“Guess you’re going to have to move in, too.”

“I already started packing. But this means you need to redo some bedrooms and bathrooms stat because I am not bringing my very expensive skin care products into a bathroom with carpet on the walls.”

She leaned her head on his shoulder as the camera zoomed in on a pastel pink toilet. “I’m sorry for not calling you. I do need you.”

“You’re forgiven. Now consider saying it to Silas so you two can stop terrifying everyone on the job.”

“I’ll think about it.”

“I still hate that tile on the bathroom floor,” he said, pointing his fork at the screen.

RedHairDontKare: Dean is right. That bathroom floor tile is barftastic.

TomatoWarefare: Maggie just gets prettier and prettier every episode. Also, I want to live in that beach house.

SirFartsAlot: Do we know why Maggie and Dean aren’t together? Are they related? They seem like such a good couple!

CulpepperVicky: Maggie come to Culpepper and help me redo my house! I’ve got tequila!

19

19

Silas cursed as the dark clouds above them opened with little warning, hurling huge raindrops toward the earth. The crews scrambled to cover tools and materials as the rain soaked them.

A shrill whistle cut through the chaos. “Everybody inside,” Maggie called from the door to the sunroom.

“You heard the boss,” Silas said. “Move it.” The siding and landscape crews filed inside just as a roll of thunder rattled the windowpanes.

“Make yourselves at home, gang. Pizza’s on the way,” she announced, avoiding his gaze like she’d been doing all week. Her tank top was soaked and clinging to her body. She had a smear of dirt on one bicep and sawdust in her hair. Silas wanted to pick her up and bite her.

“Good thing you got yourselves a new roof,” Lewis, the foreman for the siding company from nearby Abileen, said as fat drops slashed at the windows and roared off the roof of the porch.

“Yeah, too bad the gutter folks weren’t on the schedule until next week,” Dean complained, eyeing the overflowing spouting.

“Shouldn’t there be a kitchen around here somewhere?” Lewis asked, observing the still gutted space that they’d all crowded into. The old fridge was plugged in on the wall next to a rickety set of shelves that housed a coffeemaker, paper plates, cups, and a roll of paper towels. A folding worktable acted as a temporary countertop.

Hopeful-looking paint swatches were taped up on the wall where cabinets should have been.

“This room is cursed,” Dean told him. “First the cabinets Maggie ordered mysteriously went out of stock. Then the tile for the floor came in wrong.”

“It’s not cursed,” she argued. “It’s just completely behind schedule. Two totally different things.”