Chapter 4
ARE YOU SUGGESTING I FAKE DATE HIM?
Scottie
“Before we get started, can I see the inside of the house? I haven’t been inside yet,” I ask Andrea’s assistant, Jade.
“Of course. By the way, I love this look on you,” she says, looking me up and trailing her finger in the air from head to toe. “You’re literally a walking ray of sunshine.”
I look down on instinct and take in my rosy pink wide-legged jeans.
An outfit that my mom would definitely not approve of.
In fact, she wanted me to wear a maxi dress.
A dress! While we’re not actually doing work today, I was not showing up to an abandoned house wearing a fucking dress because she said it would help beat the summer heat.
So I kept it casual. My pink jeans paired it with a tucked in, ivory T-shirt that has a picture of lemons gathered on the front, and a bright yellow sweater over my shoulders to look professional.
“Thank you,” I offer with a smile.
I take a calming breath, feeling nervous for what mess I’m about to walk into as I follow Jade to the front porch. Jade has been very nice since I arrived half an hour ago. She’s technically part of the camera crew but also assists Andrea on the production team.
She opens the door for me and I step in.
Once I cross through the front door, the air hits me first. It’s dusty but sweet, like old wood and forgotten perfume.
The hallway leading to the back of the house is narrow, with wallpaper curling at the seams and shadows in random places where family photos used to hang.
There are no frames with photos in them left behind, just faint outlines on the walls like ghosts of something that was removed.
I feel like I stepped into a time capsule that’s caught between nostalgia and neglect.
The floorboards creak under my sneakers with every step I take.
Looking down, I see how scuffed and dull they are, but my mind is already sanding, staining, and polishing them to shine again.
The house isn’t empty exactly. An old umbrella leans in the corner and a cracked lamp sits on the side table.
None of it feels personal. It feels like the leftovers no one bothered to carry away.
When I enter the living space, my eyes widen because I don’t know where to look first. The living room stands out the most on the right.
There’s no furniture arranged like someone meant to come back for it.
No photos. No books. No signs of a life paused.
It’s just filled with things that didn’t matter enough to take.
Looking up, I notice the ceiling has a huge water stain like a bruise spreading from a potential leak.
As I continue scanning the space, I see the old fireplace sitting in the corner, cold and soot-streaked.
Even with the disaster of this room, I can still see it coming to life.
I can see warm cream walls, the mantle decorated with fresh greenery, and a cozy sectional draped with a throw blanket. Turning to the left, I step through a narrow archway into the kitchen, and I practically gasp in horror. It’s filled with yellow linoleum and chipped cabinets.
As the cloud that must’ve been covering the sun outside moves away, I see the light pour through the window above the sink, and I suck in a sharp breath. Dust mites fill the air like glitter, but still…I can see it.
It will be the kind of house that looks good on camera, but feels even better in person.
It feels like proof that imperfection isn’t the end, but just the beginning.
I pause where I stand, circling to take one last look at the first floor, deciding I’m overwhelmed enough and don’t need to see the second floor right now. My brain is already ten steps ahead thinking about the walls to knock down, blowing the budget and the timeline of the show.
It’s clearly the largest project I’ve ever done, but instead of wanting to back away out of fear, I feel myself leaning in—embracing the hard, because this is everything I could have wanted.
I feel myself smile even when my stomach is filled with nerves, because this is an opportunity to make everything I want happen. A chance to prove to my mom that I am enough to take on something like this.
When I make my way back toward the front door, Jade is standing in the foyer with a raised eyebrow, waiting for me to say something.
“Well. It needs a whole lot of work,” I tell her. “This is definitely going to be a long month.”
She nods. “We thought the same thing.”
There’s a beat of silence before we both burst into laughter as we step onto the front porch. I feel like I can finally take a deep breath now that I’m out of the dust-filled house.
But it doesn’t last long.
Because standing across the yard, smiling with Andrea, is the one person I never thought I’d see again.
Tucker.
One night of letting him charm me to the point I was naked and tangled in the sheets all fucking night with him back in San Francisco, only for him to vanish before sunrise.
I understand if he had to go, but at least wake me up and say goodbye.
No, I felt like nothing more than some kind of pit stop on his road trip through life.
And now he’s here.
As if he can sense my eyes on him, he turns his head to where I stand.
His eyes widen momentarily, before one corner of his lip twists into a smug grin.
I’m too mad that he’s standing here, on my property, for my show, to register and let that smile affect me the way it did the night he swept me off my feet.
I wonder if he thought about what he would say if he ever saw me again? I know I have. The chances were slim because neither of us are from San Francisco, and neither knew where the other was from.
