Chapter 19
WHAT EXACTLY ARE THEY NOTICING?
Scottie
Blair
Girls’ night at my place tonight.
Blair
Griffin is working at the bar.
Lily
I’m so in.
Poppy
I’m going to stay in tonight. I promised Sage a pedicure date.
Lily
You get a pass because we love Sage.
Me
I just got done filming for the day. I’m exhausted.
Blair
Sweatpants mandatory.
Lily
And I’ll bring cookies and a bottle of sangria.
Me
You had me at cookies.
It’s already dark out by the time I make it to Blair’s place.
I almost texted them that I changed my mind after the long day of filming we had.
Tucker was right yesterday when he said we were better off gutting the living room before the camera crew came into the space.
The ceiling and the debris were completely gone when I showed up this morning.
Apparently, the water stain was from a loose pipe beneath the master bathroom that was slowly leaking over the years, creating that ugly brown halo in the ceiling.
Tucker and Levi fixed the problem before we re-insulated and patched the drywall in front of the camera today.
Then we moved to refinishing the brick around the fireplace from its natural red to a rustic white and then put built-in bookshelves around that.
Just when I thought we were going to call it a day, they insisted we paint the walls and the ceiling.
I swore up and down that I could paint the room myself.
But Tucker fought back with his perfect smile, saying he was going to help.
My issue is, I still don’t know what to think about what happened a few days ago in my apartment. The way he made me feel. The way the moment now lives under my skin.
I saw the panic in his eyes when we finished.
I know because I felt that same rising panic, but it wasn’t over the fear of him leaving without a word, it was because of the fear of him regretting it knowing I set clear rules for us outside of this fake dating charade on screen.
I told myself I could tuck it away in the same box I kept every other messy thing I can’t afford to feel while the cameras are rolling.
Only Tucker changed.
It’s the small things, really.
The way he watched me work today—the way he smiled or the way his hands brushed mine in passing or the way I could feel his eyes on me from across the room whenever I was working on something.
The worst part is, somewhere deep in my gut, I want it to happen again.
Knowing damn well it can’t. I can’t afford the distraction any more than he has already given me. Not when I’ve fought so hard to build this version of myself to land this show.
The porch light glows softly, and I hear the sound of laughter coming from inside the house the moment I step out of my car. Lantern lights hang along the front railing, and there’s a little flower box sitting on the top of the steps overflowing with wildflowers.
I grip the six-pack of hard cider I grabbed at the General Store in one hand, and knock with the other.
The door swings open before my hand is even at my side.
“There she is,” Lily says. She’s wearing sweatpants, bare feet, and an oversized cardigan that hangs to her knees. “Get in here, girl.”
She hooks an arm around my shoulders and guides me inside. Blair appears in the hallway, tossing a dishtowel over one shoulder. “Yay! You made it.”
Her tone is almost relieved, like she didn’t think I’d come.
“Of course,” I say, holding up the cider. “I brought gifts.”
Lily plucks the six pack from my hand. “She comes bearing alcohol. We keep her.”
I laugh and follow her inside. I take my sneakers off, set them by the front door, and follow Lily into the kitchen. It’s beautiful. An open concept room with the kitchen sitting on one side, the island separating it from the living room.
“Okay. Love those socks. Ten out of ten. And they match!” Her hand flies to her chest as if she didn’t expect it.
I look down at my feet and wiggle my toes. They are bright pink fuzzy socks with little flamingos scattered across them.
I laugh. “My personality may be bold and chaotic, but my socks are organized.”
“Put that on a shirt,” Blair says, pointing the wine opener in my direction.
Lily guides me into the living room, and it’s exactly what I expect from Blair. It’s cozy with mismatched throw pillows, a faded quilt over the back, and a stack of romance books on the end table. She has a candle lit that smells like vanilla and amber.
Two wineglasses and one cider bottle already sit on the coasters of the coffee table. There’s a plate of what looks like…
“Are those—”
“Twisted cinnamon knots,” Lily finishes for me, proudly. “Blair and I were experimenting tonight since Griffin is working at the bar. He’s too tempted to eat everything if he’s here, so we do it when he’s out.” She laughs. “And you’re the guinea pig for these tonight.”
“I will make the sacrifice for the bakery cause,” I say, my mouth watering as I drop onto the couch.
“Good. It will make me feel better since I’m still struggling with emotional damage from last week.”
