She unloaded her laptop, tablet, camera, and phone onto the table and got to work. The contract from a new advertiser went to her attorney, and Maggie paused for only a moment to shake her head in wonder at the offer. She hadn’t started her show to build a platform of soon-to-be one million followers. Or to leverage that platform to move products for multimillion-dollar corporations. Yet here she was, getting a check and a closet full of Cat King workwear—a brand she genuinely loved.

Sometimes life was downright weird.

While the day’s pictures downloaded onto her laptop from the memory card, she rattled off a few dozen likes in response to comments on her latest Instagram post. Next, she called up her floor plan program and adjusted a few of the first-floor measurements. She needed to find space for a powder room and maybe even a full bath.

She was in the middle of creating a collage of her weirdest “finds” so far in the Campbell place when the barista delivered her dinner.

From beneath razor-sharp bangs, Jun eyed Maggie’s pile of electronics. “Need a power strip?” she offered.

“Just the sandwich and the Wi-Fi,” Maggie promised.

The door opened again on the jangle of spurs, and they both looked up. A boy in his teens sauntered in, hands in pockets, shoulders hunched in that gangly not-quite-comfortable way teenagers had. Jun raised a hand, and the boy gave her a too-cool nod in return.

Maggie hid her smile as the barista practically skipped back to the counter. Despite what Dean said, she did believe in romance. She just didn’t personally have the energy to carve time out of her schedule for it.

And why would she bother? Her life was on the road with pit stops in three- and four-month increments.

As soon as the “home” was beautiful and sellable, she was on to the next one.

No time wasted.

What man in his right mind would decide that following her from state to state and house to house would be his kind of happily ever after?

The idea was absurd enough to earn a snort. Her life suited her just fine.

She just wasn’t in a position to add a serious love interest into her schedule. Either he’d have to thrive on neglect or she’d have to stop doing all of the things. And if she stopped doing all of the things, she’d be letting down the people who depended on her. Dean. Her followers. The crews she paid. Small businesses and local artists who got a boost from her platform. And now advertisers.

She had a responsibility to them all. It fueled her.

Her stomach growled, demanding she return her attention to the food. There was a cup of pinkish sauce nestled into her mound of fries. She sniffed it and then tentatively tasted.