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a much nicer place if I took out the small wall between the two rooms. I’ll ask Bryn’s friend about it when he comes tomorrow—”
    “Fine. Do what you want with the cottage. But be ready to begin on the main house soon. Anything in the cottage will have to come last, or on your own time.” She was staring back at the blueprints, obviously pretending to have him already out of her mind.
    “Anything you want,
Ms.
Rierdon.” He turned and walked out, letting the front door close loudly behind him.

C HAPTER F OUR
    A dozen roses arrived every three days for Julia, a gift from Miles. “So you don’t forget me,” the card would read, or, “Thinking of you every day.” It was thoughtful of him, and the roses made Julia miss him a bit. Maybe this separation would be good for them, help them to determine if they wanted to finally make more of their relationship in marriage, or call it off. As constant companions they had been on the fence for years and had become fairly comfortable with how things stood.
    And so it was that when the car pulled into the drive Julia half expected the florist. She looked out the leaded window from her bedroom, where she was stripping wallpaper, and wiped her sweating brow. Trevor appeared below, walking quickly toward the Toyota and opening the passenger-side door. His grin was wide, and when an attractive brunette emerged, he gave her a long, brotherly hug. Who was it? A man appeared from the driver-side door, and Julia roused herself from the window to hurry downstairs.
    “Julia?” Trevor yelled, opening the front door with a half knock. “Julia?”
    “I’m right here,” she said, moving down the staircase as she had been taught to move in ball gowns as a teen. Even in jeans and a T-shirt, she could still be a lady.
    The woman on Trevor’s arm looked up to grin at her. She was lovely—olive-skinned with long, dark hair, as if she had NativeAmerican blood. They’d be a beautiful couple, but her demeanor was more sisterly than that of a woman with romantic intentions.
    “Julia, I want you to meet my cousin, Bryn Bailey. This is her friend, Dan Lindgren, the architect.”
Oh, that explains it
, she thought.
    “Oh! Welcome.” She reached out to shake the woman’s hand, and then the architect’s. “Please, come into the dining room. I’ve got some coffee on—”
    “Water would be great,” Bryn said. “May I help you?”
    “No, no. I can handle water.”
    “I’ll take coffee,” Dan said gratefully.
    “I’ll be right in. You can spread your things out on the table,” Julia said, gesturing toward Dan’s case. Dan and Bryn turned to admire the front foyer and staircase, then moved toward the dining room, while Trevor followed her into the kitchen.
    “I’ll grab the coffee,” he offered.
    “Okay. I’ll get your cousin’s water.” She paused as she poured from a filtered jug—the house’s water was not yet suitable for drinking. “I didn’t know she was going to come up today.”
    “Neither did I. I hope it’s okay. She said something about wanting to see the old place; I’ve talked so much about it.”
    “It’s fine, fine.”
    “Well, good.” He gestured toward the dining room. “I’ll be in there. Coming?”
    “Yes. I’ll just grab a plate of cookies and be right in.” The door swung shut behind him, and Julia stared after him.
I’ve talked so much about it
, he’d said. And he and his cousin were apparently as close as she and her brother, Jake, were. She mused over her own smile. Maybe Trevor Kenbridge was more stable and at home here than she had given him credit for.

    The next few days went smoothly enough. Hours were eaten up by the demanding tasks of inspection: foundation, electric system, plumbing, timber framing. The list went on and on, and their to-do list expanded accordingly.
    The following day, a week after Trevor’s arrival, Julia left with Dan Lindgren to file renovation plans at the county courthouse in Portland, two hours