Lance pulled up in the driveway and stared at the cottage in front of him. The woman who had called him had simply said the house needed “some work”, but this place was a disaster. Without even doing a good inspection, he could see the porch was falling down along with the front steps, and the roof would need replacing. He sighed, hauled himself out of the truck and reached in for his yellow pad, noting the red Porsche convertible parked near the front. Whoa, nice wheels, he thought.

“You must be Lance.” He jumped when the voice came from behind him, courtesy of four years in Kabul. He still hated it when people snuck up on him from behind. There were days when his PTSD was worse than others and today he had woken up from a horrific dream at 4:00 a.m. The images had been in his head all day.

“Yes, ma’am. And I guess you’re Marjorie Willington.” He surreptitiously looked her up and down, taking in her expensive boots and designer jeans, her trendy hair cut and perfectly made up face. Her eyes were a fascinating shade of aqua but she seemed cautious and unsure of herself which was at odds with the way she was so meticulously put together.

“This old house needs a lot of work. Just go ahead and do what you need to do and give me an estimate. I’ll be in the back kitchen and I recommend not using the front steps. Come around back when you need to look inside.”

With that, she turned and made her way back to the house. Lance raised his eyes as she walked away, feeling like he had been put in his place in a very business-like way. “Yes ma’m. Whatever you want ma’am,” he mumbled to himself. “I bet she’ll be a real joy to work with.”

Lance slowly made his way around the house taking copious notes; roof, porch, steps front and back, window frames and new windows, double paned, paint. The list just for the basics was extensive, and he hadn’t even looked inside. He wondered why a woman who so obviously had money, was even interested in taking on this huge project. He wiped his boots on the back mat and knocked on the door.

“Ms. Willington? I’m ready to check out the inside.”

He heard her footsteps and she came to the door and let him in. Her eyes were red and teary and Lance wasn’t sure what to say. She looked upset, vulnerable, but he decided to just say nothing and get on with his inspection. She hadn’t called him out to be her therapist or whatever. He was barely keeping himself together and didn’t have much left for anyone else.

“Please. Call me Marjorie. Can we sit down and look at what you have before you give me the bad news on the inside? Come in and have a seat at the table. Would you like a glass of iced tea?” She asked tentatively, as if she was out of practice with the niceties of interactions with people.

“Yes ma’am, that would be welcome.” The change in her demeanor had put him off guard, but he was thirsty, and that was pure fact.

He sat down at the table and did some figuring as she poured two glasses of sweet tea, added a sprig of mint, and sat down across from him. She had pulled her hair back, and apparently washed off her makeup and Lance realized she was younger than he had thought, about his age if he had to guess. She had a tissue gripped tightly in her hand and it looked well used.

“So what’s the bad news?”

Lance began outlining all the issues that needed attending to, going from the most needed to those that still needed doing but were not emergencies. As he went over a timeline, the cost for supplies and the labor, she began shredding the tissue and he saw her tear up. Oh God, he thought, please don’t cry. I don’t do crying ladies so well. He turned all business and abrupt, his discomfort with her tears making him seem curt.

“Ms. Willington, can I ask why you are sinking so much money into this old place? I mean, I don’t want to pry, but you drive a really fine vehicle, and look like a professional kind of person who might want to find something more…well…not so derelict.”

“It’s all I have.” She began sobbing again, and Lance, who had four sisters he adored, couldn’t stand to see her tears. He reached out and covered her hand very gently making sure his gesture didn’t come off as creepy. This woman looked like she was ready to really go into a meltdown.

“You want to tell me about it all? All my sisters say I’m a good listener. I’ve got four of them. Maybe together we can work this out in a way that makes it a win-win for both of us. I need the work, you need the work done, let’s see how we can do this.” He took back his hand and leaned back in the chair, sipping on the best tea he’d had since his granny had died.

She stared at him and then began talking. It seems her soon-to-be-ex-husband had absconded with not only her best friend but all her money. She explained she had parents who had left her very well off and she had started a computer consulting business with her friend. That friend and her husband of ten years had embezzled the company funds and run off to some off-the-grid island where they could not be reached. She soon discovered she had lost everything except some personal savings she had set aside before she met her husband. This house had been her great aunt’s and was, simply, the only thing she still owned that he hadn’t figured out how to get. Her savings needed to stretch to fix the house and support her as frugally as possible until she could get her business running again.

“Oldest story, saddest story, dumbest person alive to have been so blindsided. I feel like a total fool, but I decided I would not let them destroy me.” She sat up straighter, wiping her eyes. “So here I am with this house, my savings, and the remnants of my company I will attempt to resurrect. Can you help me set a plan of action for this place? I just want a warm, safe place to live and work. Nothing grand, just a place that will be home. Can we do it?”

She actually gave him a quick smile and Lance grinned back. She really was beautiful and god knows she had to be strong to face all this alone. They both drank tea, talked house plans, and simply shared about their lives and Lance was shocked to see that he had been there for hours and it was dinner time. He couldn’t remember the last time he had sat with a woman and actually gotten lost in conversation.

“Lance, thank you. I see some hope of managing all this, and I haven’t felt hopeful in a good long time. Could I convince you to stay for dinner? I really dread eating another meal by myself and I do make a mean plate of spaghetti. That’s if you don’t have plans or a wife and kids who expect you home.”

Lance grinned, accepting that she was fishing for information. “No wife. No kids. And I would love to eat spaghetti if you throw in some garlic bread.”

“Absolutely. What is spaghetti without garlic bread? Let me get dinner started and you can go check out the inside of the house. It’s actually in much better shape than the outside, or it looks like it to me, but I have been so wrong about so much lately I will trust your expertise on this one.” She threw him that devastating quick smile again and he smiled back.

They stood looking at each other for a long moment. A very long moment. Marjorie saw a strong, caring man who was easy on the eyes who had been through his own hell and who seemed like she could trust as a new friend. Lance saw a strong, lovely woman who was beautiful but smart and exceptionally easy to talk to. He grinned at her. She grinned back. He headed upstairs to check on the repairs. She headed to the refrigerator and pulled out tomatoes and basil and, of course, garlic.

Unbeknownst to them at this time, much more would be repaired before this decrepit old house became a home.