“The budget isn’t big enough,” Dean said, recovering himself quickly. He wasn’t a romantic who could be charmed with breathtaking views and historical charm. But at least she knew he was willing to flirt with the value of a multimillion-dollar view.
“We could double our money here,” she said, tempting him with his language of love.
“Double? Ha. First of all, you have to decide what’s the absolute minimum to get this beautiful and market-worthy. Then you being you, you have to decide how much over that you’re going to run amok. Then we’ll have to pull a buyer who wants a seven-figure mausoleum in Where the Fuck Are We, Idaho, out of our asses.”
She clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Oh, and Kinship.”
“Kinship what?”
“Kinship, Idaho. That’s where the fuck we are. Now, if I promise to buy you two huge coffees when we go into town, will you be a good boy and get your fancy drone out?”
Grumbling, he left her there and picked his way through nature. “I hate thorns!” he called over his shoulder. “Son of a—”
She snickered when his dark head disappeared into a wet bed of tall ferns.
“Watch your step,” she sang out too late, following him to the front.
“I’m not too fond of you right now!”
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
“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.”
His dog’s tail gave a happy wobble as warm spring air rushed in.
Silas loved this time of year, too. As a kid, it had meant that endless summers of swimming, skipping rocks, and sleepovers were just around the corner. As an adult, the first sustained days of spring buoyed Western Idaho residents into thinking about mulch and weeding and retaining walls and patios for outdoor entertaining. And how much they didn’t want to do that work themselves.
It was no coincidence that the mailers for Bitterroot Landscapes were landing in mailboxes in a fifteen-mile radius today. Not only had he highlighted the nice, clean look of fresh mulch and neat lawn lines, but he’d also made sure to hint at what a pain in the ass the work was.