by Meg Collett
Filming the demo and reno for phase two and then the entirety of phase three went by in a mundane blur. Stevie spent most of the time off-camera due to the horrific state of her face—two black eyes, a swollen nose, and a nasally voice. Emilie cringed every time she saw Stevie. Her nose wasn’t broken, thankfully. Just severely swollen. Stevie still got murdery when she thought about Helena and her ugly face and ugly shoes and ugly—
“Stevie? Are you listening?” Cade gently shook her shoulder to get her attention. “It’s Week Four. We can’t afford to lose focus so close to the finale.” The cameras were trained on him, capturing his every gesticulation, but he was a pro now. The energy snapping from his eyes and words had Emilie practically gushing in her little dark corner of monitors. “We came in second last week with the living room reno, but it’s the Finishing Touches of the Fourth Week. Now it’s time for our greatest test so far . . .”
He paused for dramatic effect. The cameras tightened on him. Stevie probably wasn’t even in frame anymore, even though she’d woken up this morning without wanting to puke when she saw her face in the mirror.
“The Kitchen.” He said the words like someone might say a meteor was heading straight for Earth.
Since the brawl had escalated Stevie’s and Helena’s teams to the forefront of the show’s storylines, they’d been filming almost around the clock this past week, and it was Finishing Touches on Kitchen Week, which was a big deal. It was the show’s biggest week before the phase-five master bedroom finale, and everyone was stressed. Stevie, Cade, and Arie had only caught a few naps in the main tent between filming demo and construction. It was their time to shine. This was what she’d wanted all along. Cade had the limelight and the main time spots during the show. The producers had invested three more camera crews and a full-time supervising producer to look over Emilie’s shoulder, just for their team. Their side of the duplex was a beehive of activity.
It all came down to today, but Cade was shouldering the burden well. Emilie clapped her hands from the back, where she and the supervising producer sat watching. “Okay! That’s good. Let’s separate into some diary-cam interviews. Cade, you’re with me. Arie and Stevie, I want you to repaint.”
Everyone froze. Some cameraman sucked in a shocked breath, because even the crew had grown invested in Cade’s team.
“Pardon me, but did you say repaint?” Cade asked.
“You can’t be serious.” Arie said.
Emilie wove through the equipment and cables to come onto the live set.
“I am. We want more urgency. Unfortunately, your cabinets came in the wrong color. Arie, you go out and discover that. Come back and tell Stevie and Cade. Stevie, you’ll paint while Cade and Arie put up the cabinets.”
“But we only have time for cabinet installation and last-minute decorations today.” Cade addressed his harried words to his phone as he checked his infernal schedule.
Stevie patted his back. The drastic change in plans wasn’t a bad thing, not with this much focus on their team from production.
“We’ve got this,” she told him before he could have a stress attack.
At her enthusiasm, everyone—crew included—leveled raised brows her way. She had never been quiet about how much painting sucked.
“I’m serious,” she said. “It’s just paint, and the cabinets will cover most of the walls anyway.”
Crickets. Stevie swore she heard crickets chirping somewhere in the back corner of the room. That was how quiet everyone had turned in the face of her optimism.
“Maybe I should paint,” Arie said, wary of her good nature.
“That sounds good,” Cade began. “You can—”
“Guys.” Stevie held up her hands before Cade could assign tasks, aware the cameras had been hot for a while. “You two have to do the cabinets. I’ll paint. It’s no big deal. Now, let’s move! We don’t have much time left.”
She clapped her hands and moved off like that was that and no one else should argue with her.
Cade might be a pro in front of the cameras, but she was practically a renovation expert now too.
* * *
“And then she dumped an entire can of paint on the floor, slid through it, and smacked straight into the wall, which,” Cade said, pointing a finger in the air for emphasis, as if everyone’s eyes weren’t already glued to him, “she’d freshly painted. So there’s a Stevie-sized splotch on the wall that we didn’t have time to cover.”
“What did you do?” Kyra asked, barely forming words around her snorting laughter. Even Hale had his hand pressed to his stomach, his mouth open in a silent, endless laugh.
They all sat on Kyra’s back porch around a picnic table laden with gluten-free pasta, salad, sparkling waters, and fresh watermelon topped with bits of feta cheese. Arie was there to celebrate the day, as was Annabelle Cooper and her nurse, a young woman named Nancy, who seemed almost as shy as Violet. Shocking everyone, Violet actually showed up for dinner on her vintage bike after Stevie had invited her before leaving the set. She wore a seersucker romper and penny loafers, her hair was curled, and her lips were painted red; Arie had practically started panting like a dog at the sight of her. No one had really known what to say at first. Confronted with a table full of people with their mouths hanging open in surprise, Violet had looked ready to run for her life. But then Stevie had cracked a dirty joke, making everyone laugh. Kyra had sighed heavily, Cade had blushed, and Hale had contributed to the vulgarity. After that, everything had returned to normal, with the Cooper brothers rushing here and there to fetch water or a blanket for their mother, making certain she was as comfortable as possible, and Kyra and Stevie doing their best to get a word out of Violet while also including Nancy as much as they could.
