Playing House

by Laura Chapman

  “I just can’t get over how many houses they do in a season—and they film two a year. I wonder how they get it all done.”

  “With lots of organization and hard work.” Plus, they had a dream team of experienced worker bees who did most of the work when the cameras weren’t rolling.

  “What an amazing opportunity for you.”

  “Yep.” On that point, at least, what Paige saw on the surface was the truth. This whole show was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for Bailey.

  “Are there any hotties working on the job sites?”

  “Please tell me you aren’t thinking about staging a drive-by so you can add some fresh meat to your Rolodex of men.”

  “Of course not. No one uses a Rolodex anymore.”

  “Paige . . .”

  “I’m kidding. I just thought that maybe there was a special someone—or better yet someones—on the crew who could make your stay in Austin more enjoyable.”

  Bailey’s mind automatically shifted to Wilder and his strong shoulders and fit physique. She bet he could—nope. Delete. She could not go there.

  “I’m not really in the market for a man,” Bailey said, before she could take his biceps under serious consideration. “I’m working.”

  “You’re never in the market for a man—whether or not you’re working.”

  “To each their own.” Much as she worried about her sister’s romantic entanglements, Bailey understood the feeling was mutual. Or rather, Paige worried about Bailey’s lack of romance. They’d probably never agree on that score. It would probably be best to change the subject, and as swiftly as possible. “Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “Actually . . . it’s less of a what and more of a how.”

  Paige spared her an annoyed look. “Okay, how?”

  “Well . . .” Bailey stretched out the word to drive her even more nuts. Some things never stopped being fun even when you were a full-fledged adult and your mama wasn’t around to tell you to stop. “How would you like to come spend a day on the job site sometime when we’re filming?”

  Paige dropped her menu. “Shut up.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Will Wilder and Waverly be there? Can I meet them?”

  “If you like.”

  Paige let out a shriek and ran to the other side of the table to throw her arms around Bailey. “You are the best baby sister ever.”

  Bailey hugged her back and grinned. It was nice. Teasing her sister wasn’t the only thing that never got old.

  ***

  In the production office, Wilder couldn’t stop staring. The way she tilted her head while she was thinking. The easy, full laugh that seemed to erupt from within her whenever someone cracked a joke. The passion that poured from her when she explained her vision for a project. Bailey had it all. As expected, she was a natural on-screen. And there in the production room, where he was reviewing some of the footage from the past couple of days, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her face.

  Fortunately, there was no one around to judge him for gawking. Well, no one besides the editor running the feed, but he was distracted with selecting clips to show Renee first thing in the morning. Before she’d left for the night, she’d said she hoped there wouldn’t be any reshoots. From what he’d seen so far, her wish might come true.

  In the shot now playing, Bailey had her laptop and tablet out to show the homeowners her plan for their future great room.

  “Wilder and his team will remove this wall and install an I-beam for support. That will open up this area, which will be more functional and make the whole space seem even bigger.” Excitement glowed on her face. “We can upgrade your cabinets to something custom—I’m seeing a dark finish. Those would look great with the subway tiles and paint colors we’ve talked about. And, boy, will it sing to those hardwood floors.”

  Wilder couldn’t help but grin at her enthusiasm. He caught the editor doing the same while making a note of the time on the display. Bailey would probably be a little embarrassed to be caught on camera geeking out over floors and cabinets, but she shouldn’t. It was cute.

  “It’s all going to look stunning with the natural light you’ll get through the new windows and sliders we install.” She blinked and quickly added, “Waverly and I know you’ll love the way this looks when it’s done. You’ll get so much function out of it.”

  The homeowners were every bit as captivated as Wilder was watching the performance. It wasn’t just her designs or what she was describing. They were pretty great, but also standard. It was her passion—her genuine love for the project and her desire to make it happen—that grabbed hold and wouldn’t let go.

  Wilder absently rubbed his chest—not even realizing he was doing it for a full minute. He stared at the screen, her face flush with excitement. Yeah. She had him.

  Chapter Eight

  After another grueling day on the job—this time creating preliminary design concepts to show two new on-screen clients the next week—it was about all Bailey could do to drag herself into her SUV.

  Waverly still wasn’t back from New York. It had been more than a week, and she could tell the star’s absence was wearing on Wilder. He didn’t say anything. He never said anything bad about Waverly, unless it was a teasing joke for the cameras. But he was worried about meeting their deadlines. He kept apologizing. To Bailey, to Felix, to everyone.

  Renee was freaking out, too. The cool poise Bailey had admired so much was slipping. Who could blame her? It was her job to keep everyone on time and budget, not track down the star of her show.

  Bailey did what she could to help. She filmed her segments. Created the designs. Checked in on the progress on the job sites. She even continued to update Waverly’s social media profiles like she was the one actually doing the work.

  It was fun, but after two full weeks of doing her job and Waverly’s, Bailey was basically a zombie.

