Chapter 25
DO WE THINK THIS ROOM WILL FIGHT US?
Tucker
Nothing about this house feels the same as it did last week.
Maybe it’s because we spent a few days working on the yard, and now that we’re back inside, we’re seeing all the little jobs that got done during that time. Time is flying, and I hate to admit it, but I’m not sure how I’ll feel when this project is over.
Is Scottie staying here at this house?
Is she planning to sell it and move back home?
These are the kind of unknowns that have consumed my mind since she stayed at my house the other night.
The night we crossed the line where there’s no coming back from.
There’s no denying that both of us were sprinting toward it, though.
There was no awkwardness about it either.
There was no discussion about whether she should sleep over or what it meant.
She just…stayed—curled to my side like it’s where she’s belonged all along.
And I stayed awake longer than I should have, taking it all in.
It felt like a dream.
I was afraid that if I closed my eyes, she wouldn’t be there.
But when I woke up, she was. Scottie didn’t rush out the door the next morning, or pretend it didn’t happen. Instead, she stole my shirt, complained that my coffee wasn’t as good as Cozy Cup’s, and kissed me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
It was easy in a way that scared the hell out of me.
And now, we’re back at the house for another day of filming.
Walking through the first floor of the house, my head is on a swivel trying to find her.
When I saw Levi outside, he said she was already working.
I don’t even know what the plans are for the day.
When I don’t find Scottie immediately, I head upstairs, poking my head in the smaller bedrooms before I find her in the master bedroom.
“Hi,” I say, knocking on the doorframe once.
She snaps her head toward me as if I’ve startled her, and then softens when she eyes the two cups of coffee in my hand. “Hi.”
I step into the room and try to hand her a cup, but she doesn’t take it. Instead, she presses onto her toes, wrapping her hands around my neck. I wish like hell I wasn’t holding these stupid cups so I wrap both arms around her.
“I can’t tell if this is because I brought you caffeine or because you’re starting to like me.” I laugh into her neck.
She pulls back, arms still wrapped around my neck, and gives me a look. “It’s a mix of both, if you must know.”
“Hmm,” I say, smiling as I lean down and press a kiss to her lips.
She doesn’t pull back or stop me either. She melts into the kiss like it’s a routine we’ve been doing for years. The way she looks at me isn’t careful anymore, it’s warm and open.
“You look happy today,” I say.
She laughs against my mouth. “You say that like it’s suspicious.”
“It is when you’re usually pretending when we’re here.”
She pauses, studying me before she shrugs and whispers, “Aren’t we done with pretending?”
“Well, this works,” Andrea says from the doorframe. I step back away from Scottie to put space between us, but she doesn’t move. “Practice is good for the camera, even though we only have two more episodes to film. I like this. You two are really playing the part.”
Scottie barely reacts, then looks at me and winks.
For the first time since this show started, she doesn’t care what it looks like.
If they think this is us practicing, then we’re going to roll with it.
“What’s the plan for this room?” Andrea asks, phone in her hand.
Scottie turns around, taking in the master bedroom. “I want it to feel calm, like a place where you can exhale after a long day. Soft lighting and…” She pauses, looking around the room before pointing to a bare corner. “Maybe an electric fireplace over here to keep the cozy effect going.”
I feel my insides tighten over a stupid electric fireplace. Nothing about that feels fucking safe, but I’m not going to burst her bubble right now.
Andrea nods, typing out notes on her phone. “Any large changes for this space we anticipate? Walls coming down? A crazy lady from town swooping in with a hammer?”
Scottie and I laugh because we know who she means.
But her first question nearly stops me from being able to laugh in the first place. When we worked on the outside of the house, I kept having this feeling she wanted to see Scottie fail. I feel it again at this moment, and I hate that I do.
I won’t fucking allow it.
This is going to work and be done on time.
“No big changes,” Scottie says, laughter dying down. “I’d just like to repair what’s broken and keep the space as it is.”
I look around, taking it in for the first time.
