CHAPTER 18
THAT’S WHAT PEOPLE SAY RIGHT BEFORE I HAVE TO CALL AN AMBULANCE.
Tucker
We’re making really good progress on the renovation.
The kitchen finally looks real. The cabinets are done, the floors replaced, the butcher-block counters installed, and the new range hood mounted. My crew has been through all the different parts of this house over the last few days. The stairs leading to the second floor have been replaced, allowing the crew to complete some of the smaller rooms upstairs.
Scottie has been in and out of the house the last couple of days. My crew worked on the outside of the house bracing the bricks of the chimney so it no longer leans, and she focused on a few of the smaller rooms upstairs, painting. Our paths have crossed a few times, but I’ve struggled to read her. I’m worried I went too far with her. But she’s been acting…normal.
Easy smiles. Quick hellos. Like we didn’t unravel each other in the apartment.
We haven’t been able to really talk because I’m pulled one way with my crew and she’s pulled the other by producers. I can’t tell if she’s giving me space or she’s already learned how to bury what happened in her mind.
But every time I think about it, my body remembers beforemy brain can catch up. The heat. Her mouth. The way she sounded when she said my name like she meant it.
And then the panic hits because I didn’t just cross a line. I sprinted over it like it wasn’t even there.
A part of me wants her—wants her to stay and see what we can be outside of this charade. The other part of me is terrified. So instead, I focus on what needs to be done on the house.
Progress, the one thing keeping me sane.
It’s the only thing I can control.
Nails. Boards. Drywall. Angles and measurements.
But not her. Not the way she slips under my skin like she’s always belonged there.
Now, the living room? It’s still a war zone. Half of the drywall is ripped out, and the water-damaged section of the ceiling looks like it might come down just because it’s tired of existing.
I thought the kitchen would be the worst of all the projects Scottie had planned. Turns out it’s this. Which is why we’re here extra early to get a head start.
Levi kicks a chunk of molding aside. “What do you think? Did this leak start in the ’70s?”
“Don’t care,” I grunt out, dragging the ladder into the middle of the living room. “We’re fixing this before she gets here today.”
Before I have to look at her and pretend my hands don’t remember the shape of her.
He snorts. “Right. Because all you care about is preventing mold. Not impressing the pretty influencer who makes you forget how to speak in full sentences.”
I flip him off.
He grins. “Touchy.”
Levi has always been one of my favorite guys to work with. He’s fast and steady. But he’s also annoyingly perceptive. And lately, it feels like the whole damn world can see the problem stamped across my face.
I don my work gloves and climb the ladder. Bracing myself, Ireach down, and Levi hands me the crowbar, shaking his head like he’s giving a chainsaw to a toddler.
“Try not to rip your shoulder out.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sureee,” he draws out.
“Levi.” I say his name as a warning.
“Yes?”
