him per his request. But his dog is becoming quite the star.
Smart. Keep the dog in the spotlight, seduce the owner with your viral fame. Classic strategy.
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling.
There is no seduction strategy. Rule #4, remember?
Rules are for people who don’t have 5K followers and sponsorship offers. Just saying.
I put my phone down and stand, stretching muscles that have developed a whole new vocabulary of aches since I started this renovation. Two weeks ago, I could barely tell a hammer from a screwdriver. Now I have calluses forming on my palms and can identify at least seven different types of saws by sound alone.
Progress, however small, feels good. The foundation work has been brutal—days of digging, concrete pouring, beam installation—but watching somethingsolidemerge from chaos is oddly satisfying. Different from the abstract “wins” of my PR days, where success was measured in engagement metrics and client approval.
Here, success is measured in a house that won’t collapse when you walk across the floor.
Low bar. But we’re clearing it.
I snap a few more progress photos, documenting the new support beams and floor joists from different angles. Owen would be here later to begin installing the subfloor, but I’d come early to capture the morning light that makes even construction debris look somehow poetic.
The crunch of tires on gravel outside interrupts my impromptu photo shoot. I check the time—only 9:15. Too early for Owen, who’d texted that he’d be here around eleven after picking up supplies.
I peer through the window frame (still without actual glass) to see a small blue sedan parking next to my rental car. A woman steps out—dark hair in a messy bun, flannel over jeans, holding a cardboard tray of coffee cups.
Maggie Carver.Owen’s sister.
“Hello?” she calls, navigating the partially rebuilt porch with practiced ease. “Penny? You in there?”
“Coming!” I quickly dust off my hands on my jeans, suddenly aware of how I must look—hair piled haphazardly on top of my head, yesterday’s tank top with suspicious stains, sawdust probably covering every visible inch of me.
Finn beats me to the door, tail wagging enthusiastically as Maggie steps inside.
“There’s my favorite nephew,” she coos, bending down to pet him without spilling the coffee. “Yes, you’re a good boy. Uncle Owen doesn’t deserve you.”
“He’d probably disagree with that assessment,” I say, smiling despite my confusion at her unexpected visit.
Maggie straightens and hands me one of the cups. “Peace offering. Or bribery. Depends how this conversation goes.”
I accept the coffee with a laugh. “That’s exactly what I said to your brother on my first day of demolition. Are ominous coffee offerings a Carver family tradition?”
“Along with emotional constipation and an unhealthy attachment to power tools.” She grins, stepping insideand surveying the work. “Wow, you guys have made progress. Last time I saw this place, it was basically held together by termites holding hands.”
“That’s... disturbingly accurate.” I take a sip—perfectly doctored. “Not that I’m not grateful for the caffeine, but what brings you by? Owen’s not here yet.”
“I know.” Maggie’s grin turns conspiratorial. “That’s kind of the point. I wanted to talk to youwithoutmy brother’s brooding presence sucking all the oxygen out of the room.”
