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 Rhône. 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.
