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Love Built to Last: Fireflies ~ Book 1
Love Built to Last: Fireflies ~ Book 1
Love Built to Last: Fireflies ~ Book 1
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Love Built to Last: Fireflies ~ Book 1

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Maddie Kinkaid believes her late husband, Jack, gives her advice on everything from ordering a pizza to hiring a carpenter, so when she finds Caleb Walker s business card on Jack s desk, she s convinced that he s the guy to remodel her kitchen. Caleb is a single father, and protecting his young son means avoiding romantic entanglements. But there s heat in every kitchen, and sparks ignite between Caleb and Maddie until disaster strikes. When Jack goes silent, Maddie s guilt consumes her, and it looks as if she and Caleb will never find their happily-ever-after at least, not without a little help from Jack LOVE BUILT TO LAST began as the award-winning short story Fireflies, and is now the first novel in the Fireflies series. Watch for Book 2 Love to Believe and Book 3 Love to Win, coming soon from Lisa Ricard Claro and Black Opal Books.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateJun 20, 2015
ISBN9781626942820
Love Built to Last: Fireflies ~ Book 1

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    Love Built to Last - Liss Ricard Claro

    She can’t let go of her dead husband...

    Maddie Kinkaid believes her late husband Jack gives her advice on everything from ordering a pizza to hiring a carpenter, so when she finds Caleb Walker’s business card on Jack’s desk, she’s convinced that he’s the guy to remodel her kitchen.

    He can’t decide if she’s worth the risk...

    Caleb is a single father, and protecting his young son means avoiding romantic entanglements. But there’s heat in every kitchen, and sparks ignite between Caleb and Maddie--until disaster strikes.

    When Jack goes silent, Maddie’s guilt consumes her, and it looks as if she and Caleb will never find their happily-ever-after--at least, not without a little help from Jack...

    KUDOS FOR LOVE BUILT TO LAST

    In Love Built to Last, Maggie Kinkaid and Caleb Walker are both widowers. She’s a teacher and he’s a carpenter. They meet when Maggie calls Caleb for an estimate on remodeling her kitchen. The attraction is immediate, but there are problems. Caleb has a young son that he doesn’t want to jeopardize by entering into a relationship that later goes bad. And Maggie is still hung up on her dead husband who she believes communicates with her through the papers he left on his desk when he died. The story is cute and tugs at your heartstrings. It’s got a good, strong plot and a few twists and turns that surprised even me. A good book for a rainy afternoon by the fire with a nice cup of tea. ~ Taylor Jones, Reviewer

    Love Built to Last by Lisa Ricard Claro revolves around Maggie Kinkaid, who lost her husband Jack in a car accident, and Caleb Walker who lost his wife Gwen to cancer. From the very start, Maggie and Caleb’s relationship is problematic. Maggie still feels tremendous guilt over Jack’s death, due to an argument she had with him just before he died. She never got the chance to apologize or tell him goodbye. And Caleb is hesitant to fall for Maggie because of his young son, whom he’s afraid will get hurt if a relationship with Maggie doesn’t work out. Still the two are drawn together and a relationship develops whether they want it to or not. Then disaster strikes and everything turns to crap. Love Built to Last is a story about love, loss, and starting over that is well-written, heartwarming, and a delightful read. ~ Regan Murphy, Reviewer

    ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

    Heartfelt thanks to:

    The team at Black Opal Books, particularly Lauri Wellington and Faith, for making this a painless process. Your professionalism is appreciated. Thanks for this opportunity, and for your belief in my work.

    Melissa Stevens, The Illustrated Author, for bringing Maddie’s faerie glen to life. I never tire of looking at this beautiful cover, and can’t wait to see your design for the next two books.

    Author Terry Lynn Thomas--critique master, beta reader, devil’s advocate, and psychiatrist, often simultaneously. You talk me off ledges, spread optimism, and force me to be a better writer. You’re also a wonderful wine buddy. Thanks for everything, partner.

    The generous and gifted author Cathy C. Hall, my writing Yoda, who has said innumerable things that changed my life, not the least of which was, You should be writing Romance. Thank you for making a difference, and for being my go-to. I continue to be a proud grasshopper.

