“Sure. We both grew up in Seaside. We were on the football team together in high school. He was one of the groomsmen at my wedding.”
Gathering my thoughts, I hand him his phone. “Okay. I won’t put you in an awkward position by trying to force you to tell me why your friend doesn’t like me, but I’d appreciate it if you could tell Theo that I said…ouch.”
Coop lifts his brows. “Ouch?”
“Yeah. Ouch. Just tell him that. And that if I see him again, I’ll cross the street first so he doesn’t have to. Thanks for coming out.”
I hand him the manila envelope with the quote in it and close the door.
5
I call Craig, the contractor who gave me the astronomical quote, and spend twenty minutes with him on the phone, haggling over the price. When I tell him the other quotes I got were half the price his was, he tells me with a shrug in his voice that if budget is my main concern, I should go with someone else.
I hate to admit I like his chutzpah. A man with unflappable self-confidence is incredibly appealing.
We settle on a ten percent discount if I pay him cash. He laughs when I tell him he shouldn’t charge me sales tax either. “That’s not how it works,” he says.
“Don’t patronize me, Craig, I know exactly how it works. You’re not going to put the job on the books if it’s paid in cash, so you won’t have to pay sales tax, so you should pass that savings along to me. Considering you padded your quote with enough pork to make a politician proud, you’re still way ahead of the game.”
After a short silence, Craig says, “I meant I can’t take off the sales tax because there is no sales tax. Oregon doesn’t have it.”
“Oh. Right. I forgot.”
“But I’ll tell you what. The state just passed a construction excise tax to raise funds for affordable housing. It’s based on a percentage of your building permit valuation. I’ll take care of that for you.”
He tells me how much it will amount to. I think for a moment before saying, “Double it, and you’ve got a deal.”
Into his disgruntled pause, I remind him, “Cash is king, Craig. Even if you don’t have to pay state sales tax, you’ll be paying the Feds on anything you deposit into your bank account, am I right?”
“Have mercy on a poor guy, Megan!”
He suggests another number, then I suggest another, then we agree to split the difference. He tells me he’ll send over the contract for my review on Monday, and we say goodbye and hang up.
Pleased with myself, I look around the front parlor with my hands on my hips. I’m excited for the first time in years.
It’s really going to happen. I’m going to make our dream come true, babe.
The phone rings. I pick it up, expecting it to be Craig wanting to go over some forgotten detail, or perhaps Suzanne, but it’s Coop, sounding bashful.
“Hi, there, Megan, this is Coop.”
“Hi, Coop. What’s up?”
Long, awkward pause. “Uh…I’m still standin’ outside your house.”
I walk to the windows, and there he is, out on the sidewalk near his truck.
“Are you having car problems?”
“No, I’m, uh, just waitin’ on Theo. He’s comin’ out to see you. I texted him what you said, and, uh…” Coop clears his throat. “Well, anyway, he’s on his way. I thought I’d give you a heads-up.”
The circus never stops with this guy. “That’s unfortunate, Coop, because I just got off the phone with Craig from Capstone. He’s going to handle the job.”
Coop scoffs. “Craig? That self-important SOB? You like flushin’ your money down the toilet?”
“No, I don’t. Which is why I negotiated a discount.”
“Lemme guess. He probably quoted you…” He thinks for a moment, looking up at the house, then names a number which is only a few hundred dollars off from Craig’s quote, which is very irritating.
“You seem like a nice guy, Coop, but this conversation is pointless, considering your boss has no interest in working with me.”
“I never said that,” he says quickly. Our gazes meet through the window. I see how serious he is suddenly, his easy grin nowhere in sight.
“I wasn’t going to tell him you did,” I say, sensing this is somehow a matter of great importance.
When Coop blows out a breath, looking relieved, my hunch is proven right. Before I can say anything else, however, he straightens, looking down the street.
“He’s here.” He flashes me a look full of warning, then hangs up, steps out into the street, and holds up a hand.
Fascinated, I watch as a classic Mustang slowly rolls up the street, engine rumbling. It’s black, with windows tinted so dark, I can’t see inside, and chrome wheels that gleam in the sun. The car stops in the middle of the street, then Coop walks over and bends down to the driver’s-side window.