Domestic Do-over

by Kate McMurray

Travis’s eyes went wide. “Do you?” His tone was angry.

  Shit. “No, of course not.” Although Brandon had always been quiet about that part of himself. Even prior to working on Dream Home, he’d kept under the radar. Sure, he’d gone to a few gay bars, but he’d never been to a Pride parade, never engaged much with gay culture. And maybe that was something he had to work out with himself, but he didn’t feel like now, with this new show on the line, was the time to do much self-exploration.

  And there was his father in his head again. Do you really think anyone wants to do business with a fairy? No one will take you seriously.

  Brandon knew that was wrong, that it was hateful and homophobic and out of touch with how most people thought these days, but he still struggled to shake free of it. John Chase had been overjoyed the day his son married Kayla, even though he’d wanted a big wedding instead of a city hall ceremony. Pleasing his father had become a habit with Brandon, one that was very hard to let go of.

  Except he really wanted to be with Travis.

  Brandon never would have known Travis was gay if they hadn’t kissed that first time. He almost said as much, but he already knew Travis would be offended. And looking around at Travis’s space, it was clear Travis wasn’t shy about much. There was a little rainbow flag sticking out of a pencil holder on top of his dresser, photos of him with various men—friends? lovers?—in frames all over the apartment, and there were books on LGBT history in the shelving unit.

  Brandon had loved doing Dream Home. He and Kayla were good enough actors that they could be persuasively affectionate on screen. He was successful, he was popular, and the show had been John Chase approved.

  Had he really thought a fake marriage with Kayla was sustainable? That a time wouldn’t come when one or the other of them wanted to have a real relationship… with someone else? Had he really thought the charade could just go on indefinitely?

  What a goddamned mess he’d gotten himself in.

  “You’ve spent a lot of time in the closet,” Travis said. “I understand why you felt you had to, but let’s be clear—it was a personal choice. No one held a gun to your head and made you be on television.”

  Brandon recognized that he’d stepped in it. He did sometimes feel like being gay was a character flaw; he had to hide it in order to keep his job. “No, but just as you want to keep this job, I want to keep mine.” He blew out a breath. “All I meant was that the Restoration Channel has built itself on a platform of showcasing charismatic heterosexual couples who make over houses. I am not heterosexual, and I’m worried that if you and I get caught together, that could cause trouble for me with the network.”

  “Ah.” Travis scratched his chin. Brandon could sense he was still angry. “Well, we’ll just have to keep our hands to ourselves when cameras are around.”

  “I’ve pissed you off.” Brandon could sense from Travis’s tone that Brandon had said something wrong.

  “No. Well, yeah, you kind of did. It’s… I’ve never dated a closeted guy before. It’s a lot to think about. I wouldn’t have been all over you in public anyway because that’s not my style, but I take your point. We each have something to lose here, I guess.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. But know that I’m not shy about who I am. If anyone asks, I’ll tell them. If someone on set gets a whiff of the fact that I’m a gay man, well, that’s fine with me. What can they even do? It’s not like my sexuality affects how I do my job.”

  “That’s fair.”

  “But if you’re going to be paranoid about us being caught together, maybe it’s better to end things now.”

  Brandon shook his head. That wasn’t what he wanted at all. He’d just wanted to let Travis know to use some discretion, but now he’d opened this whole can of worms. And though he’d love to be able to say that if they got caught, he could live with the consequences, he kept picturing Harwood’s and Virginia’s faces when they got the news. “I want to keep seeing you,” he said. “We just won’t make out on camera.”

  “I think I can hold myself back.”

  TRAVIS FLOPPED back on the bed. He didn’t mind pretending they were just coworkers for the sake of the cameras, but now that he was seeing the depths of Brandon’s insecurity, he was starting to feel less confident that this could work out.

  Then again, Brandon was in his bed, albeit with a sheet covering the good bits of him. Could this be a fling the length of the job? A way to add a little extra fun to a job that he liked but that involved a lot of long hours and difficult work?