The room looks tired and worn down. The kind that comes from holding weight for too long without anyone noticing.
There’s a water stain across the ceiling that matches the one we repaired in the living room, except this one means it’s coming from the roof.
As I walk around the room, my steps are uneven, and I realize the floor dips in multiple spots, enough to tell me the subfloor has been compromised.
The closet door is hanging crooked, but that’s probably the easiest thing to fix.
Nothing in this room can be fixed with cosmetics.
This room needs reinforcement.
I glance at Scottie, who’s still talking to Andrea with her hands out as if painting a picture. I can tell by the brightness in her face that she sees potential for this room.
I fucking hate that all I see is risk.
“Light floors and clean walls to go with the soft lighting,” Scottie says. “Nothing a little love can’t fix.”
I run my eyes along the ceiling and baseboards. “It needs more than that.”
She glances at me, amused. “You always say that.”
“And usually, I’m right.”
“Usually.”
I circle the room again, taking in every single inch of it—surveying and assessing. My skin crawls with everything this room needs. “We’re gutting this room,” I announce after a few minutes.
Scottie’s smile falters. “Tucker—”
“This room is full of water damage, likely an issue with the roof, which is something we need to check out as soon as possible.” I fucking cringe as the words leave my mouth because the last thing I want is these producers to think they won by making this season a fail.
“The subflooring is uneven, and I don’t trust what’s behind those walls regarding the electrical work that will be needed,” I say, feeling my fingers tingle, eager to reach for the pry bar.
“We don’t half fix rooms like this. We go all in. ”
She studies me for a moment. I see the disappointment in her face. But when I lock eyes with her, I beg her to read what I’m saying without any more words. I beg her to trust me on this.
She nods. “Okay, I trust you.”
That shouldn’t hit as hard as it does, but I’ve never been more thankful to hear it.
“Is that going to take more time?” Andrea asks.
My eyes snap to her, anger bubbling. Because when she asked us if there were any big changes we anticipated, my brain immediately went to the feeling I keep having when Andrea is around—she wants to see Scottie fail.
I won’t fucking allow it.
This is going to work and be done on time.
“Nope,” I answer her, popping the P.
My crew moves around us effortlessly to remove all the old furniture left in the room. It wasn’t much—an old bedside table, a rusted metal-framed bed, and a chair in the corner that smelled of mold. Even with the little that was left, the room already feels bigger.
Scottie steps back in first, hands on her hips, surveying the room. “Okay. Do we think this room will fight us?”
I scoff. “Everything in this house does.”
“Figures.” She laughs and then shoots me a wicked grin. “Good thing I like a challenge.”
“I’ve noticed,” I say, watching her move toward the closet.
She waves a hand in a come here motion. “Try to keep up, Tucker.”
I shake my head and make my way to her.
I couldn’t stop myself if I tried.
We get to work without a plan beyond instinct. She peels back the trim while I score the seams. When the first section of drywall gives way, it comes down in a rough chunk, and we both step back at the same time.
“Nice catch,” she says when I steady the falling edge before it falls on her.
Placing it on the ground, I turn to her. “You okay?”
“Always.”
After that, we move around together too easily. I hold the crowbar out behind me without looking, and she takes it. She ducks under my arm instead of asking me to move. At one point, she backs into me while tugging at a stubborn nail, and I brace her with both hands on her hips without thinking.
The banter’s still there between us, but it’s muted now.
It’s less jokes for the sake of noise, and more small touches that feel intentional even when we don’t acknowledge them.
When I move to tackle the water-stained ceiling, I climb the ladder. It’s a feeling of déjà vu, except things are different between us now. She’s not hovering, just there. When a chunk finally gives way, she startles and her hands fly to my calves to steady me.
“Careful,” she teases. “If this falls on you, I’ll have to find another contractor.”
I glance down at her because she’s definitely said this before. “And you’d miss me.”
“Obviously.”
I’m staring into her eyes, feeling a stab to my chest with feelings.
