“My best guess is it’s a sprain. Rest. Ice. Keep it elevated. Some anti-inflammatories to help with the pain and swelling. Take it easy this weekend. As long as the swelling stays down and you’re careful and you take regular breaks, you can be back on your feet Monday. You can try buddy taping it to the next toe. It’ll take a few weeks to heal.”

“Okay,” she said. She must have answered a little too quickly because the PA sharpened his gaze.

“Your body needs energy to heal,” he cautioned her. “Don’t force it to expend that energy somewhere else less necessary.”

“I have a timeline,” she complained. Ugh. She hated whining almost as much as she hated not getting things done.

“You remind me of my lovely wife. Very smart. Very good at what she does. And very, very bad at remembering that getting ahead of the to-do list isn’t the only way to be successful.”

“Your wife sounds like someone I’d like,” she mused.

They heard a snarled curse as the hose attached to the power washer whipped off the porch.

“I imagine she isn’t the only one in the family you’d like,” Morris guessed. “If it isn’t getting better, I want you to go in for an X-ray. Now, what are we going to do this weekend?”

She sighed. “Rest. Ice. Elevation. Anti-inflammatories. Pout.”

“It’s a beautiful spring weekend. Might I suggest enjoying the view with a glass of wine and a good book?”

She didn’t know what was odder, the suggestion or the fact that she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done anything like that.

“Sounds great,” she said lamely.

He patted her knee. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go ask Silas for a quick tour of the grounds. His mother and I are very proud of his work.”

She opened her mouth to volunteer to lead the tour—after all, it was her yard—then shut it again when her toe throbbed in protest.

“Of course. Make sure he takes you up the path in the backyard.”

“It was delightful meeting you, Maggie,” he said, producing a lollipop from his backpack with a flourish.

She couldn’t help but smile as she accepted the candy.

After a long, leisurely pout, Maggie gimped inside, following the sounds of arduous labor into the dining room. There she found the determined Cody steaming a section of god-awful plaid wallpaper between the windows. She flopped down on one of the dusty chairs and, because physician assistant’s orders, propped her foot on the mahogany table.

“How’s it going?” she asked. He’d made good progress in the hour he’d been at it.

Cody looked up from the steamer, his expression guarded. “Okay.”