Mr. Fixer Upper

by Lucy Score

  His gaze traveled to Paige, hovering in the doorway just behind Louis as he filmed. She was beautiful. Not punchin-the-gut fashion model beautiful. She was no Meeghan Traxx, thank God. That was a mistake he’d never make again. That kind of beautiful came at a very steep price with very little return.

  Paige, on the other hand, was the kind of girl you wanted to take home to bed and would have no qualms inviting her to Sunday dinner at the parents’. She was real. Irony of ironies, he’d gotten into reality TV—the fakest thing in existence—and met someone he had real feelings for.

  He scrubbed his hand over his head and looked away. One night with the woman, and she apparently called a monopoly on his every waking thought. Would she try to bail on him after shooting wrapped for the season? Would he let her?

  ––—

  Reveal day was a different kind of chaos than all the construction shooting. They weren’t rushing to complete. They were frantic to capture every tear, every shocked expression, every delighted “thank you.” And when things weren’t accomplished in the first take, it was Paige’s job to keep the energy and excitement up so that subsequent takes rang true to viewers.

  Carina and Malia were en route according to Mel’s text. So they had twenty minutes of nail-biting tension on set, keeping the volunteer army cordoned off across the street with their handmade signs and exuberant enthusiasm. Paige had learned in the past that it was best to keep Gannon and Cat in the production truck or craft services tent until right before the family rolled up. Otherwise the crowd sometimes got a little too enthusiastic. Last season, two middle-aged women had jumped the barrier and tried to take Gannon’s t-shirt… while he was wearing it.

  Security on reveal day had beefed up since then, and Paige did her best to keep the energy high and the talent safe.

  She was checking her watch for the eighth time when her phone rang. It was the third call from her sister. She’d avoided the first two, sure that Lisa was just reaching out to give her a follow-up grilling on how her injuries were healing.

  She debated briefly and answered. “Hey, Lisa, now’s not a great time.” She said over the sound of an anxious crowd.

  “Do not hang up on me,” Lisa snapped. Her sister didn’t sound like her usual dispassionate self. She sounded… human. And excited.

  “What’s going on?” Paige asked, pressing the phone tighter to her ear to hear over the noise of the crowd.

  “Listen, you know how mother and I feel about your career choices,” her sister sighed as if she carried the weight of her sister’s disappointment every day. “But maybe there is something to it.”

  “Your approval means so much,” Paige said dryly.

  “Don’t be a brat. I’m trying to tell you something important.”

  “Then stop putting it in a thesis and cut to the chase. I swear medical school has ruined your ability to communicate.”

  “Sloane Kettering is starting a pediatric cancer trial, and I think Malia could be an ideal candidate.”

  “What?” Paige hadn’t meant to yell the word, but she wasn’t sure she’d heard her sister right.

  “Look, I follow Cat King’s blog—”

  “Why?” Paige interrupted.

  “Because you’re my sister, and I like knowing what you’re up to,” Lisa huffed. “Anyway, I saw the outtakes of Malia talking about her cancer. I passed it on to a colleague, Dr. Singh. He’s young but brilliant, and he’s got this trial that’s getting started here in New York. Anyway, long story short, the trial starts in three weeks, and we need to talk to Malia’s mother and doctors like five minutes ago.”

  Paige’s world blurred into a whirl of paint fumes and power tools. Words like stem cells and remission floated to her from far away.

  “Lis, this would be… incredible.”

  “Yeah. No kidding. Now give me the mother’s number.”

  “Geez, okay. Look, we’re getting ready to shoot right now, so Carina’s going to be pretty busy.”

  “Just get me ten minutes with her. Today, okay?”

  “Today. Yeah. Keep your phone on you.”

  “So are you sleeping with him?” Lisa asked, changing subjects as abruptly as a senior citizen changed lanes in Miami.

  “What? Who?”

  “Gannon King.”

  “I didn’t think TV gossip reached your bubble,” Paige muttered.

  “That’s definitely not a no.”

  “I’m kinda busy here.”

  “Mom’s certainly not thrilled with the idea, but if you’re going to date in that world, you could do worse,” Lisa said drolly.

  “I’ve gotta go, Lisa. I’ll call you later with Carina.”

  “Talk soon,” her sister signed off.

  Paige disconnected and hugged the phone to her chest. She deliberately ignored her sister’s interest in her sex life and chose to focus on the good news. If anyone deserved a miracle, it was the Dufours. This could be so much bigger than a nice place to call home. She felt like she was going to explode with excitement.

  A tug on the hem of her tank top had her jumping out of her skin.

  “Ashton!” Paige was delighted to see the little boy grinning up at her. Flanked by his parents, he was dwarfed by the huge bouquet of flowers he held.

