Chapter 22
YOU’RE FLIRTING WITH DANGER, SCOTTIE.
Scottie
I spend the morning doing a walk around in the house, taking mental note of the big projects we should tackle as soon as possible, in case we run out of time.
To my surprise, we really have gotten far with this house.
While there’s a lot left that has to be done, it feels like a whole new house.
The same bones are still alive, but on the surface… it’s starting to shine.
I hate that I let my mother’s voice get to me as much as it did the last few days.
But her words left me spiraling—feeling inadequate.
This house felt like a jigsaw puzzle dumped on a table.
It was a scattered mess. Once I started putting the pieces together and seeing it come to life and pushing the negative thoughts down, it got easier—it feels easier.
As I step into the foyer, I find Andrea and Jade there with a grin on their faces. It’s mischievous, like they’re up to no good.
“Andrea? Jade?”
Andrea shimmies her shoulders and claps her hands together like she’s about to give a speech to a football team instead of another day of renovation chaos. “I’m sooo excited for today.”
“What’s today?”
“We’re heading outside today. Yard clean up, curb appeal, the works,” Jade answers, the last two words with show hands high in the air.
I blink. “The yard?”
Jade beams like the sun personally blessed this moment. “We’re making the viewers fall in love from the outside today.”
“But we need to put the finishing touches on the bathroom,” I argue, arms crossed. “And we have to lay the floors in the hallway upstairs. And I have to paint that other spare bedroom still. Don’t you think we should finish the inside before—”
“We’re waiting on a few supply shipments still,” Andrea says with a bright smile that makes me want to gently strangle something. “This will keep the momentum going.” She pulls out her phone and taps away on the screen. “Don’t worry. I think we’re still making good time.”
She doesn’t even look at me again before walking away and Jade follows.
She thinks we’re still making good time?
If this fails, she moves on to the next show—the next season. I’m the one who becomes the cautionary tale of the DIY influencer buried under a heap of pink tile. I feel my breath begin to quicken, and for a moment I think I might snap again.
Then Tucker’s voice from a few nights ago sounds in my head.
Strong looks good on you, Scottie. But you can put it down.
With his arms around me, and the safety in his words, I believe him.
I breathe.
Okay. I guess it’s yard day.
I can handle a yard.
Maybe.
I step outside, the sunlight hitting my face enough to make me squint. I lift a hand to shield my eyes and take in the yard. It’s obviously not the first time I’ve seen it, but it feels like it. The grass is almost to my waist in some spots and the driveway is coated in slick green moss.
Off to the side of the property, half swallowed by overgrown weeds, a metal swing glider sits hidden by a crooked tree. The paint is chipped down to bare steel in places and one of the chains hangs lower than the other, but the frame is still solid. Still standing.
I can picture someone sitting there with a cup of coffee and a folded blanket over their lap. The image lands in my chest before I can stop it. Inside the small storage space, I found what my grandmother kept. Out here, I can see where she might have used that coffee mug.
With every day that passes, it feels like the house is showing me how she lived.
Finally.
Just as I’m about to make my way closer to the glider, a voice slices through the moment.
“Hey, Scottie!” Lily says. I turn to find her bouncing toward me, bright as ever, and holding a bakery box. She stops in front of me, lifting it. “I brought carbs for courage.”
“You’re a lifesaver.”
Blair follows behind her, wearing athletic leggings and a shirt that says Demo Day. I scan the rest of the property, and my jaw falls to the floor when I see Griffin and Dallas waving from where they are, unloading equipment from the back of a truck.
I continue scanning the rapidly-growing crowd.
More and more familiar faces scatter across the yard.
The clerk from the General Store pulls a lawn mower out of another truck, Autumn from the coffee shop sets up a table with to-go cups of coffee, and kids in matching baseball hats stand in a circle putting on gardening gloves, with Nan pointing in different directions at what needs to be done.
It’s like the entire town decided to show up and dig my dirt.
It’s mid-morning. Did businesses close? For this?
Tucker stops beside me, handing me a pair of gloves. “I told you this place just needed a little love.”
When I turn toward him, he has a satisfied grin plastered on his face. The kind you wear when something you believed in turns out exactly the way you said it would.
“Why are you smiling like that?” I ask.
