Playing House

by Laura Chapman

  She’d bring the chairs in next. Paired with the rug and angled toward the fireplace, they’d fit the space perfectly. She’d found them at an estate sale down the street. She and Felix had been on a coffee break walk around the block when she saw the two leather-backed chairs. They’d screamed “lawyer’s library.” The chipped wood and scuff marks gave them character, and she couldn’t possibly leave them behind. Even Felix thought they were so cool, and he’d volunteered to help her carry them back to the house.

  Then, Bailey refinished the chairs. Felix complained she’d taken away the character. He’d looked ready to cry. But he’d agreed she’d made the right decision after she showed him the rusty springs and rotten padding she’d removed during the refinishing process. Now . . . they were everything she could have dreamed.

  If she ever made it big, she’d put a library in her house. She’d have vaulted ceilings, floor-to-ceiling shelves, and big airy windows. That would make the room feel large and spacious. And every shelf would be packed with adventures.

  She’d selected each book in this library carefully. They were a mixture of books from the homeowners’ collection along with pieces she’d ordered through one of the local bookstores. They’d wanted the shelves to be aesthetically pleasing while accessible for the user.

  The books were the one thing Bailey and Waverly had argued about—via text message—during the past few weeks. Waverly wanted them organized by color. But Bailey had refused. The homeowners were entirely too practical to appreciate something like a rainbow of books. They’d want them organized in a way that made finding one book out of thousands easy. They’d appreciate the card catalog Wilder had made. There, each book could be tracked on a card with their family’s name printed on it. She’d also added the contents of the library to a mobile app for modern convenience.

  Waverly hadn’t been happy they’d ignored her wish for a rainbow library. She only gave up after the owner specifically requested the non-fiction books be organized by the Dewey Decimal System and the fiction by author’s last name.

  Bailey would happily take flack on a future job site to pay for winning that battle. The final result in the room was worth it.

  With the rug in place, Bailey stepped back to inspect her work. Hmm. The rug was just a bit too close to the fire. Leaning over, she gave it a tug, but it didn’t budge. It was too heavy. She might have to call someone on the crew to give her a hand. Or she could be a grown woman and take care of it herself. Dropping back to her hands and knees, she lifted the edge to reroll the carpet. She was halfway across the room when a crack snapped in the air. The hardwood floors shook below her.

  “What the . . .”

  Shards of plaster rained down from the ceiling. Crash. She jumped. Lightning. She’d heard the rumbles of an approaching thunderstorm a few minutes ago. They must have been hit. Badly. She picked up one of the larger chunks of plaster and it crumbled in her fingers. The crew wouldn’t be happy about having to touch up the vaulted ceilings. She slowly turned her chin upward to survey the damage. Her breath caught in her throat.

  “Fire.”

  When the lightning hit the roof, it must have sparked something in the attic. Maybe the insulation. She shook her head. Now wasn’t the time for analyzing the mechanics of where or how a fire started in the house. She had to get out. Alert the others.

  Sucking in a deep gulp of air, she filled her lungs and screamed, “FIRE!”

  She sprang to her feet and raced toward the door. Her boot caught in the rug and she tumbled back down with an “oof.” Sprawled on the floor, she gasped for breath. She couldn’t quite get her lungs to work. Great. She’d probably broken her leg and punctured a lung. Now she was going to die in a fire, along with the beautiful designs she’d worked so hard to complete.

  Didn’t that just suck?

  No. She couldn’t go out like this. Planting her palms to the floor, she pushed herself up again. She had to get it together. She had to get downstairs.

  Barely back on her feet and breathing again—relieved her leg and lungs weren’t broken—she limped toward the door as it flew open. Wilder—nearly out of breath himself—filled the doorway. He glanced up at the ceiling, where the flames were already licking down from the attic, then back at her.

