Not bad. She dunked a fry into it and scrolled through the comments on her YouTube channel.

YOLO14: Do you ever get tired of moving? Have you ever wanted to stay in one of your houses?

Maggie took a fortifying bite of panini before rolling out her standard answer.

Every house holds a special place for me, but they’re all meant for someone else. I’m just the lucky one who gets to play matchmaker.

Typing and swiping her way through the meal, she ticked tasks off her to-do list. It hadn’t been the most productive first day on the job. Not with the morning distractions of a mud-bogging dog and his incredibly well-built owner. Silas Wright was a distraction all by his handsome self.

Once the nearly naked man had left, she’d made a dent in the cleanup, managing to start parsing trash from treasure. The Old Campbell Place had its fair share of both. The front study alone had a complete set of A. Campbell’s hardback novels, a delicate needlepoint, an antique topographic map, and that portrait. The pheasant wallpaper had already grown on her and was most definitely staying. At least on the fireplace wall. The tiny room behind it, the one that was the most likely contender to become a downstairs powder room, was filled to head height with stacks of phone books and old issues of fishing magazines.

Anything deemed treasure got tucked into the back study for further investigation and careful boxing. The trash went straight into the dumpster or recycling bins she found in the garage.

Tomorrow would be more of the same, and the next day. Which meant she needed to keep fueled and stay organized.

Her panini was excellent, and the pink stuff on the fries really was good.

She checked the production calendar she shared with Dean. They had the last three episodes left on the beach bungalow. Then they’d start fresh and introduce fans to the Old Campbell Place. Her goal was to work her way up to six weeks of episodes edited and ready to go. More lead time meant better quality editing and a more cohesive story, and eventually she might be able to take some time off here and there between projects.

Maybe.

Truth was, she liked the work. Liked waking up with a purpose. Juggling both sides of the business. Busyness was purpose. And she appreciated having a constant sense of purpose.

Her phone vibrated on the table. She wiped her hands on her pants and answered.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked on a yawn.

“Giving myself a facial and reading that new time travel novel,” she lied, shoveling another fry through the sauce.

“Uh-huh. So you’re working late with no less than three electronic devices in front of you?”

“Four if you count the camera,” she said. “How about you?”