Chapter 20
YOU KIDS WANT RATINGS OR NOT?
Scottie
You want to know what’s grinding my gears today?
It’s not the fact that I’m sweating before the cameras even start rolling because this bathroom is the size of a shoe box. And it’s not because Tucker Daniels is standing in it wearing a white tank that’s practically painted on him, allowing me to see every muscle of his stomach through the fabric.
No.
It’s the fact that I wasn’t smart enough to say “Hey, let’s get the air conditioner in this house working before we do all the work.”
Which has snowballed to the above mentions and today’s sour mood.
I’m supposed to just act normal while working under these conditions?
“I’ve never seen a primary bathroom this small,” Tucker says. “I’m not even sure how they fit this tub in here.”
I keep my eyes down on the bathroom tile. He’s right, it’s barely big enough for a toddler, much less a primary bathroom. It feels claustrophobic with him standing at the doorway, leaning on the frame with his arms crossed and one leg over the other. So casual. So hot. Damn him.
“I can do this project myself.”
He smirks, pressing off the doorway to stand next to me. “Cameras want us close.”
Of course they do.
Andrea waves behind the cameraman set up in the doorway for us to begin. I straighten my shoulders and put on my show time ready smile.
“Our mission today is to tackle this.” I gesture behind me while talking to the camera. “As you can see, it’s small. It’s not your average primary bathroom, but it has potential. I want to replace the double sink with a single sink to give it a little more space.”
“Or we can remove the tub,” Tucker says.
I turn to face him, hands on my hips. “We’re not removing it.”
“It’s cracked.”
“It has character.”
“It’s unnecessary.”
“It’s vintage.”
He doesn’t argue back. We both just stare at each other. His expression is unreadable, while mine is clearly annoyed.
After what feels like minutes, I face the camera again.
“The pink clawfoot tub is staying,” I say with conviction, kneeling beside the vintage porcelain tub.
It’s the one bright thing in this Barbie nightmare of pink tile.
“It may be stained with age and cracked, but it’s beautiful.
A thing worth saving,” I say, running my fingers along the edge.
I almost laugh at the irony. I don’t even know what’s worth saving in this house because I don’t remember anything here. I don’t know if this tub mattered to my grandmother the way it seems to matter to me. Would she have fought to keep it, too?
Tucker crouches next to me, shoulder brushing mine. An accidental touch that feels anything but accidental. He glances at the camera crew, at the way they’re laser-focused on us, waiting for the sparks.
And then he leans in closer, dropping his voice low. “A beautiful thing worth saving.”
I snap my head to face him, putting his mouth a breath away from mine. I suck in a sharp breath, and his lips curve into a smile. My heart picking this moment to forget how to behave.
Andrea makes a pleased sound. “Perfect, keep that energy.”
Tucker does. Shifting his weight just enough that his jeans brush my thigh. The tools on his belt clink against the tub, and the scent of cedar and soap wraps around me like something I’d lean into if I were brave enough.
This is all for the show. This is all fake, Scottie, I remind myself.
I stand up, putting distance between us. “Let’s start with pulling out this double sink, and then we can start the demolition on the tile from the wall behind this tub,” I say, pointing at the tile.
Tucker opens his mouth to respond, but a loud voice from the hallway pulls our attention.
“Did someone say demolition?”
Nan marches through the doorway wearing steel-toe work boots that look older than her, denim overalls stained with what I pray is paint, and a red bandana tied around her head like she’s leading a rebellion.
But what really makes my eyes widen is the sledgehammer over her shoulder.
It’s so big that I’m genuinely concerned for the structural integrity of the whole town.
Nan grins. “So, what wall needs to die first?”
“Nan…” I start.
She waves me off. “Don’t you worry about me. I signed a waiver once. Somewhere.”
Tucker chokes on a laugh. “Nan, this is kind of a controlled job site.”
“Oh, my sweet Tucker,” she says, walking over to him and patting his cheek with her free hand. “The only thing controlled in this town is my blood pressure medication, and even that’s questionable some days.”
She adjusts the sledgehammer on her shoulder. “Now, step aside. I’ve been itchin’ to knock down a wall since my lawyer back in the day told me I wasn’t allowed.”
I stare at her—blinking.
Is this really happening? I have to be dreaming.
“Nan,” Tucker says, voice stern. “You can’t just—”
“You kids want ratings or not?”