  “What the hell are you still doing in here?” Without waiting for an answer, bent his knees and lifted, slinging her over his shoulder. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

  She was too stunned to react until they were halfway down the stairs. “Put me down.”

  His grip tightened. “Not a chance.”

  “I can walk. I was on my way out.”

  “Not fast enough.” He squeezed her legs. “You can thank me for saving your life later.”

  “I was—”

  “Bailey Honey, so help me God . . .” he trailed off, leaving her to wonder what exactly he planned to do if she didn’t let him finish playing fireman.

  She gave up resisting. It was too much effort. And as much as she normally wouldn’t appreciate being manhandled by a jock in a tool belt—and as much as she hated to admit—she kind of enjoyed being manhandled by this jock in a tool belt. She’d be outraged later. When they were outside and she was back on her own two feet. Once she was out of his arms and able to think straight again.

  In the not-too-far distance, sirens wailed. Red and blue lights swirled and flashed.

  They made it through the front door, down the porch steps, and into the rain as the fire truck pulled up in front of the house. Craning her neck to glance around Wilder, she noted Felix and her sister—what was Paige doing there?—racing up to the firefighters. Instead of following their lead and heading to the fire truck, or meeting up with the rest of the work crew, Wilder kept walking. Each step as purposeful as the last.

  “Where are we going?” He didn’t answer, but moved past the trailer and production van.

  Playing tough guy and dragging her out the door in a misguided attempt to keep her safe was one thing. Hauling her God knows where for God knows what was something else entirely. “Hey!” She slapped at his back. He didn’t so much as flinch. “HEY!” She smacked his butt, which only earned her a swat on her own in return.

  “Wilder,” she said icily. “If you don’t put me down. Right. This. Second. I’m going to make damn sure Virginia is the last of the Aldrich line.”

  As far as threats went, it was fairly specific, and it seemed to do the trick. He stopped at a break in the line of trees bordering the yard. Slowly, inch by inch, he lowered her to the ground. Even when her feet were on the ground, he didn’t loosen his grip.

  “What was that all about?”

  He opened his mouth to answer but closed it again. His face was red with a fury his voice never betrayed.

  He pulled Bailey up onto her tiptoes. His lips crashed against hers. Like a strike of lightning, her anger turned to need. She matched his passion with her own. She forgot about the house. The only fire she cared about was the one building in her. The one she’d fought for weeks. She was tired of fighting. She was out of excuses for why she shouldn’t devour the man kissing her like he was trying to breathe life into her. In a way, he was. She’d never felt more alive or more unbridled as she did now in his arms.

  She’d never felt more.

  ***

  He hadn’t planned on kissing her.

  When he’d hauled her out of the house, his only thought had been getting her to safety. Never one to brandish his muscles in a “me Tarzan, you Jane” sort of way, he couldn’t explain his actions beyond wanting to make sure she was okay. He figured once he had her a safe distance from the house, he’d give her a good piece of his mind about the importance of running away from a fire instead of sitting locked up in a room to admire it.

  But the brisk walk hadn’t done enough to soothe his fear. Seeing her face glaring up at him only took him back to the library, when he saw her struggling to limp her way out of the room. A flurry of what-ifs flooded his mind.

  What i
f more than plaster had fallen from the ceiling?

  What if she hadn’t been able to get back up to her feet?

  What if the door had been stuck?

  What if I hadn’t gotten there in time?

  Panicked, there’d been only one way to soothe his fears and her anger. He’d kissed her. He wasn’t sure what else he was hoping to accomplish besides reassuring himself that they’d made it out of the house unscathed. He hadn’t counted on completely losing his control. He hadn’t counted on her becoming wild in his arms.

  He hadn’t counted on how all-consuming it would be. It was everything, yet not enough at the same time.

  Before he could completely lose his grip and pull her down to the ground with him right here, he tore his lips away. Panting for air, he rested his forehead against hers, clenching his eyes shut. His arms slipped to the small of her back, keeping her close to his still-racing heart.