  Tonight would definitely be a takeout kind of night. Even though she’d mastered the art of motel room cooking, feasting on doctored-up ramen noodles, goldfish crackers, and Australian licorice was more effort than she could handle that night. She needed protein. And she needed cheese.

  If she ordered the pizza now, she wondered if the delivery man—or woman, she wasn’t picky—could meet her at the steps leading up to her room. And maybe, for an extra charge, he—or she—wouldn’t minding tossing Bailey over his—or her—shoulders to carry her up to the room along with the pepperoni and mushroom du jour.

  She’d probably get someone who could barely tote the pizza up to the second floor. Then she’d be out of luck on her plan and she’d still end up going over the top with her tip out of guilt.

  Bailey was debating whether or not she had the strength to even open her car door—or if she should camp out on the ground until morning—when Felix called out a greeting. Though it required entirely too much effort, she raised a hand to wave.

  “Big plans for the night?” He tossed a couple of tubs and bags into the bed of his truck.

  “Not really.” She leaned back against the SUV to ease some of the weight off her throbbing feet. “I figure somewhere in greater Austin there is a pizza with my name on it.”

  “Pizza?” He rested an elbow on the edge of his truck. “Any chance it might have a second name on it? Maybe one that starts with an F and ends with an X?”

  During the past month, Bailey had gotten to know Felix a little. Aside from his rakish grin, dark brown eyes, and the day-old stubble he always seemed to have on his face, he was fun to be around. He and Wilder would banter back and forth whenever they were in the room, the way only good friends could do. More often than not, she’d laugh at their antics until her ribs hurt and she couldn’t breathe.

  Part of her wished she had that kind of relationship with Wilder. But there was a thin line between wanting to joke around with him and the very real struggle of wishing she could press up against him.

  Her relationship with Felix was less complicated.
It was all work and jokes, and no nights spent waking up from inappropriate dreams.

  “What kind of topping would be on this pizza?” she asked.

  “Pepperoni? And anything else you like. I’m pretty easy to please when it comes to pizza.”

  Wilder honked the horn from his truck and waved at them before pulling away from the curb. “Don’t you have plans with the boss?”

  “Nah. His parents are coming up for the weekend. They’re picking Virginia up for another visit, so I imagine he’ll want to spend time with her.”

  The memory of the easy way Wilder eased his daughter on his hip while walking around a house inexplicably sent a warm shiver down her spine. It was probably just her inner fangirl geeking out over how he’d done the same thing on TV in every episode of Playing House. She wondered if Virginia was too young to understand just how lucky she was to have a daddy who wanted to be around her all the time.

  Shaking her head, Bailey returned her attention to what had to be a more important subject. “This magical pizza we’re discussing has mushrooms on it.”

  “And a side of cheesy bread?”

  She shook his hand. “We have a deal.”

  They ate the pizza in Felix’s room. Considering how many papers and materials she had scattered throughout her room—and that hers was on the second floor while his was on the first—his more Spartan-like room seemed like the better option. Plus, his fridge was stocked with beer, while she only had a half-full bottle of water in hers.

  She really needed to make a trip to the grocery store over the weekend.

  “I saw you playing with Virginia, again today,” Felix said between bites of pizza. “You’re good with her.”

  “She’s a sweet little girl.” And a handful. Their impromptu game of extension-cord jump rope followed by an ill-advised session with a can of chalkboard paint (followed by half an hour scrubbing their hands in the bathroom) had left her wiped. She wondered how Wilder and Waverly had any time to sleep. It was no wonder they needed assistants and crew members up the wazoo to get work done.

  “You’re gonna make some kids a fine mama someday.”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Now, don’t be so hard on yourself. You just need to find the right man. Then everything else will fall into—”

  “Not everyone needs a husband or child to make their lives complete.”

  Felix’s hand froze with a slice of pizza halfway to his mouth and stared. She bit down on her lip to prevent herself from going into a full rant, but it wasn’t easy. She just got tired of people saying “don’t worry, you’ll find him.” Her old co-workers—the ones who actually talked to her—used to say that all the time. Never mind the fact that she wasn’t looking.

  Not wanting to completely alienate her newest colleague and only friend candidate, she pulled her lips into a tight grin. “Family is great for some people, but it’s not for everyone.”

  “That’s kind of grim.”

  “I disagree. It’s practical.”

  “If you say so.”

  “I do. And, frankly, for some people, it’s the truth.” She needed to find the right words to make him understand where she was coming from. “Let’s say you decide you want to get married, have kids, the whole deal.”

  “Right.”

  “Say you spend your whole life trying to find that one person who will complete you. The one person you can’t be happy without. What if you don’t find them? Or worse, what if you think you’ve found them, but they die or they decide you aren’t the one for them. What then?”

  “You’re treading into depressing waters again.”

