“How much is that going to cost?” She bit her lip and braced herself for the bad news.
“I came up with an estimate and wrote it down.” He handed her a sheet with the estimate.
She took it, glanced down and immediately felt the air leave her lungs.
Seventeen thousand dollars!
She didn’t have that kind of money on hand. This repair was going to require a bank loan, if they would even lend her that amount.
“Thank you so much for getting with me. I have one more person giving me an estimate and then I’ll let you know.”
“Of course. And I do have time in my schedule. I know you want to get it done as soon as possible. I went ahead and put a tarp over the leak.” He gave her a friendly smile.
“Yes I do,” she assured him, trying to hide the fact the cost estimate had knocked the wind out of her. “Again, thank you for coming out. What do I owe you for the tarp?” She smiled.
He waved off her offer. “No charge.”
Carolina watched him get back into his new pickup truck and slowly pull away.
She glanced at the time on her phone. She had about an hour before the other guy showed up to give her an estimate.
It was enough time to start on the kitchen and clean it up.
She walked back inside and took off her denim jacket. She shoved up her sleeves and put on her rubber gloves and started scrubbing down the kitchen counters and sink.
Once she was finished with that, she started on the oven and microwave. She scrubbed until they both shined.
Opening the cabinets, she pulled out the paper plates, her broken coffee mug, and the few cheap pots. She wiped them down and began the process of putting new shelf liner in each cupboard. She’d found some pretty pink and gray shelf paper for half-off and knew they would work well with the white cabinets.
“Hello?”
She jerked up and hit her head on a cabinet door. Grimacing she rubbed her head.
“Sorry I startled you. But I did knock.” A man stared at her from the living room. He had jet black hair and deep blue eyes that were glaring at her with impatience. He wore jeans and a black long-sleeve T-shirt. He held a pair of leather gloves in his right hand which, judging by the callouses, had seen a lot of manual labor.
She scowled at him. “Do you always enter people’s homes without an invitation?”
“Yes. Especially when I’ve been invited to come over for an estimate.” He cocked his head, daring her to challenge him further.
She tugged off her rubber gloves. “I need a new roof.”
“I know. That’s why I’m here.” He acted like he was bored and had better things to do.
“Mr. ….”
“My name is Thomas Harding.”
“Mr. Harding.” She nodded. “I’m Carolina Johnson. The owner of the house.”
He looked around. “Where’s your husband?”
She lifted her chin. “I’m divorced. I am the owner of the house.”
With arms crossed over his chest he furrowed his brows.
“My roof has a leak,” she continued. “I need an estimate. I’ve already had one man give me an estimate.”
“I bet it was Randy Winkle.”
