Chapter 5 Lila
LILA
The morning I was to meet the producers and go over the details of the project, I was so nervous I couldn’t eat the breakfast Mia had made for me.
She’d gotten up early to make two perfect soft-boiled eggs with an English muffin and fresh berries.
She watched me like a hawk, too, so I forced myself to eat.
“I know you’re scared, Mom, but this is an incredible opportunity.” Mia popped another English muffin into the toaster. “I wish I could go with you.”
“I’m sure, once we get started, they’ll let me bring you to set.”
“What do you know about the house they picked for the project?”
“Not much. Other than it hasn’t been updated since the seventies.”
“I bet it’s a mess. Perfect for you to really shine.” Mia grinned as she reached for the butter. “I cannot wait until we can tell our friends.”
“The producers said to keep it quiet until they announced it, which should be today.” My stomach roiled with more nerves. “Do you think they’ll have a full makeup crew and everything? What if I get there and they decide I’m not pretty enough for camera?”
“Don’t be silly. You’re gorgeous, in great shape. I’m sure they’ll have wardrobe and makeup.” Mia rubbed her hands together. “I literally cannot wait to hear all about it.”
“I’m sure I’ll have a lot to tell you.” And probably some things I’d have to keep to myself. Like the fact that I’d been thinking about Vance Prescott constantly since our beach date. That I’d replayed that kiss—each and every one of them—in my mind about a hundred times.
Despite Mia’s enthusiasm, I was nervous as a cat as she packed me into the car and waved as I backed out of the driveway. Despite my nerves, I was way too early to show up on set, so I stopped at the coffee shop to treat myself to a latte.
When the barista called my name, I grabbed my latte and turned to leave when I caught a flash of movement. Was it someone ducking behind a display? When I looked directly, there was no one there.
You're imagining things. Too many true crime podcasts.
The address for the house I’d be working on wasn’t familiar to me.
According to the map, it was just a few miles out of town, up a curvy road to a hill that looked out over the ocean.
From what the perky producer, Kenzie, had said over the phone, it was a house that would sell for millions because of the view alone.
I drove the steep, winding road until the GPS told me to turn right into a driveway.
The house took my breath away before I even stepped out of the car.
Perched on a cliff above the ocean, it looked like something pulled straight from a dream—or maybe a Nancy Meyers movie.
Cedar shingles weathered to a soft silver, white trim that gleamed in the morning sun, a wraparound porch made for rocking chairs.
Wild grasses waved along a winding boardwalk, the blooms of white hydrangeas nodding in the breeze.
I parked behind a production van and gripped the steering wheel, my palms damp against the leather.
This is for Mia. Don’t be a chicken.
I got out of the car. The familiar prickle between my shoulder blades had me looking around me, as if someone were watching me.
I'd had that feeling all week. The sense that someone was paying too much attention.
Twice, at the studio, I'd looked up from my laptop to find the street outside empty, but I could have sworn I'd seen a figure standing there moments before.
Now, I grabbed my briefcase and headed toward the house.
The front door was ajar. I stepped inside, my eyes adjusting to the dim light.
Oh my. Gone was the breezy magic of the exterior.
Inside, the house was … tired. Not messy, just dated.
Wood paneling climbed halfway up the living room walls before giving way to faded yellow paint.
Heavy floral curtains blocked the ocean view.
The ceiling still had popcorn texture. The carpet was the color of over-steeped tea.
“There she is. Our star.”
A young woman bounced into the room, tablet in hand, wearing a blue bandana over choppy brown hair and about seventeen necklaces.
“Lila, it’s so good to see you in person.” Kenzie bounded over to extend her hand, holding it just a beat too long. “I’ve been following your work for years—since your design school days, actually.”
Something about the way she said it made my skin prickle, but I smiled. “Thank you. That’s kind of you.”
“Your thesis project on coastal minimalism? Brilliant.” Kenzie’s smile was wide but didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I actually went to Parsons too. A few years after you.”
“Small world,” I said, though I didn’t remember her at all.
“Isn’t it?” Kenzie’s gaze lingered on me, assessing. “I was so excited when your name came up for this project. I told Carol we absolutely had to have you.”
An older woman in baggy jeans and a blazer appeared behind Kenzie. Carol—I remembered her from the Zoom call. Sharp eyes. No-nonsense energy.
Carol gave Kenzie a look I couldn’t quite read, then turned to me. “You ready for this?”