    Those I cannot live without--Joe, husband and love of my life, whose support, encouragement, and belief in me is steadfast. Thank you for understanding, and for building a runway for my wings. And thanks to my young’uns--Joey, Stephanie (thanks for all those bookstore phone calls), and Christina--who are my joy, and the best comic relief ever. The four of you are my heart, and I love you.

    Love BUILT to LAST

    Fireflies ~ Book 1

    LISA RICARD CLARO

    A Black Opal Books Publication

    LOVE BUILT TO LAST ~ Fireflies ~ Book 1

    Copyright © 2015 by Lisa Ricard Claro

    Cover Design by Melissa Stevens

    All cover art copyright © 2015

    All Rights Reserved

    EBOOK ISBN: 978-1-626942-80-2

    EXCERPT

    Guilt-ridden, she feared she’d lose Jack forever if she gave herself to someone else, but she wasn’t prepared for this...

    Maddie? Cal called from the kitchen. She jumped at the unexpected sound of his voice. You left your purse in the truck. I didn’t see it until I was almost at the office. He frowned. What’s wrong?

    The hall carpet is wet.

    Cal came up beside her, paused to listen. In there, he said. He moved past her into the hall, pushed at the door to Jack’s office. Saturated and swollen at the bottom, the wood rubbed and caught against the soaked carpet and resisted movement, but gave way under the force of Cal’s applied pressure. He stood in the doorway, his eyes drawn to the ceiling.

    You’ve got a burst pipe, sweetheart. He passed her on his way back out. I’m going to shut your water off at the main and that will stop the flooding, but you have a lot of damage already. You need to call your insurance company.

    Cal disappeared outside. Maddie retraced his steps to Jack’s office, heedless now of the water that oozed up from the carpet to drench her feet. Dread weighed her down. Trembling overtook her before she reached the doorway. She struggled to steady her breathing, and paused outside the room. She filled her lungs like a swimmer preparing to dive and forced herself to take the final steps.

    No, no, no. The words shuddered through her trembling lips. Maddie’s legs disengaged and she dropped to her knees like a puppet released by its master. The water soaked into her clothes. The ceiling above Jack’s desk had collapsed. A steady flow of water gushed onto the desk and splashed to the floor. Jack’s papers lay in a congealed mess atop the desk with swollen hunks of ceiling plaster amid the debris.

    Maddie stood and slogged, trembling, across the saturated carpet to the desk. Standing in water that sloshed over her instep and almost to her ankles, she stared at the devastation.

    DEDICATION

    Mama and Daddy--always for you

    Chapter 1

    Maddie stirred. Her mind grasped at images that dipped below the surface of her consciousness and sank out of reach. Jack disappeared again, snatched from her dreams. The waking realization settled on her like an icy second skin.

    She watched the play of light and shadows on the ceiling. A shaft of sunshine slanted through the windows and dust motes floated in the hazy beam. The digital bedside clock clicked ten, its red numbers accusing her of another wasted Saturday morning.

    Hey, Jack. Maddie’s voice whispered soft as silk and she closed her eyes. The answering silence stabbed at her heart, the ache so familiar she almost welcomed it as a friend. She ran her hand over the empty pillow beside her. Make me get up, she murmured, but didn’t move.

    She curled instead under the cool sheets, cocooned in the late morning quietude. She conjured a vision of Jack lying beside her--sleepy Jack, with tousled hair, his blue eyes dark with desire.

    She held her breath and imagined his strong hands finding her, warm palms sliding along her body’s curves beneath the oversized tee she wore as a nightshirt. When his hands pulled her close, her heart beat faster.

    The phone trilled.

    Maddie snapped her eyes open and groaned. She sat up, pushed the tangled mass of dark hair from her face, and snatched her cell from the nightstand. What?

    Hi, Mrs. Kinkaid? This is Caleb Walker.

    Who?

    Caleb Walker. I’m the carpenter you called. You left me a message about renovating your kitchen.

    Maddie rolled her eyes. You mean the message I left two weeks ago? That one?

    Yes, ma’am. Sorry about that. I had problems with my cell. Not that it helps, but your message wasn’t the only one caught in the techno-glitch.

    You’re right. It doesn’t help. She twisted up and out of bed, more annoyed that he’d interrupted her Jack fantasy than at his delay in returning her call. She grabbed her glasses from the nightstand and slid them on with her free hand.

    All I can do is apologize, ma’am. If you’re still interested in talking with me about your kitchen renovation, I can stop by this afternoon. I know this is short notice, so we can schedule another day if that would be better for you.

