Chapter 9
BUT CAN YOU HIT THE NAIL?
Scottie
We’re wasting no time getting this project started.
After filming the intro pieces and the walk through two days ago, I walked through the house the next day, without the cameras or crew, to remove some old things left behind. I was hoping to find some personal belongings from my grandparents, but I couldn’t even find a single photo.
Last night, I spent the entire evening holed up in the apartment drawing sketches and layouts for each room. I had a general idea of what I wanted after the first walk through but I’ve figured out exactly what we need to do and the best way to execute it so we can finish this project on time.
As I was finishing my last set of notes, my dad called.
He didn’t ask for numbers or timelines. He didn’t question whether I was ready.
He just wanted to hear how it felt to be at the house.
He ended the call telling me how proud he was of me, like it was already a given.
Sometimes that kind of uncomplicated faith in me has made my chest aching in a way I don’t know what to do with.
There’s been times I’ve resented him for it and how easily he believed in me and how much simpler it would be if my mom was able to do the same.
After the call with my dad, I emailed all my plans to Andrea. She asked me to break it down by episode, and I did. Her reply reminded me that much of it will take place off camera, but if we can highlight the big stuff, my plan will work beautifully.
Pulling up to my grandmother’s home today feels different.
I feel ready.
It probably has something to do with the award-worthy pep talk I gave myself this morning. Focus on the house. That’s it. Smile for the cameras, laugh when Tucker tries to put on the charm, and absolutely do not let my heart, hormones, and other uninvited emotions get involved.
I basically had a full-blown staff meeting with my brain, heart, and body before arriving today.
My brain is on board—she’s rational. Sometimes.
My heart’s on probation.
And my body? She RSVP’d yes and then didn’t bother to show up at all.
So, yeah, today’s focus is the house. If it’s not, I lose the only shot I have at proving I can do this.
I need to stop focusing on the man currently standing on the other side of the yard, staring me up and down with his stupidly nice smile, who somehow makes every scene we’ve recorded so far feel a little too unscripted.
Now would be a good time to bring my body up to speed on the meeting.
What a traitor she is.
Of course, he got here before me, leaning against the porch railing like he owns the place.
The sun hits his stupidly perfect and messy hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed.
It’s unfairly attractive. He’s infuriatingly handsome.
Smug. And yet every time he grins, I feel like he’s chiseling away at my armor.
For half a second, I forget why I promised myself I wouldn’t notice him like this.
He’s wearing a pair of dark denim jeans that roll at his ankles and sit just above the rim of his work boots, paired with a solid white T-shirt.
Both of which look well-worn, like he’s built dozens of houses in this uniform of his.
My pulse skips as I start to walk to where he and Andrea stand at the house.
I reach into my pocket and pull out my pack of Sour Patch Kids and empty a few into my palm.
I stuff the bag into my pocket and pick through them, placing the yellow and green in my other pocket and pop the others in my mouth one by one with each step I take.
Looking up, I make eye contact with Tucker. He raises a hand to wave with that Labrador in work boots energy. Suddenly, it feels like my heart is auditioning for the town marching band.
Nope. We are not doing this today.
I’m supposed to be focusing on the blueprints tucked under my arm, but somehow all my focus is standing a foot away from me with a hammer and forearms that should be illegal.
“Good morning,” I say, coming to a stop next to them before popping a blue Sour Patch Kid into my mouth and dusting the sugar from my hands in front of me.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Andrea says, looking at me and then assessing me with a narrowed brow. “You look different today.”
I feel my cheeks turn red. Today’s vibe was to look like I belong here, as if I’m ready to handle anything thrown my way.
I wore my oversized overalls that have years of wear, from paint splatters to wood stain.
I’ve paired it with a plain white tee and a hot pink headband that matches the pink work boots my dad got me as a gift for my birthday one year.
“I’m ready to get my hands dirty so I dressed for the part.” I smile at her, before glancing at Tucker.
“Porches don’t care about your outfit,” Tucker says with a smirk.
I know he means it practically, but his words still land like a challenge. And something in his tone gets under my skin like he’s not talking about the porch at all. It feels as if he’s daring me to prove I’m more than the outfit I’m wearing. Or he just wants me to fire back.
