Chapter 15
NEW PLAN. WE BURN THE HOUSE DOWN.
Tucker
Scottie is different today.
Not in a way that the crew would notice, but I do. I’m finding I notice everything about her way more than I should.
Her laugh isn’t like it has been in the days before, and her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. I watched her trembling hands on multiple occasions as she removed old cabinets and flipped through her design booklet. She’s quick to hide it, but I see it.
And it does something to me I don’t want to examine too closely.
Scottie stands off to the side of the kitchen with her hands on her hips, surveying the room like she’s about to conquer it with sheer optimism.
She’s wearing her signature overalls, which I’m learning are strictly for construction work on this project, and underneath she’s paired them with a soft yellow crop top.
She’s also wearing those damn pair of pink work boots today, and I assume it’s because of the cabinet door falling on her yesterday.
Smart girl.
She’s looking around the kitchen and taking in all the work she did yesterday in a new light. The sun is shining outside today, casting a glow through the window.
The space is bright, like her.
I move to stand next to her, nudging her arm with my shoulder. “Green was a good choice.”
She turns her head, looking up at me. “I can’t tell if that’s sarcasm or if you mean it.”
“I mean it,” I say quickly, not wanting her to think otherwise. “I may joke about a lot of things, but I mean this.”
She eyes me curiously, and it leaves an uneasy feeling in my gut.
It’s not the kind of look you toss at a coworker or a fake boyfriend for the cameras.
It’s the kind that lingers too long, like she’s lining something up in her head and realizing it fits.
That shouldn’t matter, but it does. She’s looking at me the same way I’ve been looking at her.
I don’t know what scares me more. The possibility that she sees me or the fact that part of me wants her to.
Something changed yesterday.
I feel it in her stare.
She’s silently listening to the things I don’t say out loud, like she knows there’s more under the surface and isn’t backing away.
Is Scottie catching all the tiny details about me the same way I see hers?
The way her smile starts on the left.
The way her tongue sticks out when she’s focused on a project or with a tool in her hand.
The way she pretends she’s unaffected when I know she is.
It’s all just wishful thinking.
But I want it—I want her to notice me. Not the version the producers are going to edit together, and not the man I pretend to be when I need to survive the day. I’m craving for her to see me, despite the fear that she could discover the dents and bruises of my past.
She opens her mouth to say something, but heels clicking on the floor draw our attention to the archway leading to the kitchen. Andrea is clicking away on her phone when she comes to a stop, then looks up, takes it all in, and faces us with wide eyes and a smile. “Wow! This looks incredible.”
I turn to face Scottie again to let her answer. I watch as she straightens instantly, shoulders back and chin lifted like she’s flipping on that bright influencer switch—bubbly and effortlessly confident.
“Okay,” Scottie says, clapping once. “Who’s ready to rip up this…flooring situation?”
“It’s linoleum.”
She points to the floor as if it had personally offended her. “It’s a crime against kitchens everywhere.”
I chuckle. “We can add that to the demo notes.”
The camera crews follow Andrea, setting up where needed, while I gather the tools we need.
Scottie talks to the camera for a few minutes, telling them about the progress we made yesterday and what the plan is for today, but all I can think about is how much I’m enjoying doing this with her.
When we started, I was dreading how much she hated me for leaving her, on top of the fake dating scheme we’re doing for the show.
But the cameras love her.
They love our chemistry.
It’s something that can’t be faked.
When she’s done, she comes to kneel next to me on the floor. We begin by prying up the old linoleum that hasn’t been updated since disco was alive and well. The smell is…something out of my nightmares.
Scottie yanks up the first strip, lets out a squeal, and drops it quickly. “What is that?”
I look down. “It looks like subflooring mixed with some glue residue.”
She wrinkles her face in disgust. “It looks like something crawled under here to die, Tucker. That’s a biohazard.”
I laugh. “You said you wanted rustic charm. Congratulations.”
She groans dramatically, throwing her head back. “This isn’t the kind of rustic charm I meant.”