    I’m busy today until around four.

    Four works. I really am sorry about this delayed call back. His apologetic words, delivered in a deep Southern drawl as smooth as a shot of Glenlivet, softened her attitude a wee margin.

    Okay. I’ll see you at four.

    Hey, don’t hang up. His intoxicating voice stopped her from disconnecting. I need your address.

    Maddie rattled off the information and clicked off the call. She dropped the phone on the nightstand and flopped back across the bed. He’s got a great voice, Jack, like the DJ I loved to listen to in college, remember? The guy who hosted that cheesy love song show. What was his name? She waited, willing Jack’s voice to pipe up with an answer.

    The clock clicked again, loud in the silence.

    By ten-forty-five, she stood in the kitchen pouring coffee into a generous mug that proclaimed Teachers Do It With Class, given to her by one of her kindergarten students on the last day of school. Showered and dressed in frayed denim cut-offs and a washed-out T-shirt bearing the words Giving You Paws above the silhouette of a dog and cat inside a paw, she was comfortable, if not glamorous. Good enough, she figured, to spend the bulk of her Saturday sitting with other volunteers outside the local pet supermarket, helping with animal adoptions.

    She carried her mug through the dining room and down the hall to Jack’s study. The worn Berber carpet scratched at her bare feet along the way and she acknowledged, as she did daily, that it needed to be replaced, along with the tile floors in the kitchen and bathrooms, and the rust-stained sinks. One of these days, Jack.

    On entering the study, she looked past the faded wallpaper that peeled in the corners and showed wear at random areas above the wainscoting, itself in need of refinishing. She ignored the warped ceiling fan with its low-slanted blades and dusty exterior. Her attention, instead, homed in on Jack’s desk.

    A gift from Maddie to Jack for their second anniversary, the desk commandeered the space, its cherry finish--the visible parts, anyway--polished to a glowing sheen. It was Maddie’s lighthouse, a beacon of joy in an aging house filled to bursting with dreams that would never be.

    It served also as a virtual time machine.

    Every paperclip, document, Post-it, pen, pencil, paperweight, notepad, receipt, and scrap of paper that Jack had left on his desk the day he made that fateful trip south to Atlanta remained intact. Even his calculator and laptop sat where he’d left them. If Jack kept it, then he needed it, and if he needed it, then Maddie would never throw it away.

    She went first to the narrow credenza behind the desk, mindful of Jack’s coaster from the accounting firm where he had worked. She appreciated the brass and leather construction of the thing because it was sleek and solid, like her Jack, so she favored it and used it now for her coffee mug.

    She took a minute to glance at the framed photos of Jack’s family and the one of herself taken on their wedding day.

    She stared at the smiling image of her younger self and marveled at her hair wound in a complicated ’do, dressed in a gown that showed off her slender shoulders and hinted, through a miracle of design, at more boobs per square inch than she’d ever possessed.

    A bride too late and a widow too soon, she mused. Had she known how things would go, she would have married Jack the second after they met in the freshman quad, instead of waiting the four years until college graduation.

    Sliding into the leather chair, Maddie faced the desk, closed her eyes, and inhaled a cleansing breath that would have made her past yoga instructors proud. She exhaled with deliberation and focused on her daily ritual of communicating with Jack. She wriggled her fingers, and the giddiness dancing in her belly prickled along her nerves in anticipation.

    Okay, Jack. I know you told me to call this Walker guy. Should I bother getting a quote from him? He took two weeks just to call me back. Maybe you missed the mark on this one.

    Maddie closed her eyes and slid her hands into the mountain of detritus Jack had left behind. Even now, four years after his death, she found a glimmer of amusement from the mess. In every other area of his life Jack had been meticulous, so type-A he’d made Donald Trump look like a slacker, but when it came to household paperwork, it all landed here.

    I know where everything is, Jack would say. That’s all that matters. Just tell me what you need and I’ll find it.

    And he always did. Even now.

    Maddie slid her hands through the papers, eyes still closed. She bypassed slick sheets and crumpled ones, ignored an eraser as her hands cruised to the back of the pile. She leaned forward with her chest pressed against the edge of the desk, arms outstretched across the wide expanse. Her fingers exited the mess of papers and collided with the faux Tiffany lamp in the far right corner.

