Aaron did not look up from his notepad. “The basement has nine-foot ceilings, Clara. Do you know how rare that is for this neighborhood?”
“We agreed to finish the baby’s room first,” I said.
He tapped the notepad with his pencil, his thumb brushing his watch face as he checked the time. “The baby is not coming for four months. We have time.”
“The doctor said I might be on bed rest by December,” I said.
“What kind of business would we run from a basement, Aaron?” I asked.
“Just general storage, Clara,” he said, walking to the other side of the room. “My dad has some overflow from the machine shop. It is no big deal.”
Aaron walked past me, his boots clicking on the bare floorboards as he headed toward the front door. “We need to look at the practical spaces first. Storage is what keeps a house organized.”
I followed him out to the driveway, where his sedan sat under the bare maple trees. A dry leaf fell onto the windshield, sliding down the glass to rest against the wiper blade.
