"I'm going to want to take a look at the wiring, make sure it's safe and up to code. We can look at the chimneys, make sure you're good there. You want to keep them wood burning?"

"I hadn't thought about it."

The dog wandered around, sniffing, exploring. It struck Naomi that Kevin did nearly the same.

"You've got some fireplaces upstairs, right? If you don't want to haul wood upstairs, you could think about gas logs on the second floor."

"That is a thought-cleaner."

"You thinking of a B-and-B?"

"No, I'm not. Not right now."

He nodded, made notes, muttered a little to himself as they toured the first floor. When they came to the kitchen, he took his cap off, scratched his head, fixed it back on again.

"I'm going to tell you straight, this kitchen's a pure gut job."

"If you'd said different, I'd wonder why everybody I asked recommended you."

"All right then. Now I'm betting the hardwood runs right on through, under this ugly-ass linoleum."

"Really? Do you think so?" The idea balanced out against the notion of needing to replace a zillion windows. "Can we check?"

"If you don't mind me messing up a corner."

"You can't make ugly-ass more ugly."

He chose a corner, pried it up with his own pocketknife. "Oh yeah, got your ponderosa pine."

"Hot damn. Take this crap up, sand, refinish, seal, right?"

"That's what I'd do."

"That's what I want."

"All right then." With his sunglasses hooked on the breast pocket of his T-shirt, Kevin ran steady hazel eyes over the space. "I can work up a couple designs for you in here."

"I'll take a stab at it. I haven't designed a kitchen, but I've shot plenty of them. Photography," she explained. "For catalogs, websites, stock photos." Hands on hips, she walked the room, imagined it down to the bare walls and floor.

"It's roomy, and that's a plus. I'd want an island, good size, for prep and for eating. I don't want sleek, but I don't want country either. More contemporary rustic, so dark cabinets, glass-fronted, go light on the countertops, figure out an interesting backsplash, and have fun with the lighting. There's room for double wall ovens there-I don't know what I'll do with double ovens, but my uncles swear by them. Gas cooktop and a snappy exhaust-like a focal point. Farm sink under that window, and that bathroom's awkward anyway. Take that out, make it a walk-in pantry. And get rid of this poky little back door. Open it up to that deck, that view. Big-ass double doors-full glass, no panes."

He'd been making notes, nodding, but looked up now.

"Ms. Carson?"

"Naomi."

"Naomi. I love my wife."

She sent him a careful smile as she turned. "That's good."

"I fell for her when I was sixteen, and didn't get up the courage to ask her out for nearly a year. I might still be thinking about kissing her for the first time if she hadn't taken that bull by the horns, so to speak. I was twenty-three when we got married-she took that over, too, or I'd be working up the nerve to ask her. We got two kids."

"Congratulations."

"I'm just saying I love my wife, and I tend to move slow in some areas. But if you and I had a longer acquaintance I'd kiss you right on the mouth."

"Should I anticipate that for later?"

He grinned again. "It could happen if you keep realizing my hopes and dreams. It was taking out that skinny door there that did it. It needs the view. Why have that view, and keep it outside? If you let me take out that wall there, I'd give you open concept into the dining room. It would make it more of an entertaining space. Living room's at the other end of the house, but you'd have this area here so people could gather when you're cooking."

"It could go on the list."

They went through, bottom to top, and then Kevin went out for his tape measure and went through it again.

By the time he'd finished, she'd put her supplies away and poured them both Cokes. They drank them on the front porch, watching the sun burn its way down through the trees.

"I'll work up an estimate. You might want to be sitting down when you read it over."

"I already got that picture."

"Once you do, we can talk about priorities, what you want done right off, what can maybe wait some. I can give you the name of a good landscaper while you're reeling from estimates."

"I'll take it, but I'm going to tackle some of that myself."

"All right. Thanks for the Coke." He handed her the empty glass. "I appreciate the chance to look the place over. If you give me the job, I'll do good work for you."

"I believe you would."

"I'll be in touch. Let's go, Molly."

She watched him drive off, felt the silence fall just like the sun behind the trees.

She'd do good work here, too, she thought. And went inside to make herself a temporary nest and work space.

She spent mornings taking pictures: sunrises-all those holy colors blending-the water, trees, birds. In the afternoons she hunted up secondhand stores, flea markets. She bought a desk and chair, a couple of lamps, and the happy prize of an old metal glider and matching chair.

Evenings, she'd put together a sandwich or scramble some eggs, pour some wine, and work on the photos she'd taken that morning.

She could and did sell some fine photography through her website and through a gallery in New York, but her real bread and butter came from the royalties on stock photos.

She'd learned she could work anywhere-in her car, in a campground, in a motel room. But this, working in her own house, with the quiet everywhere and the light playing on the water, felt like a gift, one made possible by her grandparents and the trust funds they'd set up for her and Mason.

Grateful, she sent them regular emails with photos. Since college she'd called them every week, no matter where she'd been, what she'd been doing.

They'd lost their daughter-twice, to Naomi's way of thinking. She'd made certain they never lost their granddaughter.