  “You’re mad.”

  Travis rubbed his face. “I’m not mad. I’m just trying to figure out what this is.”

  “Do we have to define it right now?”

  “No. We don’t. I can play dodge-the-cameras with you for a while.” After that, who knew? They’d only hooked up twice—it was probably too soon to put much thought into that, anyway.

  “All right. By the way, Restoration told me about another house in Victorian Flatbush. This one’s on Rugby Road, just a couple of blocks from where we are now. It’s just as decrepit as the Argyle Road house. But here’s a stroke of luck. Jessica Benton is buying the house. We’re just loaning her our expertise and doing the work to flip it.”

  Who was Jessica Benton? Travis tried to connect the name to a face in his mind. “The actress?”

  “Yeah. So at least this one would not put the financial burden on me. I thought it could be a good project to overlap with the Argyle Road house.”

  “So you’re really fronting the majority of the money for this renovation?” Travis knew that intellectually, but he’d assumed that the Restoration Channel was absorbing a lot of the risk too. No wonder Brandon was so on edge.

  “Yep. Well, my father’s money. I’ve been sitting on an inheritance in search of a project. Basically, Restoration and I each put in half the money for the house, and they gave me a renovation budget up to a certain amount, so that when we sell the house, we’ll split the profits fifty-fifty. But anything above the renovation budget is mine to cover, and we’re about a hundred thousand dollars past Restoration’s limit.”

  “Hence your concern about budget. Although I gotta be honest, the kinds of figures you’re throwing around… it’s like, what even is money?”

  “I know. Like, woe is me, I’m rich, what problems could I even have?”

  Although Travis did judge Brandon a bit for his rich-people problems, it wasn’t hard to see how much this was stressing Brandon out. But what was really going on here? The revelation that Brandon had invested money he’d inherited from his father was enlightening, although Travis didn’t completely understand what it told him. Brandon had a domineering father who didn’t allow for failure. That likely weighed on Brandon as he invested it in this particular project. Brandon had constructed an image of himself that he thought would create the most success. Brandon was willing to sacrifice a lot for that success, if his marriage to Kayla was anything to go by; he needed to maintain a certain image, and he was willing to forego his own happiness—his own identity—to get what he wanted. This was ambition Travis had never encountered before, and it intimidated him.

  So, all this was kind of fucked-up, but underneath it all, Brandon was a damaged man who had likely lost track of exactly who he was. No one in his life had ever loved him for who he was, just for what he could achieve. No wonder Brandon was so worried.

  So, the question was… why did Travis think he was the man right for this task? Why did he think he could offer Brandon the love he needed? Travis usually ran from these kinds of emotional entanglements.

  But Brandon was a good man despite everything. He was smart, he worked hard, and he’d built a real estate brand all his own without relying on his famous father. Given his childhood, Brandon could have grown up to be a monster, but Brandon’s moral compass pointed in the right direction. Brandon might be confused about who he was, but he wanted to do the right thing. He wanted the people in his life to be
happy—Kayla was Exhibit A—and he wanted to take old, run-down houses and make them safe, comfortable places for families to live. He had a good soul and he deserved love.

  Travis smoothed his hand over Brandon’s chest, and they snuggled together on the bed.

  “I didn’t mean to vent all over you,” Brandon said. “I kind of dug my own grave here. I wasn’t ready to sign on to do a show by myself, and I didn’t think it through. All I knew when I signed the contract was that I loved the house and wanted to fix it.”

  “So focus on that for a while. Think of the house first before all the other bullshit. If you love the house, fix it, because you know how to do that, and then trust that everything else will work itself out.”

  Brandon closed his eyes. “Good advice, but….”

  “Feel free to vent to me.” Travis was surprised to realize he meant it. Getting involved with Brandon seemed like asking for trouble, but he… liked Brandon. A lot. And life wasn’t always rational. Maybe Travis wasn’t the right person to love Brandon the way he deserved to be loved… but maybe he was.

