Closing Day (Or, The Part Where We Let Her Go)

There’s something surreal about closing day.

After months of dust, design decisions, late-night paint touch-ups, grout sealing at unreasonable hours, hardware swaps, staging marathons, and more “one last thing” moments than I can count — it all condenses into a stack of paper and a pen.

No sawdust.
No drills.
Just signatures.

And somehow, that feels louder than all of it.

The Nights Before the Numbers

The week leading up to closing wasn’t glamorous. It was final walk-through energy. It was tightening hinges. Adjusting strike plates. One last caulk line. 

It was making sure Teche was ready for the new family that fell in love with her.

Staging had been the most indulgent part of this project — the rugs, the vintage glass, the brass glowing under the correct temperature bulbs (always the correct temperature bulbs). But closing week is about restraint. About making sure everything you promised is exactly what the buyers receive.

No half-painted hardware.
No dusty baseboards.
No tape hiding in corners.

Just a house, fully ready.

The Business of Doing It Right

Because I know some of you are wondering how it all shook out.

We purchased 105 Teche at a price that respected her bones — solid structure, a strong lot, original cypress worth restoring, not replacing. The renovation plan was measured from the start. We allocated capital toward what actually creates long-term value: improving layout flow, upgrading electrical and plumbing systems, insulating properly, restoring historic materials, and choosing finishes designed to age beautifully.

No trend chasing.
No artificial inflation.
No shortcuts disguised as savings.

We went under contract in January — traditionally one of the slower months in our market — and closed in February at full price, supported by appraisal. That detail matters. Not because it’s dramatic, but because it validates the work. Thoughtful restoration holds its ground, even when the market cools.

Yes, there was profit. There should be. Risk, time, and expertise deserve return. But the margin wasn’t extracted — it was earned through months of labor, deliberate decision-making, and a refusal to rush quality for speed.

The buyers didn’t overpay. They stepped into a home where the systems were addressed, the details were resolved, and the hard work was already done.

In a market that often rewards shortcuts, we chose steadiness.

That’s the kind of business I’m proud to run.

Closing Day, According to a Five-Year-Old

Evie came with me.

She insisted (plus school was closed for Mardi Gras break).

She wore something sparkly and announced to the receptionist, with full authority, that she “has serious business to take care of.” Which, honestly, she did.

She sat at the closing table doing her makeup with intense focus while I signed what felt like a small forest’s worth of paperwork. At one point she leaned over and whispered, “Mommy, why is there so much legal jargon?”

Valid question.

There’s something poetic about watching your child witness a full cycle — from demolition days to handing over keys. She’s run through those rooms mid-construction. She’s danced on the floors. She told me once the house was “almost done.”

And now she watched it officially become someone else’s.

It felt… right.

After the Signatures

When it was done, I gathered the documents and drove them straight to “Mista Patrick’s office.”

We reflected on this flip like adults. Talked strategy. Talked next moves.

And then we did what any serious real estate professional and her family would do:

We made heart shapes with our hands on the office copier and ran copies.

Proof of serious business.

What Closing Really Means

Closing isn’t an ending. It’s a transfer of stewardship.

We restored 105 Teche. We listened to her. We made her whole again. But she was never ours to keep.

Now she belongs to someone else’s slow mornings. Someone else’s late dinners. Someone else’s wildflower garden maintenance schedule.

And that’s the point.

We didn’t build a flip.
We built something ready.

And the best part?
We get to do it again.

Now if you need me I’ll be enjoying my long-standing closing day ritual: Steak for one, too much red wine, and a whole box of lucky charms.