Or what had once been the ceiling. The sheetrock had been demolished, the roof and shingles ripped away. A huge gaping hole stared down at her. She drew a deep, shaky breath and tried not to panic as she picked her way past the chaos that filled the small room. The construction team had gutted the entire thing, including the cabinets. And the problem is? No problem, she told herself. The cabinets had been so old—eighty years to be exact—and old-fashioned. Peeling. Scarred. Ugly, even if they had been hand-carved and had the original glass knob handles. The newspaper was giving her a state-of-the-art kitchen. That meant lots of stainless steel and high-tech gadgets. Everything she’d ever dreamt of, including a cappuccino maker and an espresso machine. Not that she’d ever been fond of espresso. But that was the point—to ditch the old Cheryl Anne and embrace the new. She blinked frantically against the moisture that burned her eyes and swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat.
