Chapter 18
THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE SAY RIGHT BEFORE I HAVE TO CALL AN AMBULANCE.
Tucker
We’re making really good progress on the renovation.
The kitchen finally looks real. The cabinets are done, the floors replaced, the butcher-block counters installed, and the new range hood mounted.
My crew has been through all the different parts of this house over the last few days.
The stairs leading to the second floor have been replaced, allowing the crew to complete some of the smaller rooms upstairs.
Scottie has been in and out of the house the last couple of days.
My crew worked on the outside of the house bracing the bricks of the chimney so it no longer leans, and she focused on a few of the smaller rooms upstairs, painting.
Our paths have crossed a few times, but I’ve struggled to read her.
I’m worried I went too far with her. But she’s been acting… normal.
Easy smiles. Quick hellos. Like we didn’t unravel each other in the apartment.
We haven’t been able to really talk because I’m pulled one way with my crew and she’s pulled the other by producers. I can’t tell if she’s giving me space or she’s already learned how to bury what happened in her mind.
But every time I think about it, my body remembers before my brain can catch up. The heat. Her mouth. The way she sounded when she said my name like she meant it.
And then the panic hits because I didn’t just cross a line. I sprinted over it like it wasn’t even there.
A part of me wants her—wants her to stay and see what we can be outside of this charade. The other part of me is terrified. So instead, I focus on what needs to be done on the house.
Progress, the one thing keeping me sane.
It’s the only thing I can control.
Nails. Boards. Drywall. Angles and measurements.
But not her. Not the way she slips under my skin like she’s always belonged there.
Now, the living room? It’s still a war zone. Half of the drywall is ripped out, and the water-damaged section of the ceiling looks like it might come down just because it’s tired of existing.
I thought the kitchen would be the worst of all the projects Scottie had planned. Turns out it’s this. Which is why we’re here extra early to get a head start.
Levi kicks a chunk of molding aside. “What do you think? Did this leak start in the ’70s?”
“Don’t care,” I grunt out, dragging the ladder into the middle of the living room. “We’re fixing this before she gets here today.”
Before I have to look at her and pretend my hands don’t remember the shape of her.
He snorts. “Right. Because all you care about is preventing mold. Not impressing the pretty influencer who makes you forget how to speak in full sentences.”
I flip him off.
He grins. “Touchy.”
Levi has always been one of my favorite guys to work with. He’s fast and steady. But he’s also annoyingly perceptive. And lately, it feels like the whole damn world can see the problem stamped across my face.
I don my work gloves and climb the ladder. Bracing myself, I reach down, and Levi hands me the crowbar, shaking his head like he’s giving a chainsaw to a toddler.
“Try not to rip your shoulder out.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sureee,” he draws out.
“Levi.” I say his name as a warning.
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
Looking overhead, I assess the ceiling. The plaster is already cracked into a spider web that seems to spread more by the minute, with a water stain painted on like a bruise. It’s ugly in the way something ignored always is. Like the house got tired of begging and decided to scream instead.
“Okay,” I say, more to myself than him. “Let’s get this down.”
Levi backs away so he’s not stuck under the debris when it falls. “Go on then, Hulk.”
I wedge the edge of the crowbar into one of the cracks between joists, brace myself on the ladder, and pull hard. The first section gives with a sharp snap. Dust rains down like old ghosts, and chunks of plaster break loose, crashing to the floor. The sound is violent but satisfying.
Levi lets out a low whistle. “Damn. She really let this place rot.”
I don’t answer, but shove the crowbar again, harder, ripping out another section. More insulation spills out, exposing water rotted wood. Each pull is a release of something tense and ancient in the room.
And maybe in me.
Because the mess feels familiar. Something that should’ve been dealt with a long time ago, but wasn’t.
“You good?”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not, but saying it out loud right now feels wrong.
“Are you sure? Because you’re going at the ceiling like it’s personally responsible for hurting you.”
“It kind of is.”
He laughs again, but not as loud, like he’s not sure if it’s joke territory.
The truth is…demolition has always been the easiest part because it’s controlled. You know what’s coming, what stays up, and what you can salvage. You plan the damage.
People aren’t like that.
Relationships sure as hell aren’t.
Levi coughs. “Remind me to never piss you off.”
“You already piss me off daily,” I counter.
