But she backs away, standing up and away from me. “Areyou always this bossy?” she asks, running her hands down her overalls.
I wink. “Only when I’m right.”
“Well,” she says, taking the drill fully from my hands now to reclaim her space. “Don’t get used to it.”
“I wouldn’tdreamof it.”
The porch is finally starting to look like something worth standing on. We spent the entire day replacing every rotted board, rebuilding the steps, and framing out the new railing.
Unclipping my tool belt from my waist and tossing it into the passenger seat of my truck, I turn around and find Scottie staring at the house. She has her arms crossed as her eyes roam over every inch of the work we’ve put in today. The setting sun catches her hair at just the right angle, lighting the blonde to a gold, stopping me dead in my tracks.
I’m proud of the work she did today.
It’s not just about the porch and watching her get her hands dirty. It’s the way she held her ground when I fought her to gut the whole thing. The way she didn’t give up when the boards fought back. The way she listened, learned, and adjusted without giving up control of the vision.
She didn’t just imagine this place.
She’s building it.
And watching her do that does something dangerous to me.
I look down at my watch and wince. I’m now late for my shift at Seven Stools. I live on Griffin’s bad side, even though I know it’s all fun and games, he can never truly be mad at me.
“Do you have somewhere to be?” Scottie asks, and I snap my head up, not realizing she moved from where she was standing.
“Yeah.” I gesture toward the road. “My shift at the bar starts soon.”
“You have two jobs?”
I look toward my truck, hesitant to admit why I work so much. Saying it out loud would mean revealing my cracks, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that yet.
But maybe if I told her, she’d stop hiding behind that perfect smile for a second.
All day, I’ve caught myself wanting to ask questions I shouldn’t ask. Why does she need this show so badly? Why does she put on that polished act for the camera, but when it’s off, she relaxes as if she’s been holding her breath the entire time we’re recording? It doesn’t sit right with me. Not because I think she’s fake, but because I see the parts she’s trying to bury.
“Keeps me out of trouble,” I settle on, turning to face her with a smile on my face.
“You don’t strike me as the trouble type.”
“That’s because you haven’t spent enough time getting to know me.”
Her cheeks turn that perfect shade of pink as she averts her gaze to the ground. There isn’t a single camera on us right now since they’re packed up and being put away. She opens her mouth to speak, but stops herself. She stares at me for a beat, and I’m frozen in place, waiting with bated breath for whatever she wants to say back to that.
Say something—anything that opens up to me, Scottie.
“You should go. I wouldn’t want you to get fired for helping me,” she says instead.
“I don’t get fired.” I toss her a wink. “I just show up late and work faster.”
“That doesn’t make any sense, but sounds very responsible for someone like you.”
“Someone like me?” I feign shock. “I’m a model citizen. You’re the one who wanted to flee the scene of the crime after exceeding the legal limit of laughing at the bar.”
She laughs and, for a moment, it feels like we’re inside a bubble no one else can reach. The memories of the night weshared, lingering between us. It’s an unfiltered laughter, the kind that doesn’t match the polished version of her that the world gets to see.
It’s a laugh so real that it knocks the air right out of me.
“Have a good night, Scottie,” I say, making my way to my truck.
