The contractor hiked up his jeans. “Actually, ma’am, the house didn’t suddenly start to sink on that side. The problem was likely developing over a long period of time.”

“Well, no one noticed it before.” Emma wanted to tear out her hair. A maintenance problem certainly wasn’t news. Two-hundred-year-old houses regularly developed ghastly ailments. If it wasn’t dry rot one year, it was corroded wiring or termites the next. “I just can’t have a big mess right now! Can we put off the work until October?”

“Well, I wouldn’t, ma’am.”

“You call me ma’am one more time and you won’t see October, either,” she said crossly, and sighed. “Okay. Let’s hear the plan.”

“Yeah, well, we’re gonna put up new house jacks. Take down your old porch pillars. Reframe pillars around the new house jacks, but hinged, like, so they’re accessible. That way we could do this slow, push up that second story a smidgeon at a time. Don’t want to crack this pretty foundation, now, do we?”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. He was so twinkly. “But why did the house decide to sink now?”

“Taking a wild guess now…but probably because the house is older than the hills and then some?”

“Easy for you to joke. You’re going to charge me, what, five figures?”

“Yup, in that general ballpark,” he confirmed.

And there was the real rotten apple. Her thirtieth birthday was on August thirty-first-so close now, but not close enough to access the trust fund her grandmother had established for her. In the meantime, she knew her parents would float her the money, but there was always a heavy price tag for those gifts.

To add to the morning’s confusion, Josh chose that moment to poke his head out the back door. “Mrs. Dearborn’s on the phone, Emma-”

“If you don’t mind, just tell my mom I’ll call her back, okay? Thanks-”