Making a note to revisit the idea of stealing space from the bedroom behind the master, she moved on to the production schedule. She would film some stuff on the fly today, maybe creepy basement footage. As much as her subscribers loved a kitchen reveal, they also seemed to enjoy freaking out over dank, eerie spaces. The episode when Dean walked backward into a cobweb in a garage and started throwing punches at nothing was one of their most popular. It entertained her to no end and pissed Dean off.

She added lighting? to the whiteboard, grabbed her fat stack of tile samples, and headed into the kitchen.

White subway was a classic for a reason, but this room, this house, called for something with a little extra personality. She lined up the tiles on the folding table that was acting as a makeshift countertop and studied them.

Too simple.

Too busy.

Too green.

“Maggie, what have you drilled into my head from day one?” Dean stormed into the room and tossed his iPad case down onto the end of the table.

She sighed and turned her back on the samples. He was going to be dramatic about it. “That it’s not my house,” she said.

“Would navy cabinets be spectacular in this kitchen? Yes. No doubt. Would anything less be a travesty? Probably. Is it in the budget to upgrade from a nice, reasonable stain to paint? No, it is not.” Dean, the ever-responsible dream killer, marched down the list.

She scanned the room and pictured it. Not with the walls missing the cabinetry that had already been ripped out and were on their way to a local nonprofit. But with the clean quartz countertops with the gray veining. The bright punch of navy cabinetry with glass fronts was exactly what this room needed.

“Mmm. Yeah. I think I’m gonna do it anyway,” she said cheerily. She grabbed her thermos from the windowsill. Outside, the siding guys took measurements. She could hear the electricians debating fuse box placement in the basement.

A week into the job and things were already starting to look less bad inside and out.

“I know you are.” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in theatrical frustration. “I don’t know why I bother opening my mouth. You never listen to me anyway.”

“I listen to you,” she argued, taking a swig of water. “When you’re right.”

“Look, all I’m saying is we just started bringing on some serious advertisers. They and your followers expect the Maggie Nichols formula.”

“Which is?” she asked, eyeing the wall space where the new cabinets would end and a single full-light door would open onto the terrace. Double would be better. French doors with the built-in screens would bring in more of the view and make for easier access to alfresco dining.