Her eyes flick up, startled.
I move to sit down beside her on the bottom step, leaving a few inches of space between us. Close enough to feel the heat radiating off her. Close enough to smell the soap she used in the shower and whatever floral thing she uses in her hair.
“The tile demo is done, the leak in the ceiling is fixed, and the tub is on its way to resurrection,” I tell her honestly. “You’ve knocked all the big projects off the list. You’re doing it.”
She laughs, but it’s forced. “It’s not enough.”
“It is,” I counter.
She shakes her head, wrapping her arms tighter around herlegs. “You don’t get it. It can’t just be okay. This has to be incredible. The design, the reveal, all of it. If it’s not perfect, the network won’t care, but my mom will say she told me so.”
And there it is.
That last part drops heavier than the rest.
“I spent my life making sure everything I did was enough,” she whispers, pain laced in her voice as she looks at the ground between us. “I’ve been working so damn hard to be taken seriously in this industry and I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never going to be enough.”
“Scottie,” I say sharply, urging her to look at me and she does. “You are enough.”
Her body goes tense, even without my hands on her, I can feel it.
“You don’t know that.”
I grip her chin between my fingers so she doesn’t look away. “I don’t have to know your whole story to see your worth.”
Her lips part, and I can see the argument building in her eyes the longer she stares back at me. I see all the ways she wants to say I’m wrong.
But she doesn’t.
“I-I hate this,” she says, releasing a trembling breath. “I hate that everyone expects me to be polished and happy at all times. And now, here I am, crying on a staircase.”
“Most people cry on much worse furniture.”
A startled laugh slips free. She presses her lips together quickly though, as if she didn’t mean to let it out.
I feel my mouth curve into a smile. “See? Still human.”
She scoffs. “I don’t think I’m allowed to be that. Certain expectations have been set for me and I have to fight like hell to live up to them.”
“That doesn’t sound exhausting at all,” I say sarcastically.
That earns me a genuine smile, one that doesn’t feel fake and averts her gaze from me—eyes bouncing between her hands and the driveway.
“It’s so tiring, Tucker. I went from making sure the world saw me for what they want, to getting this show and the producers telling me to be myself. But what they really want is the version they can sell.” She blinks, a single tear escaping her eyes. “And if I mess up, it’s not just a bad day. It’s going to be on everyone’s TV screen. Then I’ll have a lengthy phone call with my mom saying ‘I told you this was too big for you.’”
The words tumble out of her like a dam that just broke.
“I’m terrified I won’t finish on time,” she goes on. “The timeline is already so tight. We still have to work on that mess of a yard, the master bedroom, the entryway, and that ridiculous wallpaper. There’s…so much.” She drags in a shaky breath, facing me again. “What if we can’t pull it off? What if this whole town, the crew, you…what if you all see me fail and realize I never deserved any of this?”
She breaks when she says it—deserved.
Her hands cover her face, and she releases every emotion she’s held in for probably the first time in front of someone. It fucking destroys me inside that this is everything she’s been thinking about since she got here. She’s bottled up all these emotions and kept them to herself so no one would see her differently.
But I see her.
I fucking see all of her.
I don’t think after that, I just move. I shift slowly, closing the gap between us before she can flinch away. Sliding an arm around her waist, I guide her gently onto my lap. She stiffens and gasps in surprise, but doesn’t fight me. Her hands bunch in my shirt, holding on like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