Slowly, as if the world just came to a stop on its axis, he turns to face me. The look on his face is enough to make me lose my breath. Again. He leans in close, enough that if he wanted to, he could press his lips to mine and—
“Because the alternative is kissing you,” he admits. He reaches up, wanting to brush any hair away from my face, but stops himself. “And I’m trying to behave.”
My heart skips about ten beats, and I force myself to breathe.
But Nan bustles past us, dragging an entire shrub behind her in one hand like it offended her so much that she had to murder it.
The hedge clippers swing wildly in her free hand.
“This bush was blocking the view out the front window,” she declares, huffing like a warrior queen.
She’s been here for all of ten minutes and has already removed an entire bush and has dirt streaked under her eyes resembling war paint.
“Nan!” Tucker calls after her. “You can’t just dig up anything you see. There are water lines under those bushes.”
“Good!” Nan shouts over her shoulder. “The plants are thirsty.”
“I think I love her.”
He chuckles, and it does something to my knees.
For the next hour, the entire town gets to work as the sun climbs higher in the sky. The camera crew and Andrea make their way through every inch of the yard, catching everything without getting in the way.
Dallas and Griffin coax the kids into hauling the fallen branches into neat piles close to the curb, turning it into a mini competition.
I learned that the kids are all a part of a little league in town that Dallas coaches.
I can see the way they nod in response to anything he says, and how they respect and listen to him.
Lily walks around the yard with Autumn next to her, fueling the entire town with caffeine and baked goods.
Poppy and Blair are in the driveway. Poppy has her hands on her knees and is laughing hysterically at Blair wrestling the power washer while Blair continues to say she knows what she’s doing, telling everyone she learned how to power wash her tiny home herself when she first showed up in town.
I make my way to where they stand to see if I can help.
“I got this,” Blair repeats. “Poppy, flip the power on this bitch. Let’s do it.”
I hold my breath, stepping back to avoid being impaled by the pressure.
She aims it down and takes a ready stance. Poppy flips the power on, and Blair remains in control as the moss lifts like magic.
I laugh—a real laugh.
And it has everything to do with everyone being here.
Suddenly, belonging doesn’t feel like a foreign language.
I’m smiling, but inside, I’m choking up. The emotions sit on the edge, waiting to break free at the people who aren’t my family, who are here to help me with this project. They believe in me more than anyone has ever believed in me before.
I want to soak up every minute in.
I want to remember this feeling forever.
The spell is broken when something roars to life behind me.
I spin around to find Tucker starting up the weed wacker.
My eyes trail his body—his very exposed body.
He’s wearing a pair of worn jeans with his tank top hanging out of the back pocket.
I can see every rigid muscle between his abdomen and his flexed muscle in his arms. Not to mention, the baseball cap sitting backward on his head should be illegal.
I can’t stop staring at him—even though I know I shouldn’t.
We’re towing a thin, fragile line that burns hotter every time we pretend it isn’t there.
I want to cross it all over again. Over and over.
I want to step right over it, grab him, and revisit exactly what it feels like when it’s not acting for the cameras. I have to straighten my spine and pretend the way he looks doesn’t unravel me as I step closer to him.
The problem is…neither of us are fooling anyone.
“I can do that,” I say, reaching for the weed wacker in his hands.
He raises a brow. “You sure?”
I nod. “You can teach me.”
“This thing bites.”
“I bet it does,” I say, winking, but quickly straighten my lips.
I don’t even know where that came from. I feel myself staring at him, waiting for a reaction to the unexpected words out of my mouth.
Am I flirting with Tucker?
Oh my god, I definitely am.
He hands it over, and I feel relieved that he didn’t read too much into it. The moment I hold it in my hands, I nearly sever my own ankles. The machine jerks, kicking like a wild animal.
“I think this thing has a vendetta against me!” I shout over the noise.
“You’re supposed to control it, not dance with it.”
“Easy for you to say, Mr. Muscles!” I say, gesturing to his arms.
He steps behind me before I can protest, reaching around me, covering my hands with his on the handle. He presses his chest to my back, and I feel the heat of his body everywhere. My heart rate starts doing gymnastics with every breath he takes and every shift of his body.
“Like this,” he murmurs close to my ear, guiding the movement. “Let it work for you.”