Well, if he can be so cool about it, then so can I.
Stomping down the porch and across the yard, I make my way to where he and Andrea stand with the rest of the production team.
When I stop in front of everyone, Andrea is the first to break the silence.
“All right, let’s get this quick meeting started.
It’s nothing major, more so just some introductions.
” She holds a hand out toward Tucker. “Tucker here will be your lead contractor on site.”
“What?” I practically choke out, eyes darting between the two of them.
Of course, the universe would play this joke on me. Of all the contractors in the world, it just has to be him? It just has to be the man with that smile and those arms?
It’s rude if you ask me.
Andrea is taken aback momentarily by my tone, and now she’s looking between the two of us, assessing as if she’s missed something. “You two should get to know each other because you will be working closely—”
“Oh, we’ve met,” I interrupt, my tone sharp and a fake smile plastered on my face.
Tucker grins. “Briefly. She made quite the first impression.”
“And he made none.”
He takes a step closer to me, and my body tenses as he eyes me up and down. The smell of cedar and fresh soap hit me almost instantly, which is wildly unfair because he should not be smelling like temptation wrapped in denim when I’m this mad.
“I see you’ve traded the blazer that looks like you’ve been attacked by a highlighter for something else.”
He’s one to talk, wearing a white T-shirt hugging his sun tanned skin and a tool belt hung low on his hips. The smirk on his lips makes me wish I had a boiling cup of coffee in my hand to throw at his head.
I shrug, unbothered. “I didn’t want to be responsible for distracting the crew on my first day with my good taste.”
Avoiding seeing whatever look he has on his face after that, I look to Andrea, who has her hand covering her mouth and whispers something in Jade’s ear. Jade is silent as she talks, looking from me to Tucker and back to me before nodding in approval for whatever she’s telling her.
“So,” Andrea says, clasping her hands together in front of her. “In past seasons, we’ve had a couple doing this together. It usually helps with B-roll content in filming.”
“B-roll?” Tucker asks.
“That’s the stuff that isn’t related to actually fixing up the house.
A little insight into who the people are outside of the project.
It helps the viewers fall in love with them.
And when viewers fall in love with the couple, they cheer them on from the other side of the TV and hope the project ends up being a win. ”
“Sometimes it adds a touch of drama,” Jade chimes in. “Even the happiest couples argue over paint colors or the placement of a wall when the deadline is so tight. And we get to watch them overcome it together on screen.”
“The viewers eat it up,” Andrea emphasizes.
“Well, we knew going into this I’m doing this on my own,” I say.
Andrea and Jade exchange a look before both of them smile widely, and my stomach flips.
No.
“We’re thinking…a little on-screen romance subplot,” Andrea says.
“I think the viewers will love it,” Jade adds to encourage the idea. “You two have some weird chemistry happening here, so it works. And,” she continues, voice higher to really sell it, “you already know each other. It’s perfect.”
My brows practically shoot up to my hairline and I scoff. “Me and him?” I shake my head in disbelief. “Are you suggesting I fake date him? No, thank you. He has the personality of a rusty nail.”
“Rust adds character. You should appreciate that, no?” Tucker grins.
With my hands on my hips, I turn to face him. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“So much,” he says, drawing out the words while his smile only widens. “It’s the only time I’ve been accused of being irresistible while standing in a field of weeds and sweat dripping down my back.”
“No one said you’re irresistible.” I face Andrea again, hand out toward Tucker. “See? He’s impossible.”
Jade bounces where she stands, clapping her hands together. “This is so perfect.”
“Listen,” Andrea starts, stepping between Tucker and me, resting a hand on each of our shoulders.
“You don’t need to decide right now. We start filming in a few days, so you can sleep on it, talk through it, whatever you need.
” She removes her hand from Tucker’s shoulder and faces me completely.
“But from the few minutes we’ve been standing here and listening to you two together, I already know this is precisely what this show needs. ”
I swallow, my anger subsiding and nerves setting in again. “I’ll think about it,” I decide on.
I can’t fake date Tucker for the cameras.
Not when my body still remembers how easy it was to let him in.
That night, I let myself believe one reckless, perfect night could be harmless and easy to forget. I didn’t ask for promises. I didn’t ask for more. But when I woke up, he was gone without a note or a quick apology scribbled on hotel stationary.
I tried to tell myself it didn’t bother me.
But seeing him again…it isn’t nothing.
He doesn’t get to casually reenter my life like I won’t remember how quiet it felt afterward.
There’s no way in hell I can do this.