Happily Ever After by Susan May Warren

began
     to mount the stairs with it. Her legs quivered. He tiptoed behind her, ready for a swift catch. She made it to the third step,
     groaned, then finally plunked the stump onto the porch. Slapping her hands together, she sprinted to the landing and whirled,
     beaming. “See?”
    He’d never had to war with the idea of pulling someone into his arms to silence a victory dance. But, as Mona grinned at him,
     her hands clamped on her hips, wood shavings layering her sweatshirt, and hair flopping over her face, that was exactly what
     happened. Perhaps it was relief, frustration, or admiration, but suddenly he fought a barrage of furious impulses.
    “Were you born stubborn?” he demanded. As her mouth opened in shock, he stalked past her into the house.

    Mona hummed as she sanded the top of her oak stump. She heard Joe, tucked under the kitchen sink, attacking the drippy faucet.
     Liza had mentioned something about painting the inside of her newly emptied potter’s shed. Mona blew on the dust, scattering
     it into the wood-tinged air, and admired her stump. The wood grain wound in thick, brown circles. Alton Holland had already
     set aside another stump for her, one with the remnants of root still stretching from the base like thick fingers. They would
     be beautiful. Mona felt hope surge through her. What had Joe said? You have vision. Perhaps. But mostly she had dreams.
    Mona stood up and stretched, surveying the two rooms that would be her bookstore and coffee shop. The ceiling had yet to be
     patched, the floors sanded and varnished, the windowsills painted, and the walls papered. But she had four and a half weeks,
     and it was doable. Finally, nothing stood in her way. The late-afternoon sun lit a path of orange along the wood floor, swirls
     of dust waltzing in the tangible rays. Mona inhaled, feeling peace enter like a fragrance.
    “Arrgh!” Joe’s cry from the kitchen shattered her serene moment.
    “What is it?” Mona raced to the kitchen. The scene that greeted her scattered the lingering aroma floating about her heart
     with the effectiveness of a stink bomb. Roaches, as thick and deep as a moving carpet, scrambled over her lemon-colored counters,
     seeking refuge from Joe’s shoe. Mona stood paralyzed, watching roaches climb out of the depths of her house and envisioning
     one of the monsters tiptoeing over a coffee mug. Worse yet, perhaps it would nestle into someone’s shirt collar and she could
     invite the entire health department over to finish off the muffins as they shut her down.
    “W-where’d they come from?” she stammered.
    Joe shot her a sorry look and pointed to a gaping hole under the sink. Rotting drywall littered the floor around the open
     cabinet doors. “You have a slight plumbing problem.”
    Mona’s heart sank. She gripped the counter, crouched, and surveyed the black hole at the base of the pipes.
    “How bad is it?”
    The sensation of movement scuttling across her hand eclipsed his answer. Mona leaped to her feet in time to spy a confused
     roach heading toward her shirt cuff. Screaming and shaking her hand, she danced into the center of the room, all her feminine
     instincts boiling over. Then she spotted Joe grinning so widely, it seemed his cheeks would pop. She glowered at him. Great,
     just what she needed after her triumphant performance with the tree stump. Now he’d conjure up all sorts of maiden-in-distress
     images. Mona sucked a calming breath, peeled off a shoe, and began to whack at the odious insects, feeling a strange satisfaction
     as she squashed them.
    The screen door whined open, and Liza popped her head in. “What’s all the ruckus about in here?”
    They didn’t need to answer. Liza screamed and beat a trail through the kitchen. Her boots crashed up the stairs. Mona caught
     Joe’s bemused expression and flattened another bug with a satisfying smack! Then, to her amazement, Joe leaned over, took
     off his boot, gripped it with his right hand, and