“Yeah, but mildly. I’d like to avoid this”—he twirls his finger in the air—“full rage version of Tucker.”
“This isn’t rage.”
He gestures to the carnage. “Then what is this?”
I prop the crowbar on my shoulder and look up at the ceiling. Assessing the beams that are exposed to the light again.
“It’s just…” I exhale slowly. “Getting rid of what’s been holding the place back.”
Because I know what rot does if you leave it long enough.
It spreads.
It ruins everything around it.
“Very poetic of you.”
I flip him off again, and he grins. “So, is this the part where you pretend you’re not losing it over her?”
Levi isn’t stupid. He may not know what happened with Scottie, but I know he can tell something has changed. I’ve always been a hard worker and try to fix the things no one wants to touch. What’s new is the intensity to it.
“I’m not losing it.”
I’m containing it. There’s a difference.
The room goes quiet, and Levi doesn’t argue back. The only sound is the nail gun in the distance from the rest of the crew working, and the shuffle of debris as Levi moves around the living room.
It’s almost peaceful.
And then I hear the front door creak open. I feel her before I see her, turning my head to the entryway of the living room, waiting for her to emerge.
Scottie stops at the edge of the hallway, looking between Levi and me, probably wondering what the hell is happening.
I open my mouth to ask her why she’s here earlier than usual, but all the words fall from my tongue, because she looks like sunshine today—the way she always does.
Her hair is down, loose curls fall down the front of her chest. She’s wearing a pair of loose-fitting jeans and a V-neck T-shirt tucked in at the front. Her shirt is a bright royal blue that brings out the color of her eyes.
It’s intoxicating.
Levi breaks the silence. “I thought we weren’t filming today,” he says at the base of the ladder, keeping his voice low.
“We’re not,” I answer him, looking at her.
“Oh boy,” Levi mutters under his breath, and I shoot him a warning glare.
“What are you doing here so early?” I ask. It comes out rougher than intended.
Her eyes glaze over the room, taking in the missing drywall and exposed wood in the ceiling.
“I wanted to know what caused it,” she says softly.
“The water stain. I knew you guys were starting this today, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
Wanted to make sure it wasn’t still leaking from anywhere. ”
“Don’t worry,” I say, reaching up to slap the wood in the ceiling, almost losing my footing on the ladder. “I’ve got it handled.”
“Right.” She crosses her arms over her chest, eying the ladder. “That’s what people say right before someone has to call an ambulance.”
Levi chuckles under his breath. “She’s got you there.”
“Why don’t you go to the truck and get my measuring tape?”
He narrows his eyes. “Why do you need that?”
“Levi.” I give him a knowing look, slightly tipping my head toward Scottie.
“Oh, right.” He salutes me dramatically and disappears from the room.
Scottie still stands where she was, so I turn around to pull more of the ceiling down. I feel her move closer, hovering just enough that I can feel her presence like static on my skin. My legs tremble slightly on the ladder for half a second.
“Should we be saving this stuff for when we film?” she asks.
“We could.” I shrug, pulling another piece off the ceiling and tossing it away from her. “I just figured this would save us some time. If Levi and I gut it today, the production crew won’t be tripping over the ugly parts tomorrow.”
“Right.”
“Trust me. The cameras will appreciate us doing the messy work when they’re not watching. It’s a dust storm in here.” I glance down at her. “And as much as I like having you here, I don’t love the idea the ceiling might fall on you.”
“Yeah,” she says softly, looking around at the debris on the ground. “I’m not really worried about the ceiling.”
I pause with one hand braced on the ladder, staring at her while she continues looking down.
“About the other night…” she starts, pausing as she twists her fingers together in front of her. My body goes rigid and I feel my heartbeat slam against my ribs. Her gaze trails up to meet mine. “You really meant it, didn’t you?”
She means about me disappearing again.
She doesn’t need to say it for me to know what she’s asking.
I nod. “I meant what I said, Scottie. Every word.”
Her shoulders drop in relief, like she’s been holding that for too long. “Good.”
I exhale, feeling the doubt that I went too far with her, slipping away. Quiet stretches between us in a way that makes it feel like we should probably say something else, but neither of us know how to without tipping it into something bigger.
She glances at the ladder, and then back to me.
“You shouldn’t be up the ladder by yourself.”