Blair laughs, curling herself into the couch across from me, tucking one leg under her. “Ignore her, Scottie. She’s been dramatic since Dallas made her cry over a board game.”
“He cheated!” Lily protests.
“No. He strategized.”
“Same thing.”
I lean back on the couch, the tension between my shoulder blades easing. “Okay, now I have questions about this board game.”
“Okay, so—” Lily starts.
“No,” Blair cuts her off. “We aren’t going there again.” She turns to face us. “Instead, we want to hear about how the renovation is going. You said there was a mystery water stain. Did you find out what it was?”
I smile, because Lily and Blair have been very eager to hear all the progress whenever I stop by the bakery on my way in to work on the house. The last time I saw them was when I was on my way to ask Tucker about it yesterday.
“It was a nightmare. No one knew exactly where it was coming from at first. But once Tucker got in there yesterday, he noticed the slow drip from the boards. The primary bathroom tub piping was leaking. It was so slow that no one caught it when my grandmother was alive. But over time, it’s just grown larger and larger. ”
Blair grimaces. “Yikes.”
“Yeah,” I say. “Tucker had to replace the whole section before replacing the ceiling.”
Lily pours sangria into a glass and hands it to me. “But it’s not leaking anymore, right?”
I take the glass from her and shake my head. “It’s all new now. It’ll look good on camera.” I try to smile like that’s all that matters.
Blair tilts her head, watching me. “And off camera?”
I fiddle with the stem of my wineglass. “Off camera, it’s just a ceiling that almost gave out and is fixed now.”
“Well,” Lily says, sitting up straighter on the couch next to me. “We are very pro ceiling not caving in on your head.”
“Same.” I nod. “My head is already working overtime for this show.”
They laugh, and the moment passes.
But not entirely, because for me it lingers in the corners. Thinking about how much my head is really working overtime, not just with the project and wanting it to be successful, but with Tucker.
With what this place is starting to mean.
With what happens when it’s over.
The show has an end date. I’ve been so focused on it that I haven’t even let myself think about what comes after the last scene and everyone packs up their equipment.
Do I stay?
Do I leave?
The idea of leaving used to feel obvious—renovate the house, prove myself, and move on.
But lately, the thought of going back to my old life feels…
off. Like I’ll be stepping back into a version of myself that doesn’t quite fit anymore.
And staying would means choosing this town and choosing a house I’m still learning about.
We settle in, laughing over drinks and snacks.
Determining that the cinnamon twists are a must carry at the bakery, Blair tells me the story about how she met Griffin.
My sides hurt from laughing so hard when she brought up the story about screaming bloody murder over a moose creeping outside the window while she was in the shower, and Griffin barging in like a Neanderthal to “save her.”
Lily reaches for a paperback from the stack and waves it vaguely. “Okay, next order of business. We’ve decided you need to join our book club. It’s nothing official. Just Blair and me. Sometimes Poppy.”
I shrug, reaching for the book. “What’s it about?”
“We can’t give all the details away, but it’s a hockey romance.”
“It’s soooo good,” Blair adds. “It follows a team called the Boston Rebels. It’s chef’s kiss!”
I look down at the cover, with the couple’s character art on the front, and shrug. “I could use a little escape from reality. If I can find time.”
Lily leans in. “That’s why we wanted to recommend it to you. We thought it might…I don’t know…” She pauses. “Be good for you.”
Fear grips my chest, thinking they can see through me. I worry that these two already notice how unhappy I am inside; hidden behind the sunny mask I hope no one can see through.
“I like happy endings,” I say. “On-screen ones. You know, watching them.”
Blair’s gaze sharpens. “What about off-screen? Do you get them in your life, too?”
“Blair.” Lily whispers her name like she’s prying too much.
I swirl the sangria in my glass, and the silence between us lingers in the air. They don’t push, they just wait. I’ve never had this before. The people who come into my life fall into two circles: the ones who don’t notice the seams, and the ones who rush to pull at them.
Blair and Lily are letting me decide.
The choice makes me feel dizzy.
I clear my throat and attempt to change the subject. “So. How many tragic board game deaths did Dallas cause last week besides yours?”
Lily groans dramatically, flopping back against the couch. “He bought hotels on all the orange properties and destroyed me.”
Blair lifts her glass. “Rest in peace, your savings.”