It would be a gut job in here. The volcanic-orange toilet and tub with its brass swan faucet and sticky seashell clings were most definitely not long for this world. She’d spent the previous morning ripping out the god-awful blue-gray carpet on the floor. Because while she could live with eye-searing fixtures, she could not in good conscience get out of the shower onto moldy carpet.

She dressed and pulled her hair back from her face with a clip and returned to pour her first cup of coffee of the day. Snagging a sweatshirt from a wire hanger in the closet, she took her mug over to the tall, skinny glass doors. It took some muscle and a few drops of spilled coffee, but she got them open and stepped out onto the covered balcony.

Cool spring air and the stirring of birds and squirrels met her as the night began its slow fade from the sky. The porch faced south and east, and she caught a glimpse of the sunrise through the trees.

She balanced on the half wall, back to a support column, and enjoyed the peace.

The crews would be here soon, eager to get started. Once they were done for the day, she’d shift gears and dive into the second part of her business. She had a new episode dropping today. The kitchen reveal of the beach house. Corresponding social media posts were scheduled with all the appropriate advertisers and vendors tagged.

She’d need to be available to like and comment. Plus, there was the Day One filming. Which was mostly Dean’s responsibility. But there were the one-on-ones she’d do. And the introductions of the local trades that would be on-site.

She was looking forward to seeing Silas Wright work his magic on the camera.

Far below her perch, the river glowed pink with the sunrise. She wondered if the new owners would take their coffee here like this. Or would they be late-night stargazers who drank wine around the future firepit?

Would there be kids filling the seven bedrooms on the second and third floors? Or would some enterprising investor snap up the property as a luxury rental?

The forest around her was alive now. Wildlife greeting the day. It was time for her to start hers as well. On a whim, she plucked her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt and snapped a picture of river and rock and mountain. She thumbed her way through a quick text.

Maggie: Idaho is interesting. Found a drawer full of mousetraps. This is the view. How’s Keaton?

Task complete, she drained her coffee, stowed her phone, and officially started her day.

“It’s time to go break some stuff! Welcome home,” Maggie said to the camera with a casual flip toss of her hammer as Dean panned out.

“Got it in one,” he said, chipper after his extra-large afternoon cappuccino.