Home Matters (A Ripple Effect Romance Novella, Book 1) by Julie N. Ford

against doctor’s orders.
    Olivia’s throat went dry, all the moisture rushing to her armpits and palms. “Excuse me, but I don’t know what—” she began, sure she was innocent of whatever offense Eleanor seemed hell-bent on accusing her of, until the gleaming porcelain of a farmhouse sink, centered on the kitchen island, caught her peripheral vision. When had Eleanor ordered the design alteration?
    “What is that doing there?” she asked, pushing past Eleanor for a closer look. “I thought the sink was going under the window.” She pointed across the room where the stove had been installed in the sink’s place. A copper pot filler, folded against the tumbled marble backsplash, gleamed in the early morning light. Where the stove was supposed to have been, a set of French doors led out to the patio, more than making up for the missing natural light. It all bore an uncanny resemblance to… “My design,” she muttered.
    Eleanor flipped open a book on the counter, stabbed a finger to the page. “Look familiar?” she barked.
    Olivia tore her eyes from the French doors, redirecting her gaze to Eleanor’s white-knuckled finger and one of the renderings from Olivia’s missing sketchpad—the kitchen, to be exact.
    Olivia set her coffee aside and blinked down at the page, seeing but not accepting what justifiably had Eleanor all in a huff. Not only did her drawings resemble the current state of the Calhouns’ kitchen, but also included the marble Olivia had chosen for her design as a substitute for the tin backsplash Eleanor had planned. In addition, the current wall color matched the paint chip she’d added somewhere along the way. And, to make matters worse, fabric samples had been adhered to this page, along with the remaining sketches as well.
    Plunking her purse down on the counter, Olivia unlatched the top and pulled it open. “My fabric swatches and camera?” she said, rummaging through her things. “They’re gone. How?” She couldn’t imagine. Over the weekend, she’d been so busy shooting interviews and last-minute promo segments with William, plus rehearsals for the final reveal, she hadn’t noticed anything had gone missing.
    “How indeed?” Eleanor croaked. “And don’t even try denying these are your designs. Your monogram is on the front cover of the sketchpad.”
    Olivia’s lungs twisted in on themselves, stealing her breath, her voice. “Yes, this is mine,” she gasped, turning back the pages. “I misplaced it almost a week ago,” she said, completely at a loss for an explanation as to how all of her designs were now accompanied by fabric samples, not to mention how they’d come to life right in front of her eyes.
    Pressing a hand to her moist forehead, Olivia looked around. This is not happening , she told herself over and over, doing her best to breathe as she inspected the room for evidence to the contrary. But much to her dismay, the fireplace Eleanor’s design had called to be removed sat firmly in its place and now sported a set of tastefully distressed, wraparound shelves. The butler’s pantry was still there too and had been freshened up with a new sink and cabinets. Turning back to the front of the house, she saw that half-walls and pillars defined the dining room from the formal living area and that Great Aunt Iona’s portrait hung over the fireplace—all in defiance of Eleanor’s design. The walls of both spaces had been painted a warm ochre yellow.
    “It wasn’t me,” Olivia continued to deny.
    “Seriously?” Eleanor squawked, her fingers leafing aggressively through the pages of Olivia’s sketchpad. “These are very detailed drawings.” She stopped, turned the book to Olivia, and pointed again. “Look, you even added photos of fixtures and furnishings.” She stabbed her finger against the pad with a few hard thuds. “Does this chandelier look familiar?”
    Olivia honestly didn’t know what to say. The only explanation she could fathom at the moment was