Chapter 10
THINK YOU CAN HANDLE FINISHING WHAT YOU STARTED?
Tucker
By mid-afternoon, the front yard looks like a lumberyard and a war zone had a baby. Even though Scottie was reluctant to see the safety hazards of the porch, she agreed to getting rid of almost everything, and I agreed to give her the vision she sees without anyone getting hurt.
The old porch is finally gone, with boards stacked in neat piles.
Scottie stands in the middle of all of it. The messy bun she showed up with earlier today somehow messier with pieces angled around her face. She looks like sunshine in pink work boots. All brightness and warmth, but tougher than she looks.
Her cheeks are flushed, and she reaches up to wipe her forehead with the back of her wrist, leaving a streak of dust. “Looks good.”
I step closer to her, brushing a piece of hair away from her eyes. “You mean, we look good.”
“You’ve been holding that line all morning, haven’t you?”
“Maybe.” I shrug, and look down at my watch. “Levi should be back with the materials any minute now.”
I sent Levi and two of my best crew members off earlier to grab the supplies necessary for the porch after assessing how bad the structure really was. It felt easier this way. It keeps the cameras focused on us while the real logistics happen behind the scenes.
“We’re doing this all today?” Scottie’s eyes widen. “You can’t be serious.”
I laugh. “You’re the one on a time crunch. This will be likely one of the easier projects compared to the inside of the house. We can bang it out in one go.”
Her cheeks flush instantly, and I catch it before she can smooth it away. She looks like she’s deciding whether she wants to murder me with a two by four or pretend she didn’t hear it at all.
She chooses the second option when her gaze slides past me and she squares her shoulders.
I clock all of it—every controlled movement and how she’s trying like hell to prove my words don’t have any effect on her.
Watching her pretend she’s unaffected has been my favorite game since she showed up here in town.
I step closer, just enough that my breath brushes her ear. “Is that what you want, Scottie?” My voice stays low, lips grazing the shell of her ear. “To bang it out in one go?” Her body tenses, but she doesn’t move—doesn’t pull away. “Think you can handle finishing what you started?”
“Professional,” she says in a warning tone. “Remember?”
I should stop.
This is her giving me the chance to pull it back and laugh it off.
I can’t find it in me to take it, though.
My eyes stay on her, unblinking, like if I look away now I’ll lose something I didn’t know I was holding.
“Yeah. I remember.” I step a fraction closer—just enough for her to feel it.
Just enough that the space between us closes more.
“But let’s not pretend,” I add, keeping my voice low and honest. “That word doesn’t make you any less distracting.
” Her breath stutters, and I see the exact moment she forgets what she was about to say.
“I’m trying to behave. But you standing here like that?
Acting like you don’t know what you do to me? ”
Her lips part in shock, and it takes all the restraint I have not to press my lips to the spot I remember drives her crazy on her neck. The one where I can feel her pulse on my lips and know that the effect we have on each other is mutual.
But I step away and shrug. “I can’t help it.”
My hands curl into fists at my side because the urge to reach for her and touch her is so strong.
She opens her mouth to say something, but stops herself. There’s this part of me that wants to hear her say my name—in a whisper, a plea, anything. But the sound of the truck beeping behind me pulls both of us from the moment. We both snap our heads to find Levi backing up the driveway.
I turn and make my way toward the truck before I can dig a deeper hole for myself. But I don’t miss the way she’s still standing there when I move away.
Like she felt it, too.
Helping Levi and the rest of the crew unload the truck, I keep my hands busy. It’s the only way I’ve managed to ever work through anything I’m feeling. I tell myself that physical work has always been my way out when my head gets too loud.
Right now, it’s screaming.
And it has everything to do with the woman standing a few feet away from me, popping Sour Patch Kids into her mouth before putting on the gloves I gave her.
I don’t want my stomach to flip when I see her or have this urge for my hands to touch her.
That’s not what this fucking is. So I shove every feeling and thought down.
It never makes it disappear, but it gives it somewhere to wait.
“Scottie,” I say, and she tips her head up to look at me. “We can get all of this started if you need a break.”
She shakes her head. “You can’t tell me we’re going to bang this all out in one go, and then tell me to fuck off.”
Well, so much for shoving everything down.
