And then just like that, something shifts in her features.
A sadness takes the place of the spot where joy just lived. I know what she’s thinking because I’ve gone through the motions a hundred times myself.
A memory just hit her.
One she can’t place, but hits just the same.
She shakes her head, looking at the camera and you can see by the way her eyes suddenly widen that she’s nervous they caught that raw moment of vulnerability.
“I have to agree on the sentiments of the kitchen,” I say, forcing the film crew to swivel the camera on their tripod to where I stand off to the side. “However, we can’t get rid of this wall.”
“Of course we can’t,” she says lightly, but there’s a tight edge under the smile she flashes for the camera. “But every great kitchen renovation starts with the sentence ‘we can’t do that.’ Which basically means, we can.”
A laugh ripples from behind the camera.
“Every great kitchen also starts with the house still standing,” I say, crossing the kitchen. I knock on another wall off to the side. “But this one definitely has to go.”
“We can’t just rip out any wall, Tucker. I want that one gone,” she says, pointing to the first one, then points back to where I stand. “That one gives the room character.”
“Mold is a kind of character?”
She glares at me. “You’re infuriating sometimes.”
“And yet…devastatingly handsome.”
I hear more snickers off from behind the camera and we both turn to face them. Andrea is whispering something to Jade before directing their attention back to us.
“Perfect. Let’s keep that flirty and playful vibe.”
Scottie rolls her shoulders like she’s resetting herself, then turns back to the space around us. She then carefully steps closer to me. “Is there anything we can do to make this work?” she asks quietly.
The cameras are still rolling and the crew is practically breathing down our neck, but suddenly it doesn’t feel like a show anymore. She stops performing for the lens, and starts looking at the room like it might actually matter what happens to it.
“Talk to me, Scottie.”
She faces me, and there’s a sudden sad and pleading look in her eyes. “I don’t know much about this house, but before I came here, my dad told me how, ever since my grandfather died, a light went out in here. My grandma tried for years to bring it back, but she was never able to. I know it sounds silly, but I really think that opening up the space will help make this place feel alive again.”
Something about the way she says it makes me want to rush out the door, find any tool I can and cut windows everywhere just to bring the light back for her.
I move closer without thinking, stopping at her side and letting my hand settle on her lower back again. She doesn’t flinch. “How about this,” I start, pointing to the window overlooking the sink and she follows. “We can widen that window into a farmhouse style that stretches longer than the length of the sink. We can even frame it out higher since we have some overhead room to work with.”
“Yeah?”
She looks up at me and I nod. “And we can definitely talk about the wooden pillars over the beams.”
“You sure?”
“Yep.”
Her mouth curves, subtle but real. “See?” she says to the camera. “This is why you bring in someone who actually knows what they’re doing.”
“Only when it comes to beams.”
“And mold.”
“And mold,” I agree with a laugh.
For the next hour we keep moving through the house, falling into an easy rhythm. We disagree just enough to make it interesting and agree often enough that it feels natural.
