![]() I turn the brass doorknob and swing open the heavy door. To any passing stranger, it looks just like home. Ivy creeps up the brick fa- cade, nasturtium spills from the window boxes, stained-glass panels glimmer above the wide oak double doors. ![]() My house is a brownstone that I never could have afforded on my own, and while it’s not the most extrav- agant home on the street or the best kept, there is something about it that makes people stop at the bottom of its terra-cotta steps, their mouths open in lustful, longing ohhhhs. I put down the handful of silverware I was distributing and go to answer the door. “That’s probably Amy and Mike,” I call to Kate, who’s sitting in the kitchen. I’m in the dining room, counting place settings, when the door- bell rings.Ī happy, charming, ladylike clang, it’s a sound only an old house could make, which mine is. ![]() How Lucky You Are by Kristyn Kusek Lewis CHAPTER ONE ![]()
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