The question catches me off guard. “I—what? No. I'm focused on my career.”
“Interesting.” That word again. That terrible, hunting word. “A woman this passionate. This invested. Thispresentin a place that clearly means the world to her. And no one to share it with.” She pauses at the door, turning back with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.
“In my experience, people who pour that much love into buildings are usually trying not to pour it into people.”
She's gone before I can respond.
I sink back into the chair, my legs suddenly unreliable.
She doesn't know. She can't know. She's fishing. Casting lines into dark water and hoping something bites.
But the hook is already in.
And I'm bleeding where no one can see.
I find Holly in the kitchen afterward, helping Charlie arrange cookies on a platter while Nick hovers uselessly and steals bites when he thinks no one's looking.
“How'd it go?” Holly asks, reading my face immediately.
“She's...” I search for the right word. “Sharp. Very sharp. Picture a scalpel wearing Gucci shades.”
Charlie winces. “That tracks. The couple from last season—the ones who filed for divorce—they gave an interview after. Said she had a way of making you say things you didn't mean to. Like she could see the cracks and just... wiggled in.”
“Like sperm. Fitting.” Nick chokes while Charlie laughs, her hand rubbing over her cute as fuck belly. I grab a cookie and bite into it with more force than necessary. “And she's here for ten days.”
“We'll run interference,” Holly says firmly. “Between me, Charlie, and the chaos of the festival, we can keep her busy with approved content. The heritage walk, the lumberjack games, the food events. Plenty of wholesomedrama that has nothing to do with...” She trails off.
“With?” Nick prompts, looking between us.
“With anything private. Everyone deserves boundaries, even during a reality show,” Holly finishes smoothly. She takes a glance around and leans in.
Nick shrugs and goes back to stealing cookies. He's blissfully oblivious. Just like my brothers.
For now.
“And speaking of boundaries…” Holly shifts gears like she’s about to confess to murder. “I broke yours. This morning. I stole your key. Chance’s pockets are empty now—your secret’s stuffed in a plastic laundry bag, back left corner of your closet.”
I choke on crumbs and guilt like they’ve unionized. My eyes water instantly. “Uh, yeah. Thanks,” I croak, nodding like a bobblehead strapped to a monster truck during a demolition derby.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur of setup and coordination. I help position signage for tomorrow's heritage walk, review the route with Everett and Roman (keeping exactly three feet of professional distance at all times, thank you very much), and try to ignore the cameras that keep appearing at the edges of my vision.
By the time the sun starts to set, smearing the mountain in bruised pink and molten gold, I'm exhausted in a way that has nothing to do with physical labor.
I slip away to the alcove one more time.
The temporary wall isn't up yet—that's tomorrow's project—so the damage is still visible. Raw and exposed.I raise my camera and take a final series of shots, capturing the way the dying light falls across the worn wood.
“You're going to wear out that shutter.”
I don't turn around.
“It’d be worth it.”
Everett moves to stand beside me—close enough that I can smell pine and coffee and something underneath that's just him. “How'd it go with Tara?”
“She’s dangerous,” I mutter. “Like smile-first, slice-later dangerous.”
“I know.”
