The cicadas buzzed lazily as Jean pulled up to a shotgun house tucked between pastel cottages in the Bywater. The homeowner, Miss Loretta, greeted them with a tray of lemon icebox cookies and a story about how her transoms had seen every Mardi Gras since 1947.
Tinteaux hopped out of the van, tail swishing with purpose. “These transoms are practically royalty,” he whispered, gazing up at the stained glass panels above the doors.
Jean nodded. “They deserve Tintelligence™—the kind that preserves charm and blocks that relentless afternoon glare.”
Inside, the house was a mosaic of vintage wallpaper, polished wood floors, and sunlight that danced a little too boldly across the parlor. Jean unpacked the custom-cut tint sheets, each one designed to enhance the glass without muting its character.
Tinteaux climbed onto a step stool, holding a tiny squeegee. “Precision is my middle name.”
“Your middle name is ‘Drama,’” Jean teased, smoothing the first panel with practiced grace.
As they worked, Shadeaux sent a live update from the Tintelligence™ dashboard: UV Index: High. Tint Level: 65%. Mood: Serene. Miss Loretta peeked in. “It’s like my house is wearing sunglasses. Fancy ones.”
By sunset, the transoms glowed with a soft amber hue, filtering the light like a sepia-toned postcard. Jean snapped a photo for the blog. Tinteaux posed dramatically in the doorway.
“Another Bywater masterpiece,” he declared. “Tinted with soul.”
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