  “Miss Paige, we brought you these,” he said, holding the bouquet up to her.

  “For me?” Paige buried her face in the lovely blooms.

  “We can never thank you enough for keeping Ashton safe,” his mother, a lovely brunette with a shy smile, told her. “If it weren’t for you…” she trailed off, and her husband slid an arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently.

  Ashton’s father, tall and lanky with his son’s blue eyes, smiled. “We’re indebted to you. If there’s anything you ever need in Portland, all you have to do is ask.”

  “Thank you. I’m… speechless,” Paige admitted.

  “You got a lot of boo-boos,” Ashton announced studying the visible bandages on her arms and legs. Paige wished she’d worn jeans.

  “Just some bumps and bruises,” she assured him.

  “Was I brave, Miss Paige? Mama says I was.” Ashton danced from foot to foot in new dinosaur sneakers.

  She crouched down in front of him. “You were very brave,” Paige agreed. “You stayed calm, and that made me feel calm, too.”

  He grinned and threw his arms around her neck, squishing the flowers between them. Paige laughed and returned the tight squeeze.

  “Five minutes out,” Andy announced over the headset. Paige released Ashton and stood up.

  “The Dufours are on their way. Are you staying for the reveal?”

  “We wouldn’t miss it,” Ashton’s dad promised. “Come on, buddy. Let’s get the signs for Malia ready.”

  They hustled off, leaving Paige with an armful of flowers and damp eyes.

  “If you go get the Kings, I’ll find some water for these,” Sam volunteered, appearing at her side.

  “You’re the best, Sam. You can never leave this show.” It was a threat she made weekly and interchangeably.

  He grinned, his Colgate smile blinding. “You say that to all the PAs.”

  She headed off to the craft service tent and found Gannon and Cat tossing popcorn into each other’s mouths across a table.

  “We’re ready for you guys,” Paige called.

  Cat caught a kernel with her mouth and shot her fists in the air. “Popcorn Mouth Catcher Champion!”

  Gannon tossed a handful at his sister. “I demand a rematch.”

  “The rematch can wait for a few hours,” Paige said with mock sternness, picking kernels out of Cat’s hair. “Meanwhile there’s a crowd of two hundred waiting to be dazzled by you two.”

  “Tough job,” Cat said, applying a shiny pink layer of lip gloss with a handheld mirror. “You ready, big brother?”

  “Let’s get this over with,” Gannon sighed. It was his trademark reveal day rally cry, and Paige had often joked she was going to get tshirts made with the saying on
it.

  He followed his sister out and gave Paige a smoldering look promising naked, sweaty things to come as he sauntered past.

  It was going to be a really good day.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The reveal went down in Gannon’s book as one of his favorites. Carina was in tears before he and Cat dropped the sheet unveiling the house. Malia was so excited she ran in circles until Paige had to catch her and coax her back into frame.

  When she saw her bedroom Malia was rendered completely speechless, which according to Carina had never happened in all her six years on the planet.

  They deserved it, in his opinion. The show always did a decent job of vetting the families, but the Dufours were a home run. He watched Carina and Malia thank every single crew member personally and knew they all felt the same way. That little girl and her strong-as-hell mom were the reason they’d come to the set early and stayed late, the reason they’d had more volunteers this week than on any other job. And he felt proud to be a part of it.

  He ducked out of the chaos inside the house. He wasn’t exactly a people person to begin with, and spending an entire week surrounded by bodies and questions and people needing things from him was draining… and annoying. He was looking forward to a few days of peace and quiet. But for now, he’d take the pockets of it where he could find it. And he could find it in the craft service tent. No one wanted cold coffee or stale breakfast pastries, so he helped himself and enjoyed the solitude, kicking back in an uncomfortable folding chair.

  His solitude was short-lived.

  “Gannon!” Malia poked her bald head covered by a pink ball cap into the tent. She was still carrying the Disney princess backpack she’d worn when Sam had delivered her to the set for the reveal.

  Gannon held up a donut. “Want some? What are you doing out here?”

  She skipped over to him cheerfully, and he sent up a silent “fuck you” to cancer. Malia grabbed the donut and took a healthy bite. “I came to say thank you.”

  Gannon laughed. “I think you already thanked me about a hundred times.”

  “Yeah, but that was around everybody, and there were cameras, and I didn’t know if you really heard me.”

  Smart kid, Gannon sighed to himself. “Well, I hear you just fine now.”

  She took another bite of donut and climbed into his lap. She was still at the age where adults were as much furniture as they were people. “I wanted to say thank you, ‘specially for my bed!”

  He riffed the bill of her hat. “You like it?” he asked. He’d wanted to get it just right for her.

  “It is seriously awesome,” she said, nodding fiercely. “The most coolest bed ever!”

