There are homes you walk through... and then there are homes that pull you in by the collar, pour you a drink, and insist you stay a while.12 Andrews has been here since 1879, quietly collecting stories, wearing its age like a perfectly broken-in leather jacket. Ceilings stretch high (nearly 9'), like the house itself is exhaling, unbothered by time. In an era where everyone knocked down walls in the name of "flow," this one kept them; and thank God! Here, rooms are allowed to be rooms. Dressed in Victorian trim, the living rm is its own world: calm, intentional, a little introspective. Sit, unwind, and forget about the kitchen sink judging your life choices. Light drifts through tall windows, catching the fireplace like a wink from another century. Then you move into the dining rm, framed by dramatic bookshelves. There's a threshold, a shift. The tone changes. Dinner becomes an occasion again. The kitchen? A 2024 overhaul of creamy cabinetry, warm brass, open shelving; more Parisian bistro than urban reno. A cozy banquet sits against black-framed, floor-to-ceiling doors o/l the garden, blurring the lines between inside & out. Upstairs: 3 charming bdrms.The primary does what it should:fits a king, real storage, no compromises. Heated bath floors, because small luxuries matter. Now here's where things get... magical. The backyard isn't just a yard, it's a sequence. Spring: crocus, tulips, daffodils. Summer: lavender & roses that don't hold back. Fall: Japanese anemones stretching the season just a little longer. A little wild, completely alive. And if you're lucky (really lucky) you'll see him. The elusive white squirrel. Not a trick of the light. He shows up when he feels like it, like a backyard ghost with a sense of humour. Those who've seen him say the same thing: that's when you know the house has chosen you. But the real story? Outside your door. Eat like a king, wander like a tourist, live like a local. Then come home to your quiet, and it all just... settles.

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