    There. A business card stuck up from the pile and rested at the base of the lamp. Maddie took the card between her fingers and extricated her arms from Jack’s papery mess, careful not to knock any of the precious debris onto the floor.

    She pushed her tortoise-shell glasses up her nose and leaned back in the chair, excitement humming through her to see what Jack’s answer would be.

    Well, she huffed, tapping the business card against her fingers. It was identical to the card she retrieved from the pile two weeks ago when she first asked Jack who she should call for a quote to remodel the kitchen.

    Caleb Walker. The guy who didn’t return phone calls. Great. Maddie studied the card. The front side touted the man as an architect, carpenter, furniture designer, builder, and restoration specialist. On the back of the card, penned in Jack’s neat accountant’s script were the words, Call this guy.

    You sure about this one? The guy ignored me for two weeks. But even as she said it, she stood and slid the card into her back pocket.

    Hey, Mads? You ready?

    Maddie jumped. The voice calling from the vicinity of the kitchen belonged to Maddie’s best friend, Jack’s sister, Brenna Kinkaid, and while Maddie had anticipated her arrival, she hadn’t heard her come into the house. In fact, she almost never heard Brenna come in. The woman moved with the grace of a cat.

    Hey. Maddie strolled into the kitchen and offered herself up for a hug. She poured the dregs of her coffee down the drain and unplugged the coffee maker. Brenna had, as Maddie hoped, arrived with a jumbo cup bearing the logo for the Lump & Grind, the local coffee shop that Brenna owned.

    Mmm. Maddie sipped the steaming brew, smiled with appreciation, and nodded at Brenna. Perfect, as always. She meant the coffee, but might have been referring to Brenna herself.

    Today, Brenna, who could make a prison-orange jumpsuit look glamorous, lent her generous curves to a pair of casual capris and a T-shirt the mirror image of Maddie’s, only newer, brighter, and better fitting. She wore strappy sandals studded with princess gems that framed her French pedicure to its best advantage.

    I’m so glad I sprang for the new espresso machine. The customers love him. He’s stainless steel, hot, steamy, buff, and I’ve named him Dirk. Nice, huh? Brenna wriggled her brows, dark arches over eyes the color of dusky denim-blue. Just like Jack’s. The place was hopping this morning, and I forgot to grab you one of Greta’s cinnamon buns, so I hope you ate something. Sorry about that. You ready to go?

    Maddie nodded while she sipped the gourmet L&G java, grabbed her purse from the kitchen table, slid into a pair of worn flip-flops, and pushed through the screen door leading to the side porch.

    She leaned against the door to hold it open for Brenna and then let it slap shut behind them as they started down the stairs.

    Hey, you shouldn’t just leave the door wide open like that. Brenna rested her hands on her hips and shook her head. It’s bad enough you always come and go by your kitchen instead of using your front door like a normal person. At least lock up when you leave.

    Why would I use the front door when we always park on the side of the house? Maddie said, amused by Brenna’s observation. And I’ve told you before, I like coming in through the kitchen. It’s friendlier that way. Maddie batted her eyelashes and exaggerated a smile, earning an eye roll from Brenna. And why lock up? Look around. Maddie turned full circle, her arms extended. I’m in the middle of Nowhere, North Georgia, half a mile from the main road. Who’s going to sneak in? A deer? One of the cats? Even if someone stumbled across this place, what would they take? The only thing I worry about in there is Jack’s desk, and I can’t imagine anyone caring about what’s on it or in it but me.

    Brenna flicked her sleek hair over her shoulders, folded her arms across her chest, and raised a brow. "Don’t you ever watch Law & Order? CSI? Dexter, for god’s sake? There are serial killers and evildoers afoot. Lock it up, Mads."

    Seriously? Maddie groaned. Oh, sweet Lord. You and your crime show obsession.

    Maddie thrust her coffee at Brenna, fished her keys from her purse, and stomped up the porch stairs to do as she was told. It was easier than an argument she was sure to lose anyway.

    I don’t know why you don’t sell this old place and move closer to town. Don’t you ever get spooked being out here all alone?

    Never. Jack and I chose this place together. I feel close to him here. And I’m not alone. I have the cats.

