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Deacon’s eyebrows rise an inch. “Big project.”
“Yeah. I got the old shingles cleared, but the roofing felt needs to be removed and replaced too.”
“You cleared the whole roof? Yourself?” Impossibly, his eyebrows inch higher.
I nod, then pull the piece of paper out of my pocket. “I have the measurements here for the new materials, but I wasn’t sure how to calculate everything.”
He nods. “I can help you with that. What were you thinking on materials?”
“Wood. Like it was.”
Deacon scratches at his beard. “I’d recommend metal. Lasts longer and weathers storms better. Plus, it’ll reflect the sun and keep the inside cooler during heat waves, like we’re having now. Only downside is the cost.”
I can think of another one.
“I have no idea how to install a metal roof, Deacon. Barely know how to install a wood one.”
“I can get a crew over to your place first thing in the morning.”
“Hastings?” I guess.
Deacon nods. “He’s got a lot of experience.”
I blow out a long breath, relief and indecision warring inside of me. The roof is a massive project. Exactly what I was looking for when I arrived. Something concrete to tackle. A clear task to complete after being gone for so long and only contributing money, which Mabel and John hardly spent. But there’s no shortage of other chores around the ranch, and this will take care of things a lot faster than I could manage myself.
“Okay, yeah. Thanks.”
“Anything else you need?”
I glance down at the list. “Shank nails, grass seed, and nitrile-coated gloves.”
“Nails are in aisle twelve, grass seed is in five, and all the work gloves are up by the register. I’ll give Cal a call, get him over to your place first thing.”
“Thanks, Deacon.”
He grips my shoulder, giving it a slight shake. “You’ve got a home here. Always.”
I nod, my throat suddenly thick.
Deacon claps my shoulder. “You need anything else, just let me know.”
“I will. Thanks.”
It takes me about ten minutes to pick up all the items I need and then check out at the front register.
Piper is still browsing in the front when I head for the exit.
“Do you have a grill?” she wonders, lifting the lid of a three-burner gas one as I stop beside her.
“I think there’s an old charcoal one somewhere in the barn.”
“Huh.”
“Doyouhave a grill?” I ask since it’s all I can think to say in this bizarre conversation.
“I live in a fourth-floor walk-up,” she says.
“So…that’s a no?”
