Chapter 6 Vance
VANCE
The third day of shooting started early. It was only eight, and the crew had been setting up for half an hour—camera guys adjusting lenses, Kenzie darting between rooms with her tablet, and Beau laying out a few blue tape lines where they wanted Lila and me to stand for the walk-through.
I stood near the front door, wondering why I’d agreed to this.
At first, it had seemed like a fun idea—a great way to get my house remodeled by the best in the business.
But now, I couldn’t help thinking how much better it would be if there were no cameras.
Just Lila and me, working side by side to make my home beautiful.
“Hey. You good?” Lila asked quietly, stepping beside me.
She looked beautiful. Polished, calm, utterly professional.
She wore a soft ivory blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans that hugged her just right, paired with clean white sneakers and a few simple gold rings that caught the morning light.
Her hair was swept back into a low ponytail, loose waves still framing her face.
She looked like she belonged on camera. It was obvious why they’d chosen her—she was as radiant and composed as anyone on television.
I glanced down at myself—chambray shirt, dark jeans, boots. The wardrobe team had barely touched me. A quick brush of powder to “reduce shine,” and I was apparently camera-ready. “I’m a little nervous. You look cool as can be. I get why they offered you the gig.”
“Really? Because I feel kind of old to be doing this.”
“Thirty-six is not old,” I said. “And you’re made for the camera.”
“Thanks. But it took them forever to put me together. I was here at six for hair and makeup.”
“They did a good job.”
“I’d sneak you a kiss, but I can’t mess up my lipstick.”
“I can wait,” I said.
She smiled a little, then turned to watch the camera crew. “I’m starting to understand how effortless they make everything look, when really it takes a huge number of people doing their part to make a simple show. It’s humbling.”
“Yes, you’re right. I’m glad I only agreed to this one. What about you? If the pilot gets picked up, do they want you for more?”
“They haven’t said for sure, but I got the impression that, if I do well and audiences like me, they’ll offer more.”
“Is that what you want?”
She shrugged. “Honestly, I’m not sure. But I can’t pass up the opportunity to make some real money. There have been some lean years. I’d love to have some savings—for Mia.”
“That’s what my app did for me. Changed my life. And my sweet mother’s too.”
Kenzie swept in, holding up her hands. “Save all this for the camera.” She snapped her fingers at the crew. “Are you guys ready?”
“Yes, ma’am,” one of them said.
“Listen, guys,” Kenzie said. “I want you to talk like you were, only while the cameras are rolling. Go back to chatting about the wine app and your mom, Vance. People love those details.”
Lila and I looked at each other and nodded.
“We got this,” I whispered in her ear. “Just forget they’re there.”
“I’ll try.”
“If you get nervous or lose track of what you’re saying, just anchor to each other and keep going,” Kenzie said. “Editing will do wonders, so don’t worry about delayed responses or whatever.”
“All right, we’re rolling in five,” the director shouted. “Everyone to first positions.”
Kenzie zipped past with her headset on, giving us a double thumbs-up as she disappeared into the next room. Carol stood just out of frame, arms crossed, keeping a hawk’s eye on everything.
The director, a short man with a receding hairline and pink scalp, had introduced himself earlier.
He came over to us, explaining what we needed to do.
“Vance, you’ll walk Lila through the house, tell her what the space means to you.
Lila, ask questions as they come up organically.
Don’t worry about the camera—just talk.”
Easier said than done.
“Action!”
I led Lila into the living room, with the camera following us. There was another cameraman already inside, filming from a different angle.
“This is where my mom and I used to spend a lot of our time,” I said. “We made a lot of memories here.”
The living room looked even more tired under the harsh light of the production setup, but I remembered my childhood fondly.
As a kid, I never thought about whether a kitchen was updated or not.
What stuck with me were the little things—dinners together, my mom grading papers at the kitchen table late into the night while I studied.
The Thanksgiving she dropped the turkey on the floor and we made a secret pact never to tell anyone.
“My mom raised me alone—just the two of us. She was a teacher at the middle school, taught seventh-grade English for almost thirty years. She always said it was important that we stay in her family’s home. We have a long history here in Willet Cove.”
We walked slowly around the living room. All the furniture had already been taken out when I moved my mother, leaving behind the ugly carpeting and not much else.