    She looked toward the weather-worn barn and noted old Horace sauntering out through the open doors into the sunshine. The tomcat, who’d grown plump since his neutering, stretched his considerable bulk on his favorite patch of crabgrass and twitched his ears when a young calico raced past him and disappeared around the side of the barn.

    Those barn cats wouldn’t lift a paw to help you. They’re a bunch of hedonists. Brenna handed Maddie her coffee. All six of them.

    Only five now. Maddie frowned. My sweet Rafael disappeared a couple weeks ago. Poor old guy. Cats wander off to be alone when their time comes. I think maybe that’s what he did.

    I don’t know how you can afford to keep them all fixed and fed. You’re turning into a crazy cat lady.

    Go ahead and joke, but I haven’t had one field mouse inside the house. I just regret they have to stay outdoors all the time, but Jack is allergic.

    Brenna’s expression slid into tender lines. She regarded Maddie with a mix of frustration and empathy. Was, sweetheart. He was.

    I know he’s gone, but it doesn’t feel like it to me. Maddie shrugged. Besides that, he talks to me. If I leave here, I might disrupt the balance. I’m not doing anything that might ruin that connection.

    Look, I know you have yourself convinced that Jack communicates with you. I wish it were true, really I do. But, honey, Jack is gone. He’s not coming back and you need to accept that.

    Maddie pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. Don’t lecture me.

    I worry about you.

    Don’t.

    They stared at each other for a beat, then two. Brenna shook her head, pulled her keys and Ray-Bans from her purse, and changed the subject as they walked toward her Audi.

    Did Mama call you?, she asked. She’s fixing meatloaf tonight and I think I heard something about apple pie.

    She called me yesterday and bribed me with garlic smashed taters.

    You want to go straight over there after the pet adoptions close? I can drive you back here after dinner.

    They settled into Brenna’s little convertible and strapped in. Maddie yanked her sloppy ponytail tighter and said, I would, but I have an appointment at four. You’re going to be proud of me. I called a carpenter to come over and give me a quote on a complete rehab of the kitchen. It was the first thing Jack and I were going to remodel after we bought the house, you know? So I’ve decided to get a quote. At least I’ll know what kind of cost I’m looking at if I ever decide to actually do it.

    Mads, that’s wonderful. I am proud of you. Brenna’s smile beamed wide. Who did you call? I hope you got a recommendation from someone you trust.

    Maddie bit her lip and slouched into the seat. She studied the passing trees outside the passenger window with more interest than was warranted.

    I did, in a manner of speaking, she said. I’ll give you details later, okay? After I meet with him.

    You can tell the whole family about it over meatloaf and smashed taters.

    When Brenna didn’t press for more information, Maddie relaxed and settled back into the buttery leather to enjoy the ride.

    ***

    After returning home from the Giving You Paws adoption day, Maddie started a pot of fresh coffee and went outside. She crossed the wide gravel drive onto the meager stretch of spotty grass leading toward the barn. The scent of wild honeysuckle mingled with the Georgia pines and the earthy scent of young summertime. She marveled at the difference between this, Jack’s hometown of Bright Hills, and the inland Florida town where she grew up. Between the two, she felt more at home here--in part, because Jack loved it so, and because his family embraced her without reservation as one of their own. Acceptance and love created a solid anchor.

    Maddie stooped outside the weathered barn to pet Horace. He basked in the sun, sprawled in the same patch of scrub grass where he had been earlier. He purred with enthusiasm when Maddie bent to scratch behind his gray ears and stroke her hand over his spine.

    Where are your pals, big guy? All hanging out in the barn?

    She refilled the cats’ food dishes and replaced the day-old water with fresh. Horace received another bout of scratching and cooing before Maddie left him to go back inside.

    She stopped midway between the house and barn to enjoy the view of the field that lay beyond them, a ripple of green that ended acres away at the edge of a state protected forest. Trees dotted the landscape in a random pattern, save for a trio of apple trees in the mid distance which, by happenstance, formed a triangle. Their spreading branches created a leafy canopy which shaded a broad circle of ground. She and Jack had expected their children to play in that field, to climb those trees. They had planned for a tree house and a swing, a waggy-tailed dog, and happy laughter to echo over the hills.

    Maddie accepted the sadness that rolled through her and brought with it that split second of disbelief that she stood here without Jack, that he was really gone and wasn’t coming back. She swallowed it back and sighed.

