While her partner swore his way back to the backyard, drone in tow, Maggie faced the house. With her thumbs hooked in her pockets and rain dampening the short ponytail pulled through the back of her hat, she studied it. Three sprawling stories. Eighteen rooms. Four fireplaces. Not nearly enough bathrooms.

The paint, at least six different colors that she’d counted, was peeling. The yard had been eaten by weeds and overgrowth. What looked like a very healthy crop of poison oak climbed the north side of the house, which faced the detached carriage house.

The front porch looked like it was a good four inches lower on the right than it was on the left. The warped front door was way too small for a house so grand.

She felt the rev in her blood. The low hum of excitement of a new challenge, an adventure at the starting line. It was like finding a secret treasure in a ruin. Only, the ruin was the treasure. And her favorite part was excavating it piece by piece. Restoring old charm and adding new-world function. Every project was someone’s dream house. And she did what she could to bring it into being.

But this place, the Old Campbell Place—capitalized like a proper noun, as it had been dubbed for over a century—would be special. It already was. And it was even better than she’d remembered.

She waited until Dean had grumbled his way around to the back with his toy before taking out her phone and lining up a selfie with the house behind her.

It was tradition. Every project. Just her and the house at the very beginning of their journey together. She’d never shared any of them. It felt too personal, as if she were standing in front of her own dreams and asking them to come true.

“Closing’s not until tomorrow, Magpie,” Dean said when he returned. “Still have time to change your mind.”

She heard the hope in his voice and grinned. “Nice try. This is happening.”

He heaved a heroic sigh. “Fine. I have a couple of local trades lined up tomorrow after settlement. Figured you’d want to get started on the estimates right away.”

“You figured right. Come on. Let’s get you some caffeine so you can be nice. Maybe they’ll let us check in to the hotel early.”

2

2

“Look, man. All I’m sayin’ is, if it makes you yack, maybe think about not eating it next time.” Silas Wright’s passenger had the good grace to look chagrined…and a little nauseated. “I mean, seriously, Kev? A whole pack of bacon. Even I know better than that.”

Kevin, a burly pit bull, whined a little, his wet nose twitching.

Silas hit the button and lowered the window a little more. “Don’t you puke. I’m trying to impress a client that desperately needs my expertise. Dog barf isn’t impressive.”