“I’m nervous,” I admitted.
“Don’t be. We know what we’re doing,” Carol said. “As they say, this ain’t my first rodeo.”
“She’s a legend,” Kenzie said, sounding proud. “She worked with Will and Janna.”
Carol rolled her eyes. “Legend might be stretching it. But I have a good feeling about you. Your portfolio was exactly what we were looking for.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Okay, let’s go back and meet your client.” Kenzie made air quotes. “He’s kind of dreamy.”
He was standing with his back to us, one hand resting casually on the counter, the other typing into his phone.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a crisp white button-down, sleeves rolled, the morning light catching the silver at his temples.
His hair was still damp from the shower, a single bead of water trailing down the back of his neck.
“Vance, meet your designer,” Kenzie sang out.
He slipped his phone into his pocket and turned.
Our eyes met.
The world seemed to stop.
I froze, breath catching in my throat, and for a long, stunned beat, neither of us said a word.
Vance Prescott.
It hit all at once—his voice over dinner, the story about moving back to Willet Cove, the way he’d mentioned the house he’d grown up in. Of course. Of course it was this house. His house.
How could this be? What were the odds? Fate—or something far crueler—had a sense of humor.
His expression shifted slowly—from polite curiosity to disbelief, then to something deeper. Recognition. Caution. Maybe even the faintest flicker of hope. I saw the moment he put it together, saw the same shock mirrored in his eyes that was probably written all over mine.
“Lila?” His voice was quiet. Rough. “You’re the designer?”
I felt a droplet of perspiration slide down my spine. “Yes. And you’re the client.”
Kenzie chirped, far too brightly, “You two know each other?”
“We’ve met a few times,” I said quickly.
“Right. Yes. Yes, we sure did,” Vance added, his tone a little too casual.
“Small town,” I said, managing what I hoped passed for a smile.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Carol and Kenzie exchange a glance.
Carol cleared her throat. “Well, let’s all sit down and get started. We have a lot to cover.”
The sound of her voice broke whatever strange spell had fallen over us. I forced myself to look away from Vance and toward the table, praying my legs wouldn’t betray how shaky they suddenly felt.
Carol gestured to a round table in the corner of the kitchen. Papers were neatly stacked beside two mugs of coffee that had already gone cold. The faint hum of the refrigerator filled the silence that stretched between us.
I took a seat, smoothing my skirt, willing my pulse to slow.
Vance sat across from me, the chair creaking as he leaned back. He folded his hands on the table, composed on the surface, but his thumb tapped lightly against his knuckle — a small tell that gave him away.
Kenzie set her tablet down with a clap, oblivious to the tension that filled the room. “Okay. So, Carol and I have the preliminary specs, but first we’d love to hear your vision for the space.”
Vision. Right. I needed to speak. To sound competent. Professional. Anything but the woman who’d kissed this man under the stars less than twenty-four hours ago.
I cleared my throat. “Well, I think the bones of the house are beautiful. It just needs breathing room. Light. Something that feels more like the ocean outside and less like a time capsule.”
Carol nodded approvingly. “Exactly what we were hoping to hear.”
I risked a glance across the table. Vance was watching me, eyes steady, the corner of his mouth barely lifting in something like pride—or maybe disbelief that I was really there. The warmth in his gaze hit me square in the chest.
“Sounds like you’re in good hands,” Carol said.
My voice came out softer than I intended. “We’ll make it beautiful.”
Carol led the way into the dining room, which had been mostly cleared except for a long folding table set up with laptops, printed mood boards, a pitcher of lemon water, and neatly stacked production packets labeled “Coastal Revival – Pilot.”
Kenzie plopped into a chair, practically vibrating. “Okay, so this is where the fun begins.”
I sat across from her, pretending my palms weren’t clammy. Vance slid into the chair beside me, close enough that I could smell his cologne. I avoided looking at him directly, too aware of how awkward this was.
Carol pulled out her glasses and a thick folder. “We’re here to go over logistics, tone, and schedule.” She looked at Kenzie. “Where the heck is Beau?”
“He’s on his way,” Kenzie said. “Got stuck in traffic.”
“Who’s Beau?” I asked.
“The contractor. The two of you will work together on and off camera,” Carol said.
“You’ll love him,” Kenzie added. “Super hot. You two will have great chemistry.”
My throat tightened. I didn’t look at Vance, but I could feel him shift beside me.