JOHN HELD THE door to the diner open for Cassie, and they took a booth near the back. He waved to a waitress, who brought over a full carafe of coffee and placed it on a ceramic stone in the center of the table. “Ah, Marie, you know me so well. Leave your no-good husband and marry me instead.”

      She laughed as she poured the first mug and handed it to him. “You couldn’t afford me.”

      He took a quick sip of the black brew. “You spoil me, so I’d have to find a way to treat you well. Even if it meant robbing a bank.”

      She hit him on the shoulder with a plastic menu before placing it in front of him. He chuckled as Marie handed a menu to Cassie, who was staring at him, eyebrows raised. “I take it they know you here.”

      “I’m a bachelor who lives around the corner and eats most of my meals at Lolly’s.” Relaxed, he put his arms across the back of the booth. “I couldn’t ask for a better kitchen.”

      Cassie shook her head and opened the menu.

      Once they ordered, John took his time stirring cream into his coffee, focusing on each turn of the spoon. The clink it made as it hit the side of the mug. The milk-scented steam rising. The dark brown swirling into an ecru. It was almost like a ritual before he brought the cup to his lips and sipped from it. He sighed in appreciation.

      “You weren’t kidding when you said you like coffee.”

      “Nope.” He took another sip and closed his eyes. “And I’ll need lots of it to do my best work.”

      Cassie laid her hands on the table. “Before we get into the nuts and bolts of what we’re about to do, I have a question for you. Why did you enter the contest?”

      “I needed a new challenge and a new career. This contest seemed to provide both.” He eyed her over the coffee mug. “What about you? Why did you enter the contest?”

      “When we win, I’m going to use the money and the publicity to bring back Lowman Construction to what it once was.”

      John gave a whistle. “When we win, huh? I like the sound of that. Which reminds me...” He brought out his sketchbook, flipped through a few pages and laid it open on the table. “This is a rough idea of the current floor plan. It will help me to stay focused on the space available.” He pointed to a page and slid the book closer to Cassie. “This is what I’m thinking for the kitchen.”

      Cassie looked up from the book. “The kitchen? The living room’s not the priority?”

      “Kitchens are where everyone spends most of their time, right?”

      He turned to another page. “Without cabinets and a sink already in place, we can design the kitchen however we wish, from top to bottom. I saw this farmhouse sink at a salvage yard that would be perfect, and I thought that—”

      She held up a hand. “Who said anything about a salvage yard?”

      “Me. Just now.”

      “I’m not putting junk in our house.”

      “I didn’t say anything about junk.” He pointed to the sketch of the sink he’d drawn from memory. “This is a good-quality piece that just needs a good home. And it’ll cost a lot less than any we’d find at those pricey vendors on the list.”

      “I’m not putting anything used in our house. We need new, quality materials that will put us over the top. Don’t you want to win?”

      “Let’s face it. I didn’t enter the contest to lose, and neither did you. ” He glanced up as Marie placed their meals in front of them and he thanked her. “Cassie, I think that this could give us an edge over our competitors. Repurposing what we can and finding salvaged pieces where we can’t. Everyone else can be slightly different versions of each other, but we’ll be unique.”

      Cassie shook her head. “No, we’ll look as if we bought our supplies at a garage sale. My dad would never have done that.”

      “Do you always do what your dad would have wanted? You can’t honestly be that naive.” He grabbed up his soupspoon, but then paused. “Haven’t you done any research? Salvaging is a big trend, and it’s one I want to incorporate into my ideas.”

      “Don’t forget that they may be your ideas, but it’s our house. I have a say in this, too.” She picked at her sandwich. “I’ve never worked with salvaged materials,” she mumbled.

      “Is that why you’re afraid to try them?”

      She raised her head to glare at him. “I’m not afraid.”

      She might have said the words, but the quaver in her voice told him that she probably wrestled with the same fears that had kept him up the night before. “Aren’t you? You have a lot riding on this contest.”

      “As do you.”

      He nodded and leaned forward. “Exactly. This is why I want to step out of the cookie-cutter mold everyone else will use and do something different.”

      She plucked a piece of bacon from the BLT and stuffed it in her mouth. He could almost see the gears in her brain working as she chewed. Finally she swallowed and turned to another page of his sketchbook. “I’m willing to consider it. Now what’s this?”

      He ran a finger along the edge of the picture. He’d thought of this when he remembered his grandmother’s house and drawing pictures at the kitchen table when he was about six years old. “That’s the window in the breakfast nook. I’d like to turn it into a window seat, which will save space and provide storage beneath it.”

      “Now, that I like.”

      They flipped through more sketches, and she commented on several. Reaching the last of them, she gave a nod. “You do have some good ideas.”

      “But you’re not sold on them yet.”

      “No.” She fidgeted with her napkin. “John, this contest means I can turn my father’s company into my own. We need to be number one. Second place still makes us losers.”