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If you say so. At least your wedding announcement got Dad off the hook with Mom.”
    Marti smiled, her mood lightening in an instant. She hugged Libby around the waist.
    “Thanks for trusting me. Now let’s go inside so I can take some pictures of Hottie McHandyman.”

    Tom Murphy tightened his grip around the blueprints and tried to shake off his unease. This job was going to be a challenge. Not because the building was in such sad shape, although it was, but because Tom could already sense Peter Hamilton was a talker—a good-natured but bored retiree with too much time on his hands and not a lick of common sense about construction. One who was eager and invested and wanted to learn. But Tom wasn’t there to show some old schoolteacher how to build. He was there to get the job completed. Get in, get done, get out. That was his philosophy.
    And then there were the two Hamilton daughters in their short shorts and flip-flops, who looked very much like they intended to hang around. They’d call it helping, of course, but they’d just be in the way. That was a complication Tom didn’t need. He had enough feminine drama in his life already.
    Still, he needed the income. He didn’t have another big project lined up, and this renovation would carry him all the way to Christmas, maybe longer. Plus the building itself had plenty of charm, with wide crown moldings, high ceilings, even a bell tower atop the high-peaked roof. Restoring old places like this felt good. It was tangible. He could see the improvements as they came, see how he had fixed it with his own hands. So right now he’d smile, and nod, and try to keep Mr. Hamilton and his flimsy-shoed daughters away from the power tools. Especially that Dumpster-diving one.
    Liberty Belle Hamilton. What a name.
    She sure was pretty, though.
    The thought caught him like a bee sting, surprising and painful, lingering no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. She had the darkest blue eyes he’d ever seen and the kind of thick blond hair that turned to pure gold in sunlight. She didn’t look half bad in those shorts, either. Or the ones from the other day, once she’d brushed off all the dirt. She seemed like the serious sort, not bouncy like her sister with the camera. Tom liked serious women. His wife had been a serious woman.
    “Let’s take a look at those blueprints,” Mr. Hamilton said, moving toward the window.
    “Sure. Here we go.” Tom spread the papers out on top of an old cabinet left behind by the previous owners. “These are the oldest I’ve been able to track down, but honestly, pictures from the Monroe Historical Society will give you better ideas for restoration. Then you’ll have to decide how historically accurate you want to go. The truth is, you can find new materials and fixtures to make this place appear historic for a lot less time and money than it’ll take to actually locate period-accurate materials. And obviously safety and building codes come first.”
    “Of course.” Peter nodded and pushed his glasses up. “This shop has to function efficiently as a business, too. I’ve been watching plenty of television shows on the Learning Channel lately to sharpen my knowledge of the food service industry. I’ve got a strategy in place.”
    Television shows? Tom hoped Peter Hamilton had a better grasp of what opening an ice-cream parlor entailed than whatever superfluous sound bites he’d picked up from staged interventions on a TV show. Like having an actual business plan, or knowing what the health codes for a commercial kitchen were. But in the end, that wasn’t really his problem. Tom’s job was to refurbish the building, make it structurally sound andvisually appealing. Whatever happened after he handed the keys over to the Hamiltons was completely up to them.
    Libby and her sister joined him and Peter a few minutes later, nudging in next to the cabinet to get a closer look. Tom noticed that at least Libby had the good sense to put on