Ones I’ve never allowed myself to have that keep coming back more and more with Scottie.
Every look and every quiet moment between us chips away at the rules I built to survive.
This isn’t lust anymore. It’s the kind of feeling that asks you to stay when your instinct is to run.
I should look away.
I should break the moment or crack a joke before I say something I can’t take back.
The crack of plaster over my head cuts through my thoughts instead. Scottie’s eyes go wide, and I cover my head to brace for impact. Dust rains down around me in a gray cloud.
“Scottie!” I shout, flying off the ladder to get to her.
She’s crouched down with her hands behind her neck to protect herself from the falling debris. I place my hand on her shoulder, hoping like hell she’s all right, because I won’t be able to live with myself if someone I lo—
No. That’s not what this is.
I care about her.
Fuck.
“Scottie?” I ask, my voice softer this time.
She releases her hands from behind her, looking up and around at the mess. Her hair is covered in dust and drywall pieces, but she’s okay.
Thank god, she’s okay.
“I’m glad I trusted you,” she says, placing a shaky hand on my forearm. “If we didn’t gut this room, who knows when that would have fallen down.”
“Are you two okay?” Andrea says from the doorway. Her eyes are wide as she takes in the room. Scottie looks at Andrea, but my eyes are only on my girl. “I was downstairs and heard a crash. I thought that crazy lady was back, busting down walls.”
“We’re okay,” Scottie answers for us. “Looks like this room needs more work than I thought.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?” I ask Scottie in a low tone, not acknowledging that Andrea is still in the room. “You’re shaking.”
She nods. “Just shaken up. I didn’t expect the ceiling to give way like that.”
Reaching down, I pick up a larger piece of the ceiling that fell and toss it toward the door so Levi and the rest of the crew can discard it with what we’ve already removed.
When I turn around, Scottie is crouched down, picking something up.
I freeze when she gasps.
Unwrapping it carefully, I see her holding a wooden box, worn with age, before she opens it slowly. She pulls out a stack of papers that looks like a mixture of letters and photographs.
Her breath shudders.
“Are you getting this?” I hear Andrea whisper to the man behind the camera.
“These were…” Scottie whispers, pausing before she faces me as if she just found treasure. “These were my grandparents.”
I kneel beside her without thinking, resting my hand on her back.
She leans into me just enough to tell me she’s thankful I’m here.
She flips through them, and I can feel the tension radiating off her under the palm of my hand.
She looks up at the hole in the ceiling and back down, shaking her head.
“I didn’t even know there was an attic.” She laughs softly.
“I would have never found these if we didn’t gut this room. ”
“Looks like they wanted it found.”
She flips through everything—memories of her grandparents, captured in photos and letters.
The pictures aren’t the staged ones you would frame on mantels.
They are all candid. One of her grandmother laughing with her head thrown back and barefoot in the yard.
Another of her grandfather holding up a fish at Bluestone Lake.
There are pictures of road trips and the two of them laughing on the way to dinner. They look young and in love.
Scottie wipes at her eyes, laughing quietly. “I love seeing them like this. I wish I’d gotten the chance to truly know them.”
Something in my chest shifts at the pain I feel for her, never really knowing them the way she wanted to.
“Sometimes people leave the best parts of themselves tucked away.”
The pain I feel for her morphs into a pain at the memories of my past I keep hidden from the world. The ones I’m keeping hidden from her.
She looks up at me, eyes shining. “You know, you’re really good at this.”
“At letting ceilings fall?”
She shakes her head. “At being here.”
I swallow, not expecting that from this moment. “So are you, Scottie.”
She hugs me suddenly, arms tight around me, while we’re both crouched down in the middle of the room. I hold her like it’s instinct. Like it’s always been this way.
It stays that way for minutes that feel like hours.
I realize then, that I don’t want a version of my life where she isn’t in it.
And wanting her in that sense means opening the door to the one thing I’ve spent my life keeping locked.
The day everything burned down.