  “Thank you,” said Brandon. He kissed the top of Travis’s head. “I’ll pull it together soon.”

  “Once we get this first house, everything should go smoother.” Travis said that with more confidence than he felt.

  “Here’s hoping.” Brandon took a deep breath. “God, it’s like I’ve opened a vein and bled all over you. You must think I’m really fucked-up.”

  Travis let out a little burble of laughter. “I mean, yeah, I kind of do, but I think I understand why.”

  “I don’t suppose you have some deep, dark secret you want to tell me, just to even things out.”

  Travis didn’t have many secrets, but he took Brandon’s point. Brandon had shared a whole lot of himself, probably because he was so stressed out, he couldn’t hold it in anymore. Travis hadn’t shared as much. Maybe Brandon was asking because he didn’t feel like he knew Travis very well.

  “Uh, well….” Travis tried to come up with something. “Maybe just ask me something. I’m a pretty open book.”

  “Okay. Hmm.” Brandon appeared to think for a moment. “Okay. I somehow doubt renovating homes was your lifelong ambition. What did you want to be when you were a kid?”

  “An architect.” That was an easy thing to answer, at least. “Or an artist, maybe. But I liked building practical things more than I liked painting landscapes, if you know what I mean. I built a dollhouse for my sister out of Legos.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah. But then I got to college and figured out pretty quickly that it wasn’t for me. I became a licensed, bonded carpenter instead, then sort of stumbled into renovation work. Mike and Sandy’s company was looking for someone to build some shelving on one of their projects, so I applied for the job, and while I was there, I helped out with all kinds of other things. Ultimately I got my contractor license.”

  “A carpenter.”

  “I like woodworking. It’s one of those things that started as a hobby and became my whole job for a bit. I made this headboard, actually.”

  Travis pointed at it. The whole bed frame had been an early project, something he’d done in his parents’ garage before he’d moved out for good. It was simple, two posts connected by a panel into which he’d carved some swirly designs, but he’d always really liked it.

  “You made this?” Brandon asked.

  “I made the chairs over there too.”

  Brandon looked at where Travis was pointing. “Wow. I wouldn’t have guessed. That’s some really strong work. So if I decided I wanted some built-ins in the family room instead of a wallpaper accent wall….”

  “Basic shelving? I could do that in a day.”

  “Good to know. I’m filing that away for later.” Brandon gazed at Travis’s body. “Tell me about this tattoo.” He tapped the art deco design that wrapped around the top of Travis’s arm, near his shoulder.

  Travis nearly laughed; Brandon had randomly chosen the tattoo that would be easiest to explain. “It was something I drew when I was, I dunno, nineteen? Kind of an homage to my grandpa, who was a riveter on the Empire State Building. But it was also kind of a nod to architecture styles I like.”

  “It’s cool. I like it.”

  “That’s not much, as far as secrets go, I guess. But I don’t have anything big lurking behind the curtains or anything. I had a pretty normal childhood. My parents are supportive. I’ve never been married or really found anyone I’ve wanted to marry yet. I dated the Power paper towel guy from the commercials, but he dumped me for a younger model, and I don’t think that really counts as a secret anyway.”

  “Wait, the deep-voiced beardy guy? ‘Powerful enough for your toughest messes’? That guy?”

  “Yeah. We were together for, like, three months a few years ago… before all that fame went to his head.”

  Brandon laughed. “I hope I’m not flattering myself when I say you definitely have a type.”

  Travis shrugged. Maybe he did. Brandon had some similar lumberjack qualities to Travis’s ex, but in a more polished way. “I mean, come on. You can’t throw a rock in New York without hitting an aspiring actor. And you’re on TV. So dating the paper towel guy isn’t that remarkable.”

  “So what you’re saying is, you’re boring and well-adjusted.”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Do boring, well-adjusted guys get piercings and tattoos?”

  “If they are doing it in a weak attempt to rebel against their parents, yes. Mom wasn’t even mad I got my ears pierced. She thought it was cute.”

