روايات وقصص ضمن A House With Good Bones

Whatever is out here tonight, I don’t want to see it. It’s almost a relief when I come around the bend and finally catch sight of the house. It’s my first time seeing it up close, and I have to admit that Tanner’s descriptions of the structure haven’t done it any justice. The building is a masterpiece of stone, wood, and glass. While it’s certainly not my style, I can still appreciate the craftsmanship that’s gone into the construction. It looks like something out of a magazine, bone white and picture-perfect. Tanner’s comments about the house float to the forefront of my mind. He said something about how it looks great now, but in a few years, the swamp will overtake this place too.

I know I shouldn’t of let what he did and what he said slide so easily but he was the first actual nice guy I've meet in a long time and in a city like Portland their a rare find. Most of the good men are either gay or men who are already taken and are just looking for a new flavor to have some fun with. While their wife’s are either superficial princesses who do palatize and yoga with their so called friends or they are controlling and have their husbands balls around their necks like some prized jewel.

"This is worth far more than five healing herb contributions per moon cycle." He shrugged, avoiding my gaze. "The market for territory dens has been soft lately." I didn't believe that for a second, but I decided not to press the issue. If Nathan was offering me a favorable deal, I wasn't going to argue. The inside of the house was even more impressive—spacious, with gleaming wooden floors and modern amenities. It had been recently built, every detail carefully considered for comfort and functionality. "This is perfect," I breathed, turning in a slow circle to take in the main living area.

They claimed that they were moving in to take care of me. My house had a two-room layout. It wasn't huge, but it was situated in the city. It was also in a highly sought-after school district, so it was worth quite a lot. As soon as Nancy walked in through the entrance, she began scrutinizing my house with a greedy look in her eyes. She said, "I never noticed how well-kept this house is. What a nice place! The housing market is doing well right now, so this house could fetch us a tidy sum of money."

He watched me with quiet attentiveness, the protective instinct that had sharpened over the past month never far from the surface. “Still up for looking at houses later?” he asked. “It’s supposed to get hot today.” Excitement sparked instantly. “Of course I am. I’ve been waiting all week.” We’d been searching for a new home—something built not from history, but from intention. A place chosen for lots of laughter yet to happen. For footsteps yet to echo down hallways. For memories not shadowed by anything that came before. Roman still looked unconvinced. “You’ll get tired,” he said. “And the heat—”

“Tess is my mate. What’s mine is now hers. There’s nothing she needs here. There’s no reason to keep the house.” In another time—hell, in another life—I’d have been outraged that Killan made such a huge declaration. Instead, I take a look around, studying the home I’ve lived in for years. The place won’t last much longer. I’ve been unable to maintain the roof, so when it rains, I have to place pans around the kitchen to keep the floor dry. No matter how often I clean, mold seems to thrive near the windows. The wood around the door is dry-rotted, and the floor has started caving in certain places. The house is so different from Killan’s. Whereas his things are costly, well-designed, and sturd

He found his perfect home. Maybe not perfect for his parents. Or his friends, but it was perfect for him. It was definitely in his price range. His parents politely called it a fixer-upper and impolitely called it the worst investment he could make. Ben liked it, and more importantly, he could afford it. It had been on the market for years and just needed some attention. The inspection revealed a list of mild-to-moderate concerns, but nothing major. It had good bones. It had character. It had peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, and flickering light, but Ben appreciated it in a way he'd never appreciated something before. It was his. He worked for it. He wasn't afraid of hard work, but the work

From the outside, the house looked like a quaint old wooden house. It consisted of merely one storey. It was built from woods, combined with some irons and bricks. However, coming to the inside, the furniture as well as the interior design made that house look quite luxurious as well as sophisticated. There was some expensive as well as valuable furniture; there were also some smart, sophisticated as well as expensive machine devices in that house.

Bassler House. Out here in the middle of an old cornfield left fallow, looking even worse than it had twenty-six years ago, its roof sagging in several places, most of its paint peeled, revealing bleached, bone-white wood. Broken shutters hung limply, fluttering in the breeze against the siding, taping out a light, faraway tick-TACK, tick-TACK, tick-TACK . . . Like the beating of a heart. The monster’s heart. The front porch sloped downward at one end, its foundation gradually sinking. For decades, no one had ever expressed interest in owning the house so there it had remained, in the bank’s ownership, waiting quietly.

It's cold, but my hands are sweaty and one of them is firmly secure in Hunter's, as if none of us were very confident in what we can expect from this meeting. I've always found this house too exaggerated for two people, and now, watching it grow as we move towards it, I can't help but twist my nose for it. It is a two-storey house, with apparent beams with an imperial charm, and that can easily hide some stars from the sky with its steep and inclined roof. A structure too large for a conventional home, but not as immense as a mansion. A middle ground between luxury and comfort.