“And scene!” Simon called.
“Couldn’t have gone better if we’d staged it,” he said to Freya.
Oh shit.They were filming?
Simon stared at us. “Didyou stage it?”
“No!” Tim and I bellowed, for once in unison.
13
Tabitha
Ispent the nexthour helping Tim dismantle the cabinetry, flushing with embarrassment every time I thought about being filmed sparring with him like that. I was even more annoyed that Tim had baited me into acting like a wild woman on camera.
I channeled all my anger into hard, physical work. We labored together for hours, him ripping out the cabinetry and me hauling the debris outside. Tomorrow we’d tear out the kitchen island to make room for the larger one. And we still had those two walls to demolish.
Freya announced a break in the dining room, as per union rules. I quickly slipped away to make some newspaper work calls in the library. I was still technically in charge of a large section, though it was the weekend. The last thing I wanted was to losemy job, not just because I loved my work, but I also desperately needed the paycheck.
I returned through the dining room as everyone set up in the kitchen. Tim was in the kitchen leaning over the counter, making some calculations and sipping his tea. Poppy and Trystan were watching him from the dining room, not knowing I was behind them.
“Oh my God, Tim’s arse. What the actual fuck,” Poppy murmured, tightly swirling the glass of water in her hand.
I paused, feeling bad about eavesdropping but unable to stop myself. The crew in the kitchen couldn’t hear because they were focused on a funny story Simon was telling.
“I know,” Trystan said. “Makes your eyes water.”
“One does wonder about…”
“One does.” Trystan nodded sagely. “Takes a big hammer to drive a big nail. Pun intended.”
Poppy spluttered her drink all over Trystan, and they both fell about laughing while wiping him with a napkin.
They turned around and froze.
“Poppy, I’m so tired of you leaving your stuff in the washing machine overnight.Transfer, you slatternly tart,” Trystan said extra loudly.
Poppy laughed out loud. “Okay, Mum.”
I rolled my eyes to show I’d heard, and they both winced.
But now, I hadhammersandnailsin my mind, bloody hell. There were loads of great-looking guys in this town and in London. No need to get steamed up about this one just because he happened to be working in the house. Who, yes, all right, had a nice bum—a bloody spectacular arse more like—but so what? He was annoying as hell.
A series of pings sliced the air. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and checked it. My inbox was filled with confirmations of bank transfers, for the mortgage on my Londonflat and other utility bills I was currently paying for Mum and Dad after they’d failed to pay them regularly, which left my account looking bereft. My breathing went sharp and shallow. Losing this reality competition, and the grand prize, wasn’t an option. I was confident my designs would make this house look charming and fun and warm for couples looking for love. As long as Tim didn’t derail my plans.
In the kitchen, I grabbed my wheelbarrow filled with debris and bumped it outside to the bin. I’d told Tim last night I wasn’t confident with men. It was easy enough for self-assured singles to find someone to date, whether in a bar or on a group hike. I’d designed this place for slightly awkward or shy people like me—whether they were attracted to men or women. Layered textiles, welcoming colors, and quirky old-meets-new would make this crumbling house feel like a comfortable, relaxed sanctuary, but it would also act as a conversation starter.Would you have put those modern chairs around that old table? Did you see those rude drapes? How many shades of pink can you have in one house?But those designs had to be implemented—and fast.
Doubt overwhelmed me at the thought of how much we had to do. Back in the kitchen, I set down my empty wheelbarrow and headed for my thinking place, the library, to take a few breaths in private and get my shit together.
I was staring out the window, trying to draw some serenity from ducks floating on the pond, when the door opened behind me. I swung around.
Ugh. Tim.
He shuffled from foot to foot in the doorway, looking pretty uncomfortable in here. I wasn’t sure why—it was calming, inviting, bursting with leather-bound books, sliding ladders, a fireplace, and huge old stained-glass windows offering a view of the wildflowers and pond out the back. As kids, he’d neverseemed that interested in being here either. Maybe because he wasn’t keen on reading. Of the two of us, I was the big reader, but he’d always liked it when I read passages of my novels to him. When had we gone from good friends to…enemies? Well, not enemies. Justnotfriends.
He seemed to gather his confidence again and took his usual wide stance, hands slung on his hips, fingers hooked into his tool belt.
“Tabitha, let’s talk about this. We can win this show without making all these huge changes. The house already has beautiful features—high, decorative ceilings, crown moldings, a grand entry. I could go on.” He cast a hand around the room. “I mean, this room says it all. Freya told me in confidence that none of the other teams is working on a house with as much atmosphere as this one. Let’s lean in on that.”
