A Kiss to Build a Dream On by Kim Amos

house—Willa and her mom, namely—never had. So now it was up to Willa. The weight of the responsibility pressed down on her in the basement’s close space. The memories of her family, and of Burk if she was being truthful, were practically mixed into the plaster and paint of this old place. She’d have to face them the same as she faced the rotting wood and leaky pipes.
    With a deep breath, she met Burk’s gaze. “You’re right,” she said, “let’s keep going.” The repairs had to get done, no matter what had led to them.
    They worked their way back upstairs. New windows were needed everywhere. The kitchen had to be ripped down to studs. Floors had to be sanded. New outlets had to be put in. The ceiling had to be replastered. The bathroom pipes had to be refitted. And that was just the basics—it didn’t even begin to cover the changes Willa wanted in order to turn the place into a thriving B and B.
    On and on Burk went, pointing his flashlight at things and writing it all down. Not to mention frowning over the costs. “That’s gonna be a steep one,” he’d mutter, scribbling furiously.
    At the end of it all, Willa’s head hurt and her eyes smarted from studying all the minute details everywhere. She was exhausted, and more than a little bit worried. At this rate, she wondered if she should just raze the house and start anew. It would probably be cheaper.
    When it was all over, she slumped in a chair at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. Burk puttered on the front porch, making sure he didn’t miss anything.
    Dear God , she thought, the man takes thorough to a new level. His notes were meticulous. His ideas were articulate. It was as if he’d spent weeks preplanning some of these fixes. How to redo the built-in bookshelves in the living room, for example. What kind of flooring would be best in the kitchen, or how to maximize space in the reading room on the first floor.
    She heard the front door close and the thump of his work boots as he came back inside. The warped floorboards creaked as he made his way to the kitchen.
    “Can I join you?” he asked, gesturing to a metal chair next to her, the one with its upholstery ripped. Clumpy yellow stuffing leaked out of the tear.
    “Of course,” she replied, trying to smile. She didn’t want Burk to see the repairs weighing on her.
    He eased his body next to her. She could smell the fresh air on him, and resisted the urge to sidle closer.
    “You sure you want to do this?” he asked, folding his massive hands on the table. Willa stared at the depths of his blue eyes, thinking about how to answer. She noted the flecks of green there, like dark pine needles floating in a deep stream. There was something else, too—a hardness she hadn’t expected. When they were together, he’d been the one to shake his hips and sing to her like Elvis, making her guffaw with laughter. She was the one who needed to loosen up, not him. Now stress tightened the muscles around his neck. She could see the strain just underneath the skin. She suddenly pictured her fingers on his flesh, working out all the knots and tension.
    Because it would be helpful to him, that is. Not because of anything…else.
    “I—I don’t know,” she answered, erasing the picture of the imaginary massage. “It’s a lot.”
    “You could always sell,” he said. “If it was me, that’s what I’d consider. Make it someone else’s problem.”
    “But it’s my problem,” Willa said, wondering where she’d go if it wasn’t here. How would she make money? She had no friends. No college degree. And no career prospects.
    “Doesn’t have to be all yours,” Burk shrugged. “House like this, even with all its needs, could still go. Market’s soft, but you might find someone.”
    “Oh,” Willa replied, wondering why Burk sounded like he didn’t want the job. It would probably pay for his kids’ college. If he had kids.
    She sat back, very much aware that she didn’t know anything