She stepped off her mark and surveyed the work happening…well, everywhere.

To the untrained ear, the sounds of construction were a cacophony of chaos. To Maggie, it was a symphony. Teams working together to build something grand, something greater than the sum of their parts.

Old shingles rained down from three stories above in steady thwap thwap thwap into the dumpster. The roof was a priority. As was the electrical work.

The landscaping crew, six of them armed with trimmers and loppers and wheelbarrows and leaf blowers, attacked the worst of the overgrowth around the house and drive. She didn’t mean to zero in on him, but Silas Wright certainly drew the eye.

Taller than the rest, he moved with a practiced ease, doing battle with a stubborn patch of thorns and brush where a storybook walkway would connect the front of the house with the expanded terrace.

His shirt was already streaked with dirt, and the grin he wore was wicked, as if there wasn’t anything in the world he’d rather be doing. That was as attractive as the rest of him, she decided. And she was definitely not going to go out with him, she reminded herself.

With more effort than it should have taken, she tore her attention away from all six-feet-plus of sexy landscaper. Through open windows, she heard the joyous sounds of kitchen demo.

“How about you focus on the porch roof, Billy?” Lou, the owner of the roofing company, suggested. Billy was a long-limbed and scrawny twenty-something with a shock of corn silk blond hair and a pair of job site–inappropriate sneakers. He looked a little green as he clung to the bottom rungs of the ladder.

“He’s so good-looking it’s hard to hate him for ruining the budget,” Dean complained. Maggie realized he wasn’t looking at Billy. He was eyeing Silas.

“He didn’t ruin it,” she argued. “He expanded it.”

“He exploded it. We’ll be lucky to afford half a roof now. We’ll only be able to shoot from the front because the back will be open to the sky,” he predicted.

“You missed your calling. Have you considered a career in motivational speaking?” she asked.

Dean cocked his head, still watching Silas. “He looks like a sexy lumberjack with that beard. I bet he’s got a closet full of flannel.”

As if he’d heard them, the man in question lifted his head and winked at Maggie.

“You need a date,” she muttered to Dean.

“You need a date,” he shot back. Then, to her horror, he waved Silas over.

“What are you doing?” she hissed.

“I’m getting you a date,” Dean said, all innocence.

She sputtered and took a step back. “We don’t date contractors, dummy!”

“Relax, weirdo,” he said, gripping her arm. “I’m getting him mic-ed up so we can do his intro interview.”