  “What do you think of the rest of the house?” he asked.

  “It’s so different.” Her brown eyes widened. “Mama cried when she saw the kitchen. But she said it was a good cry this time.”

  “You two deserve it,” Gannon assured her. “You’ve done a lot of good for a lot of people.”

  “Mama says if we raise enough money, some day little kids won’t get sick anymore.”

  Gannon felt his throat tighten. “Yeah. That will be a good day.”

  “I made you somethin’,” she said, sliding off of his lap and shrugging out of the little backpack. “When we were in Washington, D.C., I worked on this.”

  She handed over a rolled up piece of paper tied with a pink ribbon. He unrolled it and felt his throat get tighter still. She’d drawn him, or what he assumed was him, flying above a crayon-sketched mansion with smiling stick figures representing Malia and her mother on the purple front lawn.

  “What’s that?” he asked pointing.

  “That’s your cape. ‘Cause you’re a super hero, and you saved our house,” Malia danced in place.

  In painstaking capital letters, she’d written “HERO” across the top. She pointed to it. “See that? H-E-R-O. That’s for hero because you’re mine.”

  Well, shit. His vision blurred, and he couldn’t do anything to dislodge the lump in his throat.

  “You’re mine, kid,” he said, his voice gruff and strained.

  “I haven’t even done anything yet. I’m just six,” she said frowning. “You saved our whole entire house.”

  “You’re a hero by example,” he explained. She shrugged.

  “Are you happy crying?” she asked, touching his arm, her eyes warm with concern.

  He nodded and gave her another hug.

  “Thank you for my house, Gannon.”

  “You’re welcome, pipsqueak.”

  ––—

  Paige’s throat tightened, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. She’d come looking for Gannon for a couple of quick photos and found him sharing a sweet moment with Malia inside the craft service tent.

  “You want me to…” Tony hefted his camera and jerked his chin in Gannon’s direction. Paige shook her head.

  “Nah. Why don’t you go get one last pan of the master now that it’s cleared out,” she said quietly.

  “You got it, boss,” Tony winked and wandered off.

  Paige felt the prickle on her skin and knew Gannon was watching her. Busted. She turned in the doorway of the tent and met his warm gaze.

  Malia released Gannon from the hug and skipped toward Paige. “Hi Paige! I’m gonna go find Mama!” she announced cheerily.

  “I think she’s upstairs,” Paige told her with a wink.

  Gannon yanked the ever-present red bandana from his back pocket and swiped it over his eyes.

  “Could have pocketed five K,” he said, shoving the bandana back in his pocket and leaning back against the scarred folding table.

  “How did you know about that?” Paige demanded.

  “Eventually Cat finds out everything everyone ever said or did and she blabs to me about it whether I want to hear it or not,” Gannon complained.

  “I wasn’t ever going to do it.” Paige said defensively.

  He shook his head. “Didn’t say you were.” He paused, working his way through the lingering emotions. “Why didn’t you?”

  She gave him a small smile. “Because, on the off chance that you did prove to be human, I didn’t think it would be nice to exploit that.”

  “It’s not that I don’t care,” he said, searching for the right words. “It’s that it’s hard to connect with people through all the layers of production. I’m supposed to feel something for people that I meet very briefly and have coached, sometimes scripted, interactions with. That’s not how I work. That’s not how life works.”

  “You need a more authentic environment to make a connection.”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. He stretched his arm out to encompass the site. “We’re putting on a show. At the end of the day, that’s what we’re doing. Maybe we’re helping someone, but what it all boils down to is we’re selling some advertiser’s product. It’s hard to drill down from that and find actual human beings.”

  “I know,” she nodded, crossing to him. They’d both turned in their mics to Felicia an hour ago, and with no audience, Paige felt safe sliding her arms around his waist.

  She felt him tense against her and then relax. He rested his chin on top of her head. His arms banded around her, holding her tight.

  “I wasn’t ever going to try to collect on the bounty,” Paige told him again. She needed him to know that.

  “I know. You’re not like the rest of the suits.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “What are you doing with your days off?”

  “Laundry and sleeping,” she smirked. “You?”

  “I was thinking maybe you’d like to do your laundry and sleeping at my place.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Gannon’s place was a one-bedroom fourth-floor walkup in a squat brick building two blocks away from the factory his family had renovated into King Construction headquarters and three from his beloved nonni’s house.

  “This is not what I expected,” Paige announced when Gannon shoved the key in the lock of the heavy wo
od door. She was nervous, which embarrassed her.

  “Don’t knock it,” Gannon smirked. “It has a bed and laundry facilities.”

  “I don’t mean that. I mean why don’t you live in some concrete and glass loft somewhere downtown?”

  “My family’