I lean to my side where Tucker stands. “Should we…I don’t know, take the hammer from her?”
He shakes his head. “There’s no stopping Nan if she’s determined.”
Nan cracks her neck. Like, actually cracks it. “All right. Someone tell me what damn wall I’m knockin’ down.”
Tucker places a hand on my shoulder. “I got this.” And then he walks to stand in front of her. “Nan, we are not knocking down a wall. But since you want to knock something down so bad, why don’t you help us get rid of this double sink?”
She pauses for a second, her free hand coming to her chin to think about it. “But I brought this thing.” She gestures to the hammer in her hands.
I actually feel bad for how disappointed she sounds.
“And we’re going to use it,” Tucker reassures her, and then points to the sink. “Want to help us destroy this instead?”
She eyes the sink and smirks. “Hell yeah!” She adjusts her grip and angles the hammer like she’s ready to charge. “All right, let’s remodel this bathroom the same way I do my life—with zero planning and maximum destruction.”
With that, she charges toward the double sink like she’s trained for this her whole life.
I slip out of the bathroom and let her have this moment.
In the hallway, I feel like I can breathe again knowing the cameras aren’t on me and I’m not dangerously close to Tucker.
I rest my palm against the wall and close my eyes for a breath, letting the noise of Nan’s demolition fade into something distant.
Straightening my spine, I take a few more steps down the hall, the floorboards dipping under my weight the same way they’ve done since I first walked through this place.
When I skim my fingers along the wall as I walk, they catch on something I didn’t notice before.
I stop, staring at it with my head tilted to the side.
I crouch down and notice a square cut out with a small metal pull ring I never noticed before.
I pull the ring slowly, revealing a shallow crawl space tucked in the wall. It seems to be a storage space of some sort, just wide enough to slide a box or two through and nothing more.
My heart starts to beat faster as I kneel lower and look around. My eyes land on a cardboard box. Reaching for it with shaky hands, I drag the dusty box toward me and pull it free from the wall. It isn’t labeled and the tape along the edges is brittle from age.
I gasp when I lift the lid and the first thing I see is a crocheted blanket. It’s small and folded into a neat square. The yarn is worn thin in places, the colors softened into a pale pink but the pattern hits me right in the chest.
This was one of my baby blankets.
I’ve seen dozens of my baby pictures—and so many of them have this blanket in them. Were we here in those photos? And why are there none with my grandmother in them?
When I pull it out, I find a ceramic mug under it.
White with a tiny hand-painted sun on one side.
The handle is cracked but carefully glued back together.
I turn it slowly in my hands and lose my breath when I see my name scribbled on the other side with backward letters and the year next to my name means I was in kindergarten when I made this.
Tears threaten to spill in my eyes because this is exactly what I was looking for. Something. Anything that makes me feel connected to this home. And it’s right here in my hands.
I look down again and find pieces of papers tied together with twine.
Lifting them carefully, I turn them over, not wanting to pull the twine just yet and that’s when I notice it’s a stack of handwritten recipes.
At the bottom of every one it says Millie’s Favorite, I almost laugh because there has to be at least thirty or forty pieces of paper stacked together.
“So this is where you disappeared to.”
Tucker’s voice forces me to snap my head in his direction. I find him standing with both hands tucked into the front pocket of his jeans, his expression softer than I’ve seen it in a while.
“What did you find?”
I lift the blanket slightly. “A crawl space. I think it was used for storage. I don’t know how we missed it.”
He steps closer, crouching down beside me, careful not to touch anything. “Looks like someone hid the good stuff.”
“My grandmother,” I whisper, looking down at the blanket still in my hand. “I don’t remember her,” I admit. “I’ve been trying…” My words trail off, not ready to share any more than that.
Not that I don’t want Tucker to know how I feel about my connection to this place—or lack of connection. To admit all of that when I’ve been talking about making it shine again, but treating this house like a checklist—a timeline.
Being honest about that right here and now, feels like standing in a half-finished room with no walls to hide behind.
I look up at him, opening my mouth to change the subject when I find he’s already looking at me. Not the box or the blanket in my hand, but at me. A soft smile on his lips.
“I know you’re trying, Scottie,” he says as if he can read my mind. “You should know that you don’t need to know everything about her or this home to take care of what she left behind.”