by Nicky Drayden
"You snagged this place for 250k? In the city?" Selma runs her index finger along my sleek granite countertops, then practically fondles the pullout sprayer in my farmhouse sink. "It's got everything!"
"You're gonna die when you see my walk-in closet." I swallow the smug smile I'm giving my BFF. Or at least I try to. "It's got mahogany built-ins and--"
The doorbell chimes a few bars of Beethoven's Fifth, resonating throughout the double-vaulted ceilings like we're in a frickin' cathedral.
"Bianca! OMG, it's been ages," I say, giving my old college roomie a squeeze.
"This place is lush!" She taps the hand-blown pendant light hanging above my kitchen island, then lays a spray of wilting daffodils next to Selma's melted chocolates.
"She paid 250k," Selma says with a raised brow.
"In the city? Impossible. You'd have to sell your soul to get a price like that."
I turn down the thermostat and wipe away the sweat beading on my brow. "Guess I lucked out. Seriously, you're gonna die when you see--"