But I don’t.
I’m here to be taken seriously. So I straighten a little and remind myself that I’m here because I can do this.
“Okay.” Andrea claps her hands. “Let’s get the porch segment started.
Scottie, you’re going to start by briefly reminding us of your vision for the space.
After that, you two will get started on what you need to do and pretend the cameras are not on you.
Essentially, we’ll be recording all day, taking clips, and cutting them for the episode. ”
I nod. “Got it.”
“I’ll get everyone ready,” Andrea says, walking to where the film crew is huddled off to the side.
Tucker moves to stand even closer to me, facing the house the same way I am.
“Are those boots made for construction?”
I look down at them before turning my head to look at him next to me. His eyes are fixed on the home, but I don’t miss the smirk on his lips. “For your information, they are very versatile. I can build a house and post an outfit-of-the-day in them.”
He shakes his head, laughing, as the crew comes back to mic us up for the day.
We settle into a stance as if we’ve done this together for years, even though it’s only the second day with the cameras on us.
When a member of the crew lifts Tucker’s shirt to expose his abdomen, I suck in a breath.
I can’t help but take him all in again. Six foot something of broad shoulders, rough hands, and maddening muscles that make him look like a lumberjack catalog model without the beard.
My body reacts to the sight in front of me, remembering my hands roaming along every ridge of muscle when I was on top of him in that hotel room.
I adjust my stance, tightening my legs together because I feel it right to my fucking core.
When our eyes meet, he’s caught me staring—again.
How can one look make me feel this way again?
My eyes trail up to his face. He’s got a smirk that almost tells me he can read my mind.
I want to smack him for it, but the ache between my thighs stops me from feeling anything else.
With our eyes locked together, I reach up to unclip the one side of my overalls, exposing my crop top to let the crew work on my mic pack.
His eyes trace the movement of the crew member’s hands brushing against my skin.
It’s in a professional way, but Tucker’s eyes darken, nonetheless.
“Arm’s up,” the man says so he can snake the wire through my crop top.
I lift my arms, meeting Tucker’s stare again. It’s hot and burns through my skin. He bites down on his bottom lip and I feel my body coil at the way he’s equally devouring me and the way he hates someone else is touching me under my shirt.
“All set,” the crew member says, completely oblivious to everything happening right now.
“Thank you,” I choke out.
Chancing a glance back at Tucker, his eyes never leave me.
This is fake—strictly for the cameras.
That’s what we agreed on. That’s what I repeat to myself like a mantra every time he looks at me like that—like he knows me in a way the cameras never will.
Taking a breath, I face the camera, away from him. I have to look anywhere but him to will this tightness in my body go away. I pull out a few more Sour Patch Kids, filter them and pop an orange one in my mouth before putting the few yellow and green in the other pocket.
“It’s a little early for sweets, don’t you think?” Tucker says.
I shrug, emptying a few into my palm and picking out the yellow and green. “Sour Patch Kids are good all hours of the day. Besides, they keep me from saying something I’ll regret.”
His gaze flicks to my mouth. “Does it work?”
I feel my breath catch in my throat and I almost choke before I swallow down a mix of sweet and sour. “Sometimes.”
“Hmm. Good to know.”
“Okay, we’re getting ready to roll,” Andrea shouts to the entire crew, before looking between Tucker and me, voice lower. “Now, just…do what you do.”
Which is reality TV code for please flirt without acknowledging that we’re asking you to flirt.
I move closer to Tucker without thinking—clearly my body is more than willing to cooperate after all that.
The air around us shifts, and even without touching I feel the heat of him through my entire body.
I try like hell to ignore it, focusing on the man standing behind the camera giving us a countdown with his hands before the red light turns on.
I start by sharing a summary of what I said when we filmed our first walk through about the porch. Once I finish, I glance toward Tucker. “What do you think, Tucker? Can you work your magic?”
He smiles at me, and it feel so fucking real that it almost knocks me backward. He’s looking at me as if cameras are not even on us. Or he’s just really damn good at faking this.
“Depends. Are you planning to help, or just tell me where to swing the hammer?”