I hold up my hands in defense, smirking. “I’m just saying, most people don’t volunteer to keep going when they don’t need to during the hottest hour of the day. Levi and I can handle this part.”
“I’m not most people,” she says, tilting her chin up.
Yeah. No kidding.
“Besides,” she says, stomping to where the circular saw is set up, reaching for it like it’s a dare. “I can handle myself.”
And then she winks.
She fucking winks—and it takes everything in me to keep my hands to myself.
When she reaches for the trigger of the saw. “Whoa. Hold on,” I say, my feet rush to stop her. Not because she’s incapable, but because I don’t trust myself to stay calm if she gets hurt on my watch. “Have you ever used one of these before?”
“I’m a fast learner.”
“And you like your fingers, right?” I lean in close to whisper. “You know, to handle yourself.”
Fuck.
She’s making me feel completely unhinged.
But the glare in her eyes tells me she could cut the wood in half without the saw just by looking at it. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m whatever you need me to be,” I say, holding the saw. My words carry a double meaning. “But I’m also in charge of keeping you from cutting off a limb on national television.”
“It’s my show.”
“Then let’s keep you around for all the episodes, yeah?”
The camera crew chuckles in the background, pretending not to listen. Honestly, we’ve been so lost in the work that I keep forgetting they’re recording the entire day to clip the pieces together for the one-hour episode.
Scottie removes her gloves, and crosses her arms over her chest. “If you want to take charge of cutting the wood, then fine. What can I do?”
“You can measure and mark the boards for me.”
I reach into my tool belt and pull out the measuring tape. I step closer and place it directly in her hand. Our fingers brush—barely. It’s enough that I feel the warmth of her skin before she curls her fingers around the tape.
She looks down at it, then back at me. “You can’t be serious.”
“Measurements are the backbone of construction,” I say, grinning as I crouch down to organize everything where I need it to go.
What I don’t say is that this puts her right here with me.
I want to feel her in my space, distracting me up close and not far away.
“Please,” she scoffs, rolling her eyes before leaning forward as if taunting me. “You just don’t want me using power tools because you’re afraid I’ll outshine you.”
She doesn’t back away, and I know I have to look away before instinct takes over and I start memorizing every detail of her, but I can’t do it. I trail her body—the line of her neck and the way one side of her overalls falls over her shoulder. I can’t fucking look away.
“You caught me,” I deadpan, trying to keep my voice even. “Your skills deeply threaten me.”
She smiles, and for a second it doesn’t feel like teasing.
It feels…easy.
We fall into a rhythm.
She measures. I cut.
Every time she leans over a board, hair slipping loose from her messy bun, I have to remind myself to look anywhere else. I have to remind myself not to reach for her and brush the strands away from her beautiful eyes.
I’m literally going insane.
And to think, this was my fucking idea to keep her close to me.
What’s driving me crazy the most isn’t the heat or the long day we’ve already had.
Because I’m used to this work day in and day out.
But it’s her. She’s a mess of sweat and sawdust, and somehow she’s still trying to keep that perfect image together for the cameras.
Every time I glance up in her direction, she’s checking her reflection in her phone camera or making sure her mic is sitting just right, like if she slips for even a second, the world will see something she doesn’t want them to.
And the worst part?
I get it.
I see it.
“So how long have you been doing this?”
She glances up. “Construction?”
“No. I mean, yes. All of it. Renovating things. The show.” I spread out my arms to showcase the yard around us. “All of this.”
She pauses, as if trying to think of what to say, clocking the camera aimed in our direction before straightening her spine.
“I can’t remember when I first discovered my love for it.
But I remember it started when I found an old dresser on the side of the road and wanted to refurbish it for my bedroom.
After that, I wanted to redo my whole room to match.
I gutted the entire thing and learned everything from the internet.
My dad thought it was the greatest room in the house.
” She smiles down at the memory, looking down at the wood and measuring tape in her hands.
“He let me do more rooms in the house. I shared one before-and-after picture on my private social media account and it went crazy with people loving it. He had this idea that I should start my own DIY design page, and I ended up doing our entire house.”
I nod, smiling, trying to focus on the work in front of me.
But all I’m registering is the passion in her voice for what she does.