He liked that she sounded impressed. “I did. I like sketches better than renderings. More feeling. Makes it easier for the client to say yes to the dream.”

“I’m ready to say yes right now,” she said, still admiring the sketch. There were hanging baskets of ferns on the porch. Colorful foliage along the foundation. Dark, rich mulch and bright pops of annual color in rivers of plantings.

“Hold your horses—literally, actually,” he cautioned. “Because this doesn’t include the fountain. Rescuing it from its current state would take more. A lot more. If that’s a no, then we might be able to save the horses and use them somewhere else in the yard.”

“But no fountain?”

“It’s not necessarily the worst thing in the world. Without that fountain taking up so much of the square footage on the terrace, you could expand the outdoor living space here and here.” He tapped the drawing.

“True,” she said. But he heard the disappointment, and it gave him a spark of hope.

“Now, let’s move on to Estimate Dream Home.” He withdrew the next stack of pages from the folder.

“Hang on. Let me prepare.” Maggie took a quick swig of beer and a deep breath. “Okay. Hit me.”

He handed over the significantly longer punch list.

“Oh,” she said as she flipped the first page and then the second. “Oh. Ohhh. Ouch. That’s more—knock on wood—than the top-to-bottom rewire and the plumbing, Sy.”

“Yeah. But it’ll look like this.” He unfurled a short stack of drawings and let her page through them in silence.

“You sneaky son of a bitch,” she breathed. “It looks like a damn fairy tale.”

And she was the queen.

He grinned. “You like?”

“Ugh,” she groaned. “A circular driveway out front? Wait a minute. Is that a trellis draped in wisteria? What’s it lead to?”

“The rose garden. Stole some space from the backyard for it. Nothing too structured. This place feels more charming fairyland than manicured estate. Upkeep’s easier, too.”

“I hate you right now,” she said, flipping through the sketches again. “A fenced-in vegetable garden? Oh, come on. A secret path of wildflowers and grasses that leads to a firepit? Wait. Where’s this view?” she asked, looking up from the drawing and eyeballing the yard.

“We’d clear another twenty feet or so along the bluff through those woods,” he said, pointing to the west. “It’s mostly overgrowth right now. It would give you a damn good spot for campfires and stargazing.”

She let out a heavy sigh. “Okay. Let me see it,” she said, holding out a hand.

He opened the folder again and placed the last drawing in her palm.

She opened it and immediately folded it back up. Then opened it again. “Damn you, Silas Hard-Work-Always-Prepared Andrew Wright.”