“Levi is here.”
She huffs. “You sent him away to get something. What if you fell while he was gone?”
“You don’t trust me on the ladder, Scottie?” I tease.
“Of course I don’t,” she scoffs. “You do dumb things.”
I turn my head, looking down at her. “I do?”
She crosses her arms. “Don’t think the crew didn’t tell me about you climbing a ladder just like this while holding a circular saw yesterday.”
I breathe a sigh of relief that she didn’t think one of the dumb things I did was show up and make her come all over my hand. I roll my eyes. “That was one time.”
“You’re basically a trip to the hospital waiting to happen.”
I prop my hip on the tallest part of the ladder, grinning down at her like a fool. “You worried about me, babe?”
The word slips out way too easily. The second I hear it leave my lips, something warm flickers through my chest because I didn’t call her that for the cameras. I said it because it felt natural.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” she huffs, averting her gaze the moment her cheeks turn pink. “I’d just be annoyed if you got hurt. This whole show would fall apart.”
My smile grows wider, and I adjust my body again on the ladder. It wobbles, just slightly. But Scottie reaches forward to grab my calf to hold me steady—gasping.
Everything in me stills.
Her fingers grip tight, and I can feel the shaking of her hands through my jeans.
“Careful,” she blurts out quickly. “If you fall, I…” The words die as she bites back the rest of the sentence.
“What? Do you think I’ll sue?” I offer the joke to calm her panic.
She exhales. “I’ll have to find another contractor.”
“Touching,” I deadpan.
She flusters. “You’re barely replaceable. Don’t let it get to your head.”
“Barely?” I shoot her a lopsided grin and shrug. “I’ll take it.”
Her eyes remain fixed on where her hands grip my calves, before she slowly trails them up my body until they settle on mine. They don’t sparkle, but there’s something in them I’ve only seen twice with her.
Unguarded.
Vulnerable.
It’s the first time I’ve seen concern on her face that isn’t wrapped in sarcasm. This is real concern that sucker-punches me right in the stomach.
I move my foot to step down the ladder, and her hands fall away reluctantly, like she didn’t realize she was still touching me. When I reach the floor, I step closer to her, putting only inches between us.
“Are you okay?”
She nods repeatedly. “I didn’t think the ladder would actually wobble like that. I was only joking about the whole falling thing, and—”
I bring both hands up, cupping her upper arms. “You’re shaking.”
“No. I’m just cold.”
“It’s warm in here.”
“It’s drafty.”
“There’s no draft.”
Her jaw tightens, no doubt because she hates being seen. It’s not the polished version of Scottie she gives the cameras.
I should step back. I should turn away before I fall into the same spell we put ourselves in back at the apartment. Instead, my hand instinctively lifts from her arm, reaching for her face. My hand hovers under her chin, wanting to tilt her face up and assure her I’m okay.
But Levi appears, clearing his throat. “Am I interrupting?”
Scottie steps back like she’s been electrocuted, and I exhale. “Perfect timing, buddy.”
My hands fall to my sides like they don’t know what to do when I’m not touching her.
His grin says he knows exactly what he walked in on. He lifts his head to the ceiling. “Lord save me from slow burn fools.”
Scottie tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, hiking a thumb over her shoulder. “I-I should go. I just came to check in.”
I nod, watching as she takes one, two steps backward before turning on her heel toward the hallway. Before she disappears, she looks back. Her eyes drag over me—my hands, my body, then to the ladder and the ceiling. Worry lingers in her stare, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.
“Be careful,” she says softly. “You’re…important to this project.”
And there it is. The loophole she gives herself.
Project. Not me.
But I hear the part she doesn’t say anyway.
I swallow down the dozens of things I want to say to that, and offer her a nod instead. “Always am.”
She presses her lips together in a flat line and leaves.
The silence that follows feels huge.
“Dude. She’s gone,” Levi says, snapping me out of my stare.
“I know.”
“You can breathe now.”
“I am breathing,” I fire back sharply.
“Sure,” he draws out. “If that’s what we’re calling whatever the hell you’re doing.”
I shake my head, climbing back up the ladder. Where moments ago I was steady and sure, now my hands tremble.
I can’t tell if it’s from the wobble or her reaction.
She cares about me.
And I’m pretending, really pretending, that thought alone doesn’t completely undo me.