    I told Brenna I’d be at your mom’s later, and now I don’t feel like it. Should I go or make an excuse and stay home?

    She considered sitting at Jack’s desk to find her answer, but the carpenter would be here soon. She tossed her flip-flops by the kitchen door and poured fresh coffee into her mug. It didn’t come close to matching the flavor of Brenna’s specialty brew from the Lump & Grind, but it would do.

    The crunch of tires on the gravel signaled the arrival of the carpenter and Maddie padded barefoot over cool tiles to the kitchen door. She stepped onto the porch and waved the black Ford 350 over to the side yard. The driver parked beside her Camry where the gravel thinned and patches of grass sprouted at the driveway’s end, not quite midway between the house and the barn.

    This is the carpenter you recommended, Jack. The guy with the sexy voice. She smirked. He probably looks like Homer Simpson.

    Maddie sipped her coffee and waited for the man to climb from the truck. She adjusted her glasses, but didn’t get a good look at him until he slammed the driver’s door and strode toward the house, his long legs making short work of the distance. She blinked twice and adjusted her glasses again. In her experience, people never looked like their voice sounded, and she’d expected him to be older and a lot less--well, sweet Lord. She gulped her coffee and the burn in her throat brought tears to her eyes.

    Mrs. Kinkaid? Hi. Caleb Walker. Friends call me Cal. He loped up the porch steps clutching a dog-eared notebook in his left hand, his right hand outstretched.

    Maddie shifted her coffee mug to accommodate his handshake and the hot liquid sloshed over the side of the mug.

    Ouch! She thrust the mug into her other hand and shook the offended appendage.

    Coffee dripped from her fingers. Her cheeks heated and she imagined how ridiculous she looked, standing there shaking her hand like a fool.

    Sorry. He took the mug before she could protest and moved around her to hold open the screen door. Better run that hand under cold water.

    Maddie looked into his eyes, green as moss and pulsing with light. Unsettled, she blurted the first thing that came to mind. Are you always so bossy?

    Those amazing eyes crinkled at the corners and Maddie didn’t know whether to be swept away by his affability or annoyed by his air of familiarity. He diffused her with a disarming grin and followed her from the porch into the kitchen.

    It depends on who you ask. My sister will regale you with many stories of my bossiness. Mostly, though, I just suffer from a compulsion to fix things. An apologetic smile accompanied his broad-shouldered shrug. It’s a genetic defect that I hope you won’t hold against me. How’s the hand?

    No amputation required. Maddie held up her hand and wriggled the fingers. And I owe you an apology. I was rude to you on the phone earlier. You caught me at a bad time. I’m sorry.

    I don’t blame you for being irritated. Believe me, you weren’t my only unhappy customer. You have my word that ignoring messages is not how I like to do business. He proffered his hand to shake. Let’s try this again. I’m pleased to meet you.

    You really want to squeeze my injured hand with that big paw of yours?

    The genuine concern in his widening eyes teased a smile from her. She extended her hand. Joking, she murmured, and they shook, a quick greeting. Maddie’s stomach fluttered with discomfort. She blamed it on the sheer size of him. He stood taller than Jack by almost half a foot and had a heavier build, though he appeared just as fit as Jack had been, and maybe even more so, judging from the spread of his cotton shirt over what Maddie judged to be a very masculine chest.

    He radiated male energy that reminded her, by way of an unexpected tightening in her belly, that she hadn’t been touched by a man in a very long time. Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Kinkaid.

    Call me Maddie. Eager to put distance between them she stepped away and gestured to the kitchen cabinets. So, what do you think? Restore or replace?

    He ran a callused palm over the cabinet doors and eyed the chipped countertop and ’70s floor tiles, an abomination in avocado green and burnt orange.

    Are you just looking to do the cabinets, or do you plan to remodel the whole kitchen?

    I guess that depends on the cost. She crossed her arms and rested against the counter. He might be nice to look at, but there was no way he was talking her into a bigger job.

    Here’s the thing, Mrs. Kinkaid--Maddie. I don’t want you to go to the expense of restoring the cabinets and then have it all be for naught a year from now if you turn around and update the appliances and countertops. You’re better off designing the whole kitchen first so you know exactly what you want done, even if it takes you a couple years to do it, you know, a little bit at a time. That way you won’t waste any money. His grin reappeared. "Think of it as having a road map before you set out on a

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