  “Are you okay?” His voice was gruff when he found it again.

  She nodded and let out a shaky breath. “Are you okay?”

  He chuckled, despite the fear that had sliced through him only minutes before. It was easier to laugh now that she was safe. “Yeah. Better now.”

  And because he couldn’t seem to help himself, he cupped her cheek. Her eyes fluttered shut, and she instinctively leaned into his touch. After weeks of wanting to hold her, he was now. And he couldn’t seem to stop.

  The flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the trees reminded him that even though they’d managed to steal this moment of privacy, they weren’t entirely alone. This maybe wasn’t the best time for him to try kissing her again to see if it was as good the second time around.

  He pressed his lips to her forehead and, with a parting squeeze, released his hold. “We should probably go check out the damage.”

  She nodded dazedly and cleared her throat. “You go ahead. I’m going to take a minute.” She shrugged when he stared at her. “I need some air.”

  And probably some room to think. That wasn’t a bad idea for both of them.

  He strode back toward the house. A handful of firefighters stood in front of the porch, and Paige and Felix huddled together near one of the production vans.

  Paige rose to her feet. “Did you get Bailey?”

  She’d apparently missed his impressive display of masculinity, which was probably for the best. The fewer people who saw it, the better. He’d pissed Bailey off in that moment. Later, when they were both calmer, he’d apologize. Maybe.

  “She’s safe.” He motioned toward the trees. “She wanted a couple of minutes to herself.”

  “I imagine it was a little disconcerting,” Felix said. Wilder caught his bemused expression. Not everyone had missed his macho display. The men exchanged a silent conversation, agreeing not to talk about it right now. “But she’s okay?”

  “She’ll be fine.”

  A black SUV pulled up, and Waverly and Renee hopped out and ran toward them.

  “What happened?” Waverly shouted.

  “Is anyone hurt?” Renee asked.

  “Lightning strike.” It was only now that Wilder realized the storm had cleared up. Pools of water—both from the rain and the fire hydrant—served as little shrines to what had passed. “We got everyone out. Now we wait to find out the damage.”

  Waverly sighed and stared up at the house. “I hope it doesn’t set us back too long. I wanted to fly back to New York for the weekend. I—”

  His glare silenced her.

  Sensing an argument brewing, Renee placed a hand on Waverly’s shoulder. “Let’s figure out our next steps.”

  One of the suited firefighters, face smeared with ash and sweat, motioned them forward.

  “You were lucky.” He wiped his brow and stashed his helmet under his arm. “We were able to get here before the fire caused any structural damage. It’s mostly superficial.”

  “When can we get back in?” Renee asked.

  “It’ll probably be at least another couple of hours before we’ll let anyone outside of our crew inside the building. You’ll want to have an inspection, but I’d say your crew can get back to work by the weekend.”

  “We should call the homeowners,” Bailey said, appearing at Wilder’s side. Having her close helped to ease the irritation that had rekindled while they were apart. “They need to know what happened. That it will be okay. We’ll make it okay.”

  “The sooner they start the insurance claim, the better." Felix gave Paige’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’m going to have to take a raincheck on dinner.”

  “I understand.” She glanced worriedly at Bailey a second before she wrapped her into a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

  “Me too.”

  Once Paige left, Bailey turned to Wilder and Waverly. “Well, bosses, what should we do now? I don’t suppose this happens often.”

  “Nope.” Wilder rocked back on his heels. “This is a first for me.”

  “Don’t worry.” She gave them both confident looks. “We’ve got this.”

  His frown softened and his shoulders relaxed at her determined confidence.

  “Let’s call the homeowners.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  It could have been much worse. Someone could have been hurt. They could have lost the whole house or some of their equipment. But they came out of the fire about as well as anyone could have hoped.

  The fire chief was right. They’d been lucky.

  Wilder had to keep reminding himself of that every hour or so.

