Maggie Moves On(17)

“This is exactly why no one should have been allowed to renovate in the seventies,” he noted, pulling her to the porcelain farmhouse sink, the only thing in the room worth saving in his opinion. He cranked the hot water handle and reached for the new bottle of hand soap on the counter.

“Sixty-nine,” she corrected. “At least according to the receipts I found stashed in the mousetrap drawer.”

“The treasures you find. Kind of like that file cabinet full of carpet samples in the Seattle Craftsman,” he said.

“You’ve been doing some research,” she said.

“I have. Paid the neighbor kid five dollars to show me what the YouTube was,” Silas joked, deciding it might not be the best time to tell her his brother had a Building Dreams T-shirt with her face on it. “I’ll give you a lollipop if you’re a good girl and don’t cry,” he said a split second before shoving her hand under the water.

To her credit, she only yelped. “I can’t tell if you’re kidding about ‘the YouTube,’” she said through her teeth as he carefully cleaned the gash.

“I’m a funny guy. But I also know jack shit about social media. So I hope that’s not a deal breaker personally or professionally. When was your last tetanus?” he asked.

“Last year. Carpet tack in my foot,” she said. “How do you advertise your business?”

“Good ol’ word of mouth and the occasional mailer. How’d you do this?” he asked, holding up her now clean hand and applying pressure with a paper towel. She had a dozen small scars on both hands, like he did. Like anyone who worked with their hands for a living did.

“Broken glass-front cabinet in what I’m calling the second dining room for now because I have no idea what it was used for. So to what do I owe the pleasure? Are you here to attempt more Grand Theft Auto or do you just drive around town on Saturdays offering first aid?”

“I’ve got estimates for you,” he said.

Her eyebrows winged up. “Twenty-four hours later. That’s either impressive or you did a shit job.”

“Trust me. It’s impressive. I can do a lot of things in a lot less time. But a respectable amount of time,” he added. “Not like eight or nine minutes.”

Her shoulders bounced in that suppressed-laughter way of hers. He wondered why she didn’t just let it out. “Anyway, the flowers—” He snapped his fingers at Kevin, who had thankfully woken up feeling obedient that morning. The dog scampered off to find them. “Are an apology, and this is to butter you up.” He pulled a cold six-pack out of the paper bag he’d brought inside.

“Ah, an alcohol-worthy quote,” she said, eyeing the beer. “I had a feeling.”

“Quotes,” he corrected. “Are you a five-o’clock-somewhere kind of girl or do you need it to be a respectable drinking hour before you start on a Saturday?”

“It’s eleven a.m. here, and I’ve been at it since seven. I’m due a break, and I have a feeling I’m gonna need one of those beers when I look at your numbers,” she guessed.

“Smart woman,” he said. “Let’s take our happy hour outside.”

She followed him, the beer, and his paperwork through the front door. Silas stepped off the porch and crossed to his pickup, which he’d backed in. He sat on the lowered tailgate and patted the spot next to him. “Come envision with me.”

He tossed Kevin a chew bone, and when the dog settled down on the porch with it, Silas popped open two of the bottles of beer. “Estimate A is for the scope of work we discussed yesterday before the puke and nudity. By the way, I’m hoping those two things evened each other out when it comes to your hiring decision.”

She didn’t exactly confirm, but her small grin was enough for him.

He produced the first piece of paper from a folder and handed it over to her. “Nothing too fancy. The must-haves. The tree trimming and timbering, foundational plantings, redefining the beds around the front, mulch, trimming up the hedgerows, maybe a focal planting here or there to take advantage of the views. Cleaning up the existing beds around the house. Reseeding the lawn. Scrapping the creepy graveyard fence. Relaying the terrace, using as much of the original material as possible. Shoring up the retaining wall.”

She skimmed it, and he considered it a good sign that she didn’t immediately chug the entire beer when she hit the total.

“Uh-huh,” Maggie said with a nod that gave nothing away.

“This is what Estimate Must-Haves could look like,” he said, unfolding a larger piece of paper.

“You drew this?” she asked, studying the sketch.

He liked that she sounded impressed. “I did. I like sketches better than renderings. More feeling. Makes it easier for the client to say yes to the dream.”

“I’m ready to say yes right now,” she said, still admiring the sketch. There were hanging baskets of ferns on the porch. Colorful foliage along the foundation. Dark, rich mulch and bright pops of annual color in rivers of plantings.

“Hold your horses—literally, actually,” he cautioned. “Because this doesn’t include the fountain. Rescuing it from its current state would take more. A lot more. If that’s a no, then we might be able to save the horses and use them somewhere else in the yard.”