“It’s amazing,” I told Glenn. “Like new.”
He beamed with pride, then took me back inside and handed me one of the home’s brochures, pointing at the asking price. A million eight. I was floored. “Really?” I asked.
The Realtor had crept up beside me and she jumped in with an, “Oh yes, and it’ll probably go for more. This area is very desirable.”
I gave Glenn’s hand a squeeze. He chuckled as if he, too, couldn’t believe his good fortune. The house sold in less than a week. Two million.
* * * *
The night after we learned the sale had gone through, Glenn insisted on taking me out to dinner. He’d obviously scouted a new spot, and soon we were in a Walnut Creek upscale restaurant called Georgie’s, eating halibut. I hadn’t known until then that we shared a love of fish.
Raising his wineglass, Glenn proposed a toast. “To prosperity. Rolling in it.”
“To prosperity,” I repeated, clinking my glass to his. “And to us.”