  After comforting the homeowners and talking to the insurance company, they were able to get back to work within forty-eight hours. Though the fire had spared the structure and most of the house, the smoke and water had virtually destroyed the library. The freshly painted walls and ceiling, the furniture and books—they would have to be repaired or replaced.

  When she saw the damage, Bailey’s lip quivered. But only for half a second. She’d straightened her shoulders and started a list of everything they needed to do. Then, she’d announced she was going shopping for replacements.

  With Bailey handling the big picture and detail items, Waverly didn’t see much of a reason to stick around for the weekend. Wilder had bitten his tongue rather than argue when she and Virginia had taken a red-eye to New York a few days later. She’d promised they’d be back in town the next week to film the reveal.

  In some ways, it would be easier to get everything done without Waverly in their hair. Bailey was running things, which worked out well enough. Or it would until Waverly felt her role as star slipping and she pitched a fit. Bailey hadn’t said anything, but Renee had told him there’d already been one mini-tantrum.

  It hadn’t always been this way. She used to put in long hours alongside the rest of the crew. In the first seasons, her design assistants were assistants—not the person doing most of the work. She left her mark on everything. She cared about the finished product and the process of getting there.

  Maybe it was another sign they should call it quits after this season, once their contract was up. If Waverly wasn’t getting anything out of this side of her business—besides the minor celebrity—what was the point?

  Even if Waverly wanted to do another season of Playing House, there was always a chance they wouldn’t be renewed. If the quality of the show slipped, taking the ratings with it, the decision would be out of their hands. Devon might be wrapped around her finger, but he was a businessman. He’d think with his brain and not his dick when it came to the network’s lineup.

  Not everyone was so level-headed in their decisions.

  Wilder unfortunately fell into that category. More often than not, he was all too distracted with wondering what a certain woman on their crew would say or do next. It was affecting his work. He’d been repainting the walls in the library for an hour, and couldn’t seem to get it on evenly. It was even harder when Bailey returned from the store and paused to inspect his work.

  “Can I ask you something? And I promise I
won’t tell anyone what you say.”

  “You signed a confidentiality agreement to keep quiet about anything that happens on the job.” His lips twitched “You can ask me anything.”

  Glossing over his qualifier, Bailey narrowed the distance between them and rested her hands on her hips. “Have you actually ever painted a room before, or do you just pretend to do it for the cameras?”

  “It’s the lighting,” he lied. He wasn’t going to admit he was too distracted to do quality work.

  “Want me to grab you a work light from the truck?”

  And give her a better chance to judge his work and see just how bad it had gotten? “No. I’m good.”

  “You could’ve waited till the morning.”

  “I wanted to get a leg up on the work.” He couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off her long enough to focus on his work. “This room took a beating. And I know . . .”

  “Know what?”

  He turned to the wall then. “I know how bad you felt about the damage in this room.”

  “Oh.” He couldn’t see her face, but her tone told him she understood what he was saying. “Where’s the crew?”

  “I said they could start their weekends.” He rested his hip against the ladder and faced her again. “It’s mostly touch-up work now. I can take care of it.”

  “Don’t you have plans?”

  He shrugged. “Virginia went to New York with Waverly, which means I’m a bachelor for the weekend.”

  “Not to be rude . . .” She chewed on her cheek and stepped forward. “But I’m not sure you’re doing this bachelor thing right.”

  “Are you an expert?”

  “No, but I watch TV.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Do they have a lot of bachelors on your crime procedurals?”

  She waved off his remark and stood in front of the wall to look it over again. “The boss man is working late on a Friday night while everyone else kicks off early.” She whistled. “It’s not sloppiness that’s your problem.”

  “I have a problem?” Of course he did. The longer they stood there, the bigger his problem got. It took most of his willpower not to toss aside the paint roller and pull down on the tarp. She was close enough he could reach out and easily put those wayward thoughts into action. She nodded. “Mmm hmm.”