“She used to sit right here after school, working on her lesson plans, sipping a glass of tea. On Friday nights, we’d make popcorn and watch old movies.” I gestured toward the fireplace. “She built real wood fires in there.”
Lila glanced up at me, her eyes soft. I suspected she’d forgotten about the cameras.
“My great-grandfather built most of this house with his bare hands. Thinking of it leaving the family was devastating to my mom. So when I moved back to Willet Cove, we came up with a plan—she’s now in a retirement community, and I have the family home. A place to make memories with my daughter.”
We moved into the kitchen, where Lila gestured toward the scalloped valance and vintage hardware.
“What’s your dream for this space?” she asked.
I looked around. “It would be nice if we could open it up more.” I turned toward her. “I like to cook and entertain. A kitchen designed for hosting both big and small gatherings would be a dream.”
“How would you describe your style?” Lila asked.
I thought for a second. “I gravitate toward French design. The real kind—not over-styled or precious, but simple and elegant. Lots of natural light, warm woods, soft whites. I like things that feel collected over time, not like they came straight out of a showroom.”
She nodded, encouraging me to go on.
“I like textures—linen, stone, unlacquered brass. Open shelves with character pieces. A kitchen that feels like a well-loved café in Provence, where you can smell bread baking and hear jazz playing low in the background.”
Her brows lifted slightly. “That’s very specific.”
I shrugged. “I’ve spent a lot of time in France—Paris, Bordeaux, the Rh?ne. I loved them all. I want a place where I can just relax and do nothing.”
Lila smiled. “Rooms should be beautiful but also comfortable enough to truly enjoy.”
“Yes. I want it to feel lived in—welcoming. Somewhere friends can gather.”
I pointed to the back patio through the sliding doors. “What do you imagine for the outside?”
“I see cookouts. Wine tastings. Christmas parties. Holiday dinners. I’d love this to be a gathering place. I’m looking for roots, and I believe they’ll start right here in this house.”
One of the cameras drew closer, focusing on Lila.
“I can’t wait to get started,” she said.
I hid a smile, knowing she’d already come up with the plan. Reality television was weird.
We paused in the hallway, and the director called, “Cut!”
As the crew shifted gear, Lila turned to me and said quietly, “That wasn’t so bad. You did really well.”
I shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. “I forgot it wasn’t just you and me. Sort of.”
She held my gaze for a second. “I’m so glad it’s you.”
“Me too.”
“Back to one!” someone shouted.
As the crew reset for another take, Kenzie appeared at my elbow, scrolling through her phone with a satisfied smile.
“Just FYI, the buzz is already building,” she said, turning her screen toward me.
It was a gossip blog post with a grainy photo of Lila and Beau from yesterday’s shoot. The headline read: “Who Is the Mystery Designer Stealing Beau Colby’s Heart?”
“Where did that come from?” I asked, my jaw tightening.
“Oh, you know how it is. Someone always leaks something.” Kenzie’s smile was too bright. “But it’s great for the show. The network’s thrilled.”
“Lila didn’t authorize this.”
“Well, you can’t control what people post. It’s just organic social media buzz.” She pocketed her phone. “You do want the show to succeed, right? After everything you’ve invested? This renovation isn’t cheap, even with our help.”
There was something in her tone that made my shoulders tense. Not quite a threat, but not friendly either.
“I want honest promotion, not manufactured gossip,” I said evenly.
Kenzie’s expression flickered—just for a second—before the bright smile returned. “Of course. We’re all on the same team here.” She walked away, already typing something on her phone.
I had the uneasy feeling that we weren’t on the same team at all.
That afternoon, I walked into the main room where they were setting up to film a confessional segment with Lila. They had her design boards spread out on a table almost like an art exhibit. While they fiddled with the lighting and touched up her makeup, I snuck a look.
A kitchen—elegant, inviting. Soft green cabinetry, brushed brass accents, twin islands beneath pendant lights that looked like they belonged in a French countryside estate.
Exposed beams overhead. Zellige tile behind the range.
A living room filled with pale blues and creamy whites, paneled walls, built-ins stacked with books, and a fireplace I could already imagine lighting on a rainy afternoon.
Then the bedroom—a retreat in every sense.
Layers of light linens, soft blues and creams, clean lines, warm textures, and a serenity that felt like her.
“These are amazing,” I whispered to Lila. “I can’t wait.”
She smiled over at me, her eyes sparkling. “Me either.”