He reached into his yellow apron pocket, pulled out a worn canvas pouch, and unzipped the top.

“I pay half now and half when the counter is bolted to the floorboards,” Miller said.

He counted four crisp fifty-dollar bills onto the dry corner of the floor plan.

“If the framing isn’t built by Saturday midnight,” Miller said, “you refund every penny.”

“The counter will be ready,” Caroline said.

She picked up the four fifty-dollar bills, folded them once, and slipped them safely into her coat pocket.

By a quarter to eight that evening, rain was drumming against the high glass windows of the small rental studio on Mill Street.