I bite back a smile.
She’s beautiful in a way that shouldn’t make sense when pulling old floors up and finding possible mold underneath.
My heart slams in my chest hard enough to hurt. She catches me staring at her and narrows her eyes. “Are you seriously smiling at moldy subflooring?” she asks, using air quotes to emphasize the last word.
“It’s not the mold,” I say under my breath, and direct my attention back to the flooring I’m pulling up to do anything to keep my hands from shaking.
“What’s that?”
I clear my throat. “Nothing.”
I watch from the corner of my eye as she studies me for a beat. “You’re distracted.”
“You’re loud,” I counter.
“You like it.”
I do. More than I should.
When I don’t answer her, she turns her head to hide the blush on her cheeks and pretends to study the pry bar in her hands like that’ll keep me from noticing.
I pull up another piece of flooring, and Scottie moves to do the same. The cameras zoom in, capturing her frustration as the flooring refuses to budge. She mumbles something under her breath involving creative violence and swearing at the use of glue.
I stifle a laugh, and she shoots me a warning glare. “Don’t laugh at me.”
“You’re cute when you’re mad.”
“Don’t.” She pauses, swallowing, covering the mic clipped to her shirt and keeping her voice low. “Say things like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you…say them like they’re true.”
They are.
But I don’t say that out loud, not when the crew is hovering over us and watching our every move.
Instead, I pry up more flooring and reveal a larger chunk of subfloor, and Scottie stands up, backing away.
“Absolutely not,” she gasps. “Nope. This is disgusting. It’s a crime scene under there.”
“It’s just wood.”
“It’s moldy.”
I look down and smirk. “I guess it is a little moldy.”
“A little?” She gestures wildly. “That’s an entire civilization of mold. That’s—”
I stand quickly, gently placing my hand in hers to stop the tornado that’s about to tear through her. She freezes at my touch.
“Breathe,” I whisper.
She does, shakily, but she breathes, nonetheless.
And something in me goes soft in a way I didn’t know could. Neither of us move as my thumb brushes over the pulse in her wrist, back and forth until I feel it steady under my touch.
Scottie talks like chaos and works like sunshine, and I’d tear down every wall I’ve built if it meant I got to stand in the light with her because she’s the kind of mess that makes a man want to roll up his sleeves and stay a while.
Not to fix her, but to smooth her out.
Just…stay.
And I don’t ever stay.
But with her? I’m already half rooted without meaning to be. And maybe that’s what scares me the most. I’m starting to crave the parts of her she hides. The shaky inhale when the cameras stop, the tight smile she uses like armor, and the way perfection is her shield.
She clears her throat, pulling her arm from my touch. “Okay. New plan. We burn the house down.”
I freeze.
Only for a second.
Just long enough for something old and sharp to drag its claws up my spine. I shove it down—fast and hard. Like I always do.
She doesn’t know.
She wouldn’t know.
Instead, I do what I do best…I smirk and pretend nothing inside of me just caved in for a heartbeat. “No. Arson is frowned upon.”
“Fine. We get a new house.”
Now it’s my turn to breathe since there’s no way she noticed the way I reacted to her joke.
“That’s not how renovations work, Scottie.”
She huffs. “I know. But sometimes I think the house is winning.”
“It’s just because you’re overwhelmed. And that’s okay.”
“I’m not overwhelmed,” she lies.
“Right.” I smirk. “And that’s why you’re threatening to commit felony arson.”
She glares at me.
Even with the fire in her eyes, it’s stupidly adorable.
I shake my head and avert my gaze. “Stop.”
“Stop what?”
“Being—” Beautiful. Funny. Soft where I’m all edges. “You.”
She blinks, mouth open. “Is that an insult?”
“Depends on the day.”
“Oh, really?” She moves around the kitchen to stand in front of me, hands on her hips in defiance. “Then what day is today?”
“Today?” I lean in until our faces are only a breath apart, keeping my voice low enough for only her to hear. “Today, you’re driving me insane.”
