“This is my house,” I said happily. “My house!”
He looked blank for a moment, then inquisitive. “Yeah? Could have sworn I built it. How’d it get to be yours?”
I waved my hands around the room. “It’s mine. I designed it. While I was in graduate school. I entered it into a design contest. It won! I won! This house won! The plans are famous.”
Okay, not precisely famous, but well-known enough. I’d won the coveted West Coast Design Competition with this entry.
“Oh yeah? I got an award-winnin’ house?”
This was so fabulous. I’d never seen the house, my very first dream house, in the flesh. I squirmed around in his office chair and stared at the floor plan.