Chapter 9 #2
I narrow my eyes. “I have plenty of experience swinging a hammer.”
He stares at me, not responding. I’m about to turn my head back to the camera to talk more about the porch when I see his eyes dip, tracking from my face to my hands, and lower, like he’s mapping something he shouldn’t be thinking about.
“But can you hit the nail?” he finally says with an even tone, but there’s something underneath it now—something deliberate.
Heat creeps up my neck.
I know exactly what he’s implying.
What’s worse is that he knows I know.
I straighten my shoulders anyway, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me flustered. I smile sweetly. “I don’t miss. I’m very precise.”
The corner of his mouth twitches and he fights a smile. He steps closer into me, not enough for the cameras to notice, but enough that I can feel him all around me.
“Good,” he murmurs. I feel his breath against my neck as he’s leaning in. My pulse stumbles and my body reacts in ways I absolutely did not approve during this morning’s staff meeting. “I would hate to have to show you how it’s done.”
The crew loses it behind the camera, and I faintly hear Jade murmur, “This is gold.”
Tucker doesn’t look away or move.
Neither do I.
“Okay,” I say, forcing myself to step out of this bubble he’s put us in, and force myself to keep smiling for the camera. “Then why don’t you walk me through it. Front to back. What’s the plan from the contractor’s perspective?” I cross my arms over my chest.
He puts more space between us. Thank god.
“The first thing should really be removing this entire thing and starting from scratch.”
I shake my head. “Not happening. Next.”
He narrows his eyes briefly before releasing a sigh. “This porch isn’t safe, Scottie.”
The way he says my name and the stark change in his tone pulls something in my chest. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever really heard him get serious.
And this isn’t him doing this for the show.
It’s not the cameras on us right now. This is all him, looking at me like he’s responsible for what happens next when it comes to my safety.
I’ve spent years learning how to smile through pressure and spin hesitation into confidence. But the way he’s standing here now with a pleading look in his eyes, makes it harder to tell myself this is just a creative disagreement.
When I don’t answer, he shakes his head.
“You say the porch is the first impression of a home. Well,”—he extends a hand to the space around us— “this home’s first impression is going to land someone right in the hospital with a broken ankle.
If this was up to me…we’d start by replacing the damaged boards and then reinforcing the steps.
Structure always comes first. Yes, you will need new railing.
I know you want this to be the perfect farmhouse, but you need to keep it practical. ”
His serious tone slaps me as if he intended to hurt me with his words, and I feel my mouth part in shock.
“That’s—” I stop myself, looking from him to the camera and back to him.
I cross my arms, anchoring myself in the familiar resistance.
If I give in too easily, it looks staged.
If I dig in too hard, it looks personal.
Under it all, there’s a quieter truth I don’t want to name.
It’s that Tucker knows where my weak spots are. Not because he’s trying to find them. But once—just once—I let him see me without the polished confidence.
I clear my throat, moving away from him and placing my hand on the worn railing that’s currently there. “I think…we should start by assessing the structure. That way, we know what actually needs to be replaced.”
“All of it will.”
“Stop exaggerating.”
Just to prove my point, I give the porch railing a light tug, barely more than a test. The wood groans in protest, and I hear a sharp snap before I can register what I’ve done.
The railing gives way completely and my balance goes with it.
I open my mouth to let out what I assume would be a scream as my foot slips back, scrambling for something solid.
Tucker moves on pure instinct.
So fast I barely see him. His hand shoots out, gripping my waist and I feel the air shift where his palm lands.
In this moment, there’re no cameras. It’s just the two of us frozen in place—me teetering and him with two hands holding me upright. I can see the exact moment he realizes where his hands are. His jaw is tight as his eyes trail down to where he’s touching me and then he pulls back.
I steady myself and straighten slowly.
I realize I’m still holding the broken piece of railing in my hand. Releasing a breath and averting my stare, I toss it to the ground before turning to face him again. “Okay, maybe you’re not exaggerating.”
When I clap my hands together to brush off the dirt, I expect him to have a smug and satisfied grin, but it’s the opposite.
It seems as if he didn’t want to be right.
There’s something unspoken in the way his eyes look distant, as if he’s lost in another world while staring at me.
It feels like he’s not really seeing me. He’s seeing something else.
He moves without speaking, making his way to the railing that just broke off.
He crouches down, running his hands along it as he inspects it.
I feel myself hovering, watching the way his shoulders move and the way he mutters construction type things under his breath.
But I can’t make any of it out because my brain is transfixed on how beautiful this man is.
I’m not supposed to think my fake boyfriend is beautiful.
If circumstances were different between us, then maybe I could.
He moves with ease—assessing and thinking before standing to full height and facing me again. “This porch isn’t the worst I’ve seen,” he admits. “But it’s not safe long term.”
“Is there anything that can be saved? It has character.”
“It has rot,” he counters. “Different vibe. Let’s try to go for safety first?” he says skeptically, raising a brow.
I tilt my head to the side as if thinking it over, but he’s right.
I know he’s right.
And just because I want the playful Tucker back, I smirk. “And aesthetic second?”
His eyes warm, and I visibly see the way his shoulders relax. The corner of his lips turn up just the slightest bit and I know it’s working. “I can build you the prettiest porch in town, babe. I just need you alive to enjoy it.”
My heart skips a beat at the way he so casually calls me babe.
That traitorous little thing.
He reaches behind him into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out a pair of work gloves. “Here. You can use these.”
I step over the broken railing carefully, until I’m standing in front of him. Our fingers brush when I take them, and the contact lingers longer than necessary. “Are these your extra pair?”
He shakes his head. “But you need them.”
And just like that, the faint smile falls and he’s back to having that distance in his demeanor. I can’t make out why, but it’s weird and unsettling. It’s like he cares about what I think all of a sudden, and he hates that he’s right about needing to trash the entire porch and start fresh.
I’m ready to step away from him when I feel his shoulder brush mine as he points to the railing. “Now…if we rebuild this with heavier posts, it’ll hold. You want classic whitewash, right?”
I turn my head to look at him, but his eyes are still fixed on the porch.
“Uh, yeah,” I say, stuttering over my words because I feel like I’m getting whiplash. Is he working with me here? “Something warm, like a soft white, maybe ivory. I want it to feel cozy.”
He nods. “I can do that.”
This time the grin that takes over my face is unstoppable. I’ve spent so much of my life believing that what I wanted wasn’t possible, and having Tucker say it so easily feels like someone quietly rewriting a rule I’ve lived by for a long time.
Looking over my shoulder, I directly face the camera, ready to lighten the mood again. “See? He can be agreeable when he tries.”
I smile up at him as he looks down at me, eyes glinting from the sun.
There’s a pause, and my heart thrums in my chest with each second his gaze stays locked on mine. “Keep smiling at me like that and I might start agreeing more often.”