Humidity hung heavy in the briny air, but the citronella candles held the bugs at bay. The stream of lanterns overhead kept them outside far past sunset. They hadn’t stopped talking about the big day since Stevie had walked over for the celebratory dinner.
She rolled her eyes at everyone. “It’s not like it was a big deal or anything.”
“Ha!” Arie chuckled. “We were doomed with the paint messed up like that. Like, in-line-for-elimination screwed. Oh, pardon the language, Mrs. Cooper.”
Annabelle waved off his apology, laughing too hard to say anything else, and Cade positively beamed at his mother.
“We thought they were going to vote us off the show for sure,” Cade said. “But then Stevie put this tapestry thing of a long-horned bull on the wall to cover the splotch. The judges thought it was meant to be art! A freaking cow tapestry!”
“It sounds cute.” Kyra smiled over at Stevie, excitement dancing in her blue eyes. She was brimming with life tonight, and if Stevie hadn’t known the hell Kyra had been through this summer, she never would have guessed that Kyra was battling her own darkness. Her strength gave Stevie hope.
“It was,” Stevie said, grateful for her best friend. “And it’s wall art.”
“Well, it worked. And, I mean, it wasn’t awful.” Cade hooked an arm around her waist and hugged her close. He’d been doing that all night, not that she minded. She had saved the day, minus the sliding into the wall part, and no one was even mentioning the hour-long shower she’d had to take to get all the paint out of her hair, and she was sure she’d missed a few spots.
“The worst thing I’ve ever seen,” Arie said. “Wait until you see it on television. The cameras caught the entire thing.”
“Of course they did.” Stevie tried to wiggle away from Cade, but he planted a big smacking kiss on her cheek as if it was perfectly normal, like there wasn’t this giant line in the sand between them that they could never cross.
But no one noticed the way she blushed and tucked a piece of hair back behind her ear as he released her and continued chattering away. Or at least she thought they hadn’t. Then she looked down the table and saw Annabelle’s eyes latched firmly on her, a huge smile stretched across her regal face. She winked at Stevie.
“We were one of the winning teams production filmed,” Stevie said, trying to deflect Annabelle’s attention, but the woman kept smiling at her.
“But it’s pretty obvious the producers will choose us for the final cut. None of the other teams were even close!” Cade’s smile threatened to split his face in half.
Hale shook his head in something that almost resembled awe. “Man, that’s awesome. You did a great job. I don’t think I could have done better myself.”
Cade faltered for a split second before he beamed. “Th-thanks, Hale. I really appreciate it.”
“You deserve it, bud. Isn’t he doing great, Mom?”
Annabelle’s hands were clasped in front of her mouth as she laughed. “He’s doing amazing. And Stevie and Arie too. Both of you are just wonderful, and I’m so happy we got to meet today.”
Many things were being repeated tonight. Cade telling the story about the freaking paint incident. Hale saying how proud he was. Annabelle saying how happy she was.
For the first time since she could remember, Stevie didn’t like being the center of attention. Not tonight. She’d rather just sit here with Cade’s arm around her all night, as though he couldn’t keep away from her, and smell his special scent that turned muskier the longer they sat outside.
Cade leaned against her as everyone talked and picked at the fruit with sticky fingers. Even Hale was so buoyed by the good vibes that he didn’t glare at Stevie over her prolonged contact with Cade. Knowing she shouldn’t but doing it anyway, Stevie snuggled up a bit beneath his arm, relishing the contact.
Now this was her happy place. She could almost muster up a smile.
Even if it might break her heart later when Cade went on and on about their friendship.
“So, what are you guys going to do with your first weekend off since the show started?” Kyra asked, her head on Hale’s shoulder.
Tomorrow was Saturday and Stevie’s first real break from the show. “Sleeping in,” she said a little dreamily, like she was already buried under the cool confines of her sheets.
“Not moving a muscle,” Arie agreed and then brightened. “What are you doing tomorrow, Violet?”
Violet had been quietly munching on her salad but froze beneath everyone’s attention. “Um,” she whispered, eyes on the table. “I have to feed the flowers.”
“Right. The flowers.” Arie nodded like he—or any of them—knew what she meant by “feeding” the flowers. It was just too much of a Violet thing to say for them to ask her to clarify.
“Oh!” Hale sat up straighter. “Speaking of this weekend, Mom, I need to fix that loose gutter on your house.”
Cade perked up. “I can do that,” he said quickly, his gaze flicking between Hale and his mom. “I wanted to visit on Sunday anyway.”
Stevie thought she saw Annabelle glowing. “That sounds nice, sweetie.”
“Are you sure?” Hale asked. “It’s your first break in ages. You probably don’t want to be fixing yet another thing on a house.”
“It’s no problem. Besides, with all this experience I’m getting, I might be able to start helping you on jobs.”