She took before photos of the glider and chair, playing up the texture of the rust, the peeling paint, the square lines-and the pop from the bucket of purple pansies she'd planted and set on the deck with them. She'd take after shots, too, send both home-but she'd play with the before shots on her computer, put them up on her website for sale.

It took nearly a week for Kevin to bring the estimate. This time he had his six-year-old son, Tyler, as well as Molly. The boy was a mini version of his father, and so cute Naomi wished she had cookies.

"We're on our way to pick up pizza, and figured we'd drop this off. You might want to have a stiff drink and sit down before you read it over."

"Uh-oh."

"Yeah. Well. Like I said, you can figure out priorities. I gave you my mind on that in there. And if you want to take on some DIY, we can save you some money. Take some time, think about it. Just let me know. I got another name in there, too. You might want another bid, and I know that company does good work. They're out of Hoodsport."

"Thanks."

"Let's go, team." The boy raced back to the truck with the dog. Kevin paused. "Don't forget that stiff drink."

Naomi tapped the manila envelope on her palm, took it back inside to the kitchen. A glass of wine couldn't be wrong, she thought, and poured one, and since other than her desk chair it was her only option, she went out on the deck and sat in the half-sanded glider.

She sat a moment, drinking wine, watching the water and the bright red kayak that slid along it toward the shore.

She set the wine down on the drop cloth, opened the envelope.

"Holy shit. Oh hello, six figures." She wished she'd gone for stronger than wine. Like a few tequila shots. She hadn't bought any tequila as yet, but that would be rectified.

She took another deeper drink of wine, blew out a breath, and read over the estimate.

So much work. The kitchen-she'd expected that price tag. And in fact, he'd bid a little under what she'd been braced for. The windows-there were so many windows, and replacing them added up. She'd done some research there, and his price was, again, slightly under what she'd calculated.

Contractor's discount, she mused. He was passing some of that on, and that was more than fair.

She got up, walked up and down the deck, sat down. Read on.

The plumbing, the electrical, spray insulation in the attic. Nothing sexy there, but necessary. God, the floors. So much square footage. Why had she bought such a big house?

To answer her own question, she looked up at the view. The sun hung low, sparkling over the blue. A bird, white and wide-winged, just sailed over it.

She read through the estimate again. She could take on at least some of the painting. She wasn't afraid of hard work. There was bound to be something else she could handle. And corners she could cut.

But she didn't want to cut corners.

She leaned back, gliding slowly. She could get a lot of photos out of the demo, the rehab. Photos of workers, of broken tiles, of tools and lumber. If she played it right, she could pull in some income even while coughing up the outlay.

She had savings, she reminded herself. She'd lived carefully, didn't need a lot to live. Her biggest expenses before the house had been her Hasselblad and her 4Runner. She could do this.

She looked out over the water again. She needed to do this. She'd been to every state, working her way. She'd been to Europe twice, working her way.

And nowhere had ever drawn her like this spot, this place.

She took out her phone, called Kevin.

"Do you need an ambulance?"

He made her laugh. She didn't make friends easily, but he made her laugh. "I wished for tequila shots, but I toughed it out. When can you start?"

"What? Sorry, what?"

"Let's go for it. When can you start?"

"I might need an ambulance. Wow. Wow. Listen, I'm kicking myself as I say this, but don't you want to get that other bid?"

"I bought this place because it spoke to me, it said words I needed. You get that. I'm going to try to do some of this-like the painting. I might be able to help with demo or something, to cut it down a little. But I'm going for it. When can you start?"

"Monday. I'm going to draw up a contract, and I'll put in that you're taking on the painting. That doesn't work out, we'll sub it for you. I drew up the kitchen design you outlined, but-"

"Yeah, I saw it. We'll go with it, and you can tell me where I look for the countertops, the cabinets, and all that so I can figure out what I want."

"It's a lot to figure."

"Yeah, so let's get started."

"Naomi, I might have to kiss you on the mouth. My wife will understand."

She hoped his wife was as, well, adorable as he was. "We'll cross that bridge."

"I'll come by with the contract tomorrow."

"And I'll give you a check for materials, like it says here."

"I'd appreciate it. You got a favorite color?"

"Sure. All of them."

"Good enough. See you tomorrow. And thanks, Naomi."

She went inside, topped off her wine. And toasted herself in her soon-to-be-gutted kitchen.

He brought the contract, along with his wife-the very pretty Jenny-Tyler, and four-year-old Maddy, a sweet, towheaded version of her father.

And he handed her a pot of rainbow tulips along with the contract.

"You said all of them. Favorite color."

"They're great."

Then he took her by the shoulders, kissed her. Tyler covered his eyes; Maddy giggled. Jenny just beamed.

"He's had ideas about what needed to be done to this place longer than I can remember. And he said yours ran right down the same lines. Kevin's the best. He's going to make it beautiful for you."

"Jenny's biased." Kevin wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "But honest. I've got a Dumpster coming first thing Monday morning. The crew will be here by seven thirty. We're going to be loud."

"I'll deal."

"See you Monday then."