  “Only if that’s all you expect from your life.” She sighed and picked a rogue pepper off her slice of pizza. “If you live your whole life expecting someone else or some ideal to make you happy, there’s a good chance you’ll be disappointed. But if you can be content with yourself and create your own dreams—ones you can fulfill on your own—then you’re going to have a satisfying life.”

  “Sounds lonely.”

  “There’s a difference between being lonely and alone. I’d rather be happy alone than lonely in the pursuit of something I might never find.”

  “So what you’re saying is you aren’t looking to get married or have kids.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

  “But what if you meet someone and—”

  “I’m happy with the life I have.” She really was. Now that she had a job that would launch her into bigger and better things, she couldn’t complain. Even before Playing House, she had the dream of this kind of opportunity, and she was working toward it. By herself. That was a kind of contentment of its own.

  “Fair enough. I guess I still don’t quite get the problem with settling down and having a family, but,” he added before she could interrupt, “it’s not my place or my business to try and understand.”

  And that was more than fine by her.

  They were halfway through the pizza and cracking open a second bottle of beer when Felix made a proposal.

  “Want to play a game?”

  She took a slow drink of beer before answering. “What kind of a game?”

  “Well . . . you’re still playing catch-up on the past couple of seasons of Playing House, right? How ‘bout we watch a few more episodes tonight.”

  She sat up straighter. “That’s a game?”

  “It is when we add a few rules and a bottle of tequila to it.”

  A drinking game. Interesting. Bailey had never been much for drinking games in college. She’d been too focused on getting good grades and internships to party hard on the weekends. On the rare occasion she’d gone out, she’d been the designated driver. She’d always been too worried about getting pulled over and stuck to plain old lemonade.

  But tonight wasn’t a school night, and she didn’t have any homework for this weekend. Maybe it was time to live a little.

  “What are the rules?”

  “First rule,” Felix called out while he rummaged through a cupboard, “any time someone—a potential homeowner or Waverly—talks about an open concept or floor plan, we take a shot.”

  “What if Wilder brings it up?”

  “He won’t.” Finding the coveted bottle of tequila, Felix thrust it in the air victoriously. “While he’s a fan of open concepts, in theory, it drives him nuts how much people talk about them. He’s more about tearing down the walls instead of dwelling on it and making it a thing.”

  “People are pretty crazy for open design right now.” She couldn’t remember the last time someone hadn’t asked for a kitchen that opened into the dining and living rooms. There was a reason for that—it looked good and made a space seem bigger. But with it being the focal point of almost every episode of every home makeover type show on the air, she could understand why that would get old for Wilder. Just once, it would probably be nice to have someone say, “Let’s close this place up.” “Second rule?”

  “Take a shot every time a client complains about an existing paint color.”

  She shook her head. That was an even more common complaint, which was absurd. Changing paint color was maybe the easiest thing a person could do to a home. Even her sister managed to paint her condo without keeling over. Bailey’s liver was probably going to give out in under an hour. “Is there a third rule?”

  “Chug your beer any time Wilder gets poetic about discovering hardwood floors.”

  She laughed, even though she’d been every bit as poetic as Wilder was the other day when they’d discovered hardwoods. “Please tell me there aren’t any more rules. We’ll die.”

  “Weakling,” Felix teased. “No, that’s the end of the rules. This time. Are you up to the challenge?”

  She clinked her beer with his. “Here’s to open concepts.”

  ***

  The house held on to Wilder. Rather than head back to the motel at six when the crew knocked off for the weekend, he found himself driving down the winding road to the proje
ct house. It had been a few days since he’d checked in to see the progress. With his parents picking up Virginia a day earlier than planned, he had some unexpected free time.

  It was too bad his parents had wanted to hurry back that night. He wouldn’t have minded the company for this inspection.

  Flipping on a light switch in the foyer, he cast a cursory glance around. Nodding at the initial signs of improvement, he climbed the stairs to begin the tour in the bedrooms.

  The master suite was done of course. They’d finished it a couple of days before Waverly left for New York. She’d hung around long enough to ensure her living quarters for the next five months were in good shape. Then she’d promptly left them with no promise of when she’d be back other than “soon.” Like a sucker, he’d let her go without complaint. He’d always been a sucker when it came to Waverly.

  That wasn’t fair—or particularly charitable of him. Maybe he was jealous of her. Jealous she could come and go as she pleased. That she did what she wanted while he held down the fort and lived like a monk. And the real sucker punch was that he was the one still working on the TV show she’d wanted, while she was taking an unscheduled break.

  The show could go away, and he wouldn’t care. It was her dream, not his. But he kept it going, because it was what she wanted. She’d always had that kind of hold on him.

  It did more than piss him off. It stung his pride and, okay, maybe it kind of hurt his feelings. Or at least his ego.

  He couldn’t confront her about any of this. He was a dude. The second he even hinted at having any feelings, he’d launch World War III as far as she was concerned. They’d made it through four years of this arrangement without killing each other. He’d like to see if they could make it through the next fourteen without too much drama. Even one more year would be ideal.