In every sense of the word.
She’s the kind of insane that gets into your bloodstream and rewires your heartbeat. The kind that makes you forget how careful you’ve kept your world small.
One smile, and suddenly everything feels too bright.
She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.
She has no idea she’s dragging light into places I boarded shut years ago. And I have no idea what the hell I’m supposed to do if she keeps going.
But the look on her face—eyes wide, tells me that I’ve said too much and not enough at the same time.
The cameraman clears his throat, reminding us he’s still standing there, forcing us to both take a step away from each other.
“Cut,” Andrea calls, and we both snap our heads to her in confusion.
She walks over to where we stand, gaze bouncing between the two of us.
“This is great. All of it. But I think with all this insane electricity my crew and I are feeling from watching you two, now might be a good time to do some of the fake dating filming before we move on.”
Scottie tilts her head in confusion. “Huh?”
“You know, some of the relationship stuff.”
Scottie groans. “You say it like we’re about to perform a circus trick for the cameras.”
“Maybe we are,” I say.
She elbows me right in the ribs. “Just act normal.”
“This is my normal.”
She rolls her eyes. “That explains so much.”
“Eek!” Andrea squeals. “This is so good. You two are sooo good. I’d like to get a few shots of you two really selling it.”
Since the moment I met Andrea, something about her has felt off.
I can’t figure out why but watching her stop us just to get a few shots for the fake dating bit, makes irritation crawl up my spine.
We already lost nearly a full week to rain delays.
A week we easily could’ve worked through.
My crew is trained for worse than what we had.
And now that we have a clear window, she’s more focused on capturing the chemistry than getting the renovation back on schedule.
The cameraman moves his tripod closer to us. We step into the frame, and Scottie leans into me—closer than necessary.
“Now face each other,” Andrea says.
And we do. Scottie looks up at me, and it knocks the wind right out of my lungs.
“Tucker, put your hand on her waist. Pull her in and sell the romance,” Andrea orders.
Ready to play along, my hand finds her waist, and something electric snaps under my skin.
Her breath stutters and mine damn near stops.
Leaning in closer, I feel her warmth pressed against me.
I lift my hand and let my fingers trace her jaw.
Her skin is soft beneath my thumb. She tilts her head just slightly.
Call it trust or instinct, but it pulls me in like a gravitational force that I don’t stand a chance against.
There isn’t a camera in the world that could convince me this is fake.
I slide my hand under her jaw, tilting her face toward mine. I lean in, ready to claim her lips as mine. My thumb moves to brush the corner of her mouth.
She inhales sharply, and I feel it. Feel her. Every trembling breath against my skin and every inch of air tightening between us like it’s ready to snap.
Her gaze flicks to my mouth, telling me she feels it, too.
The way she’s looking at me right now unravels something in me that I didn’t know was still tied tight.
Scottie has no idea what she does to me.
The other night in my driveway, and now this?
She has no idea how close I am to giving in.
No idea that if she asked me, just once, to stop pretending, I’d kiss her like it’s the only thing I’ve ever been meant to do.
“Tucker,” she whispers.
Her breath hits my mouth and it damn near wrecks me.
I cup her face fully now, palms framing her cheeks like she’s something precious that I’m terrified will break. “Hi,” I whisper.
Her mouth parts like she’s about to say something else, but instead, her eyes soften.
And that almost undoes me more than the way she was looking at my mouth a second ago.
“Hi,” she whispers back, her smile barely there…like it’s just for me.
“Perfect! Cut!” Andrea shouts.
But I don’t move. Not right away.
Not until Scottie blinks, as if waking up from something we shouldn’t have started.
She steps back, making the space between us feel cold. She brings her hand to her lips like she needs confirmation that all of that really happened.
And I smile like I’m fine and as if this was all for show.
Without another word, she turns and disappears from the kitchen. And I let her go because I have to.
Because this is fake.
Because she deserves more than I can give her.
At least that’s what I tell myself.