  Brandon laughed. Then his face turned serious again. “I don’t know what my father would have done if I’d gotten a piercing or tattoo. The thought never entered my mind.”

  “Middle child syndrome, I guess,” said Travis. “My older brother was the first, and my little sister was the baby, so, you know. Look at me!”

  “Does your mother know you have a tattoo on your hip?” Brandon ran a finger over the star that was the result of a dare when Travis was twenty-three.

  “Nope. And we will not be telling her.”

  “So you do have a secret.”

  Travis laughed. “Sure.”

  Brandon lay with his hands behind his head and stared up at the ceiling. After a long moment he said, “You know, after season two of Dream Home, a Restoration Channel executive floated the idea of how great it would be if Kayla and I had a baby. When the idea grew legs among the showrunners, Kayla lied and said we’d tried but were having fertility issues, and it was too hurtful to talk about, so she wanted people to stop.”

  “Wow. They told you to have a kid for ratings?”

  “Basically, yeah. Not Garrett Harwood, though. His predecessor was the one who made that suggestion.”

  “I hope Harwood doesn’t get any ideas in his head like that for our show.”

  “That doesn’t seem to be his style, thankfully.”

  “I like you and all, but I’m not having your baby, no matter how much it brings up our ratings.”

  Brandon laughed and hit Travis with a pillow.

  Chapter Eleven

  BRANDON WAITED as Kayla climbed into the SUV the network had provided. She looked around. “No camera?”

  “Nope. I asked them not to ride in the car. They don’t need to see us drive around. We’re meeting them at the store.”

  “How long is the drive?”

  “Depends how bad traffic is on the BQE. The GPS says fifteen minutes.”

  It took twenty, but by the time they got to the tile and flooring store, the crew already had cameras set up. The store was opening a couple of hours early just for them so that they could browse without being interrupted much.

  “Go, go, tiles!” Kayla said.

  The selection inside the store was overwhelming. Brandon had never been here before, but Kayla seemed to know her way around.

  “I scoped this place out the last time I was in New York. It’s supposed to have a great selection an
d reasonable prices. They’ve got the standard things, but also a lot of really unique items. Do you have a particular goal here?”

  “To not make my house look ridiculous?”

  Kayla rolled her eyes. “We’re agreed that we’re not doing anything basic like white subway tile, right? We need flooring, we need a kitchen backsplash, and we need tile for the bathrooms.”

  Brandon pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “Travis made a list.”

  “He seems very organized. Is he a good project manager?”

  It took every acting skill Brandon had not to react to that question. “Yeah, he’s very good. He’s kept us on schedule so far, which was a nearly impossible task.”

  “Let’s deal with flooring first, because that’s an easy choice. How do you feel about tile in the kitchen?”

  Kayla and Brandon walked through the store, picking out flooring for the kitchen and dining room—Brandon was still leaning toward carpet for the second floor, mostly for budget reasons, and wood for the rest of the main floor, which they’d have to buy at a different store—and tile for all three bathrooms. Kayla had talked Brandon into making a lavender-and-white powder room with an accent wall done in a gingham print wallpaper she’d seen in a magazine, and Brandon wasn’t totally sold—he worried it was too feminine—but he was willing to go along with her choice for the gray floor tiles.

  What remained, finally, was the kitchen. Brandon had already talked to his supplier about ordering the craftsman-style cabinets everyone had agreed on, and the next stop on this odyssey with Kayla was to pick out the quartz slab for the countertops. So now it was just the backsplash. Kayla pointed to a blue mosaic tile that Brandon thought was hideous.

  “Absolutely not,” he said. “Those random metallic tiles are all wrong for this design.”

  “Yeah… but it’s pretty, don’t you think?”

  “No.”

  Kayla laughed. “All right. You agree we’re not doing plain subway tiles, though, right?”

  “Not white subway. I think blue would look good with the cabinets we ordered. We could do larger glass tiles or gray subway tiles. Or, actually….”