The corner of Hale’s mouth shot up in a crooked grin. “I don’t know about that. I still haven’t approved your work in person. We’re talking about the same person who didn’t know how to use a leveling stick when he first saw one.”
“Hey!” Cade laughed. “In my defense, I was sixteen and it’s not like I’d spent much time on a construction site before that.”
Hale turned to Kyra. “We were building a shed with our dad.”
He continued the story, telling everyone about the project and how their father had to coach Cade through every little detail while Hale did most of the work. He smiled the entire time, with Cade chiming in and returning quips when Hale took a dig at Cade’s hammering skills. While they bantered across the table, spinning stories about their father, Stevie sat back and watched Annabelle savoring the moment and memorizing every detail.
It appeared like Annabelle was soaking everything in like she might not have many more nights like this left.
And her sons had no clue how much precious little time she had left.
* * *
“I can’t believe you got Violet to come over tonight.”
Stevie kept an eye on the sky as she pushed through her back gate. The clouds rolling in from the ocean occasionally lit up with lightning, and the scent in the air promised rain.
She focused back on Cade as he latched the gate behind him. Once again, he’d insisted on walking her home.
“I just asked,” she said, shrugging. “I think people don’t bother asking her.”
“I wish she would have let Arie drive her home.” Cade checked the brewing storm above, worry evident in his squinted eyes.
“I’m sure she’s fine.” Stevie unlocked her back door and hit the lights, burning the back porch in a warm glow.
Cade propped a foot on the bottom step like he was settling in for a long talk. His eyes still shone with the same spark as earlier—a buzz from their win and from Hale’s approval. She practically saw his skin twitching with jitters.
“Cade,” Stevie sighed. “You can come in, you know. I won’t try jumping your bones or anything if that’s what you’re so afraid of.”
She gave herself a couple seconds to appreciate his cheeks flaming to life. His blush was powerful enough that it spread down his neck. Smirking, she went inside, leaving the door open for him. After a moment, he came up the stairs.
“I’m not scared . . . per se. I’m just worried.”
She didn’t glance back as she went into the kitchen, depositing her keys on the counter and kicking off her shoes along the way. “What are you worried about?”
In the kitchen, she cracked the top of a water bottle before taking a long pull, the icy water quenching her thirst. At least one kind of thirst. Her skin felt a little tighter than normal. A little itchier.
“You know . . .”
It wasn’t a good night. She felt the warnings spark up from the base of her spine, tightening her bones and prickling her scalp. She knew the sensations well. They happened when she wasn’t quite in control to make good decisions. When things felt a little out of hand and she liked them that way. She used to feed off this feeling. Before.
Cade was gearing up to launch into a talk about her sobriety, about their friendship, about what gosh darn good friends they were.
And Stevie’s spine itched with unsaid words. She hated them already, and they weren’t even real yet.
“Do you mind if I take off my bra?” she asked, the words springing to life in the dead space between them. “It’s itching my boobs.”
Cade’s lecture hit the roadblock she’d flung up with a few words. He floundered, his blush deepening. “Um . . . I . . .” He cleared his throat. “Well . . .”
“Good.” Stevie reached behind her and threaded her hands up beneath her shirt to find the bra clasp. “This one itches me really badly, and technically, you insisted on walking me home. So if you want a late-night chat, you’ll just have to deal with my braless-ness. ‘Kay?”
His eyes averted as she whisked the demonic device off. It landed on her table, skidded across the top, and fell to the floor on the other side.
“Maybe I should go,” he said without risking a glance at her, probably in case she took off her top next or something.
Stevie just wanted him to look at her and see her. The desperate need pressed down on her lungs, cutting off her air and narrowing her vision to only him. She’d wasted so much time and careless words with him. She’d squandered her chance with him by being completely wasted during the only time they’d had sex. It wasn’t fair, part of her screamed, while a more rational part said she was acting selfish. If she was a good person, she would let Cade look away and think they were just friends and th
at she needed space to work on her sobriety.
But really, she was just going crazy over here.
“Stevie?”
He rolled so many questions into her name. She heard them all at once. But the biggest one . . .
“What are we doing?” she asked before she told herself not to. Before she told herself she wasn’t allowed to.
From the other side of her island, Cade leaned against the granite counter and spread his hands across it, needing the support. His eyes searched the black veins and traced them to their inevitable end. “You’re sober now.”
“I am.”
“We’re doing this show together.”
“We are.”
He looked up at her. “I keep telling myself you need a friend, especially with Kyra going through her own stuff.”
Stevie’s grip tightened on her water, her throat incredibly dry, but she couldn’t move to bring the bottle up to her mouth and drink.
“Right?” he pressed. All his questions still floated around in his eyes, in the fine wrinkles along his dark lashes. The demo and construction at the show had turned the sinewy muscles in his forearms into ropes of steely flesh that flexed when he moved his fingers across the countertop, like he was struggling to hold on to something that kept slipping past his grip. She understood the feeling well.
“You’re killing me here,” he pressed when she didn’t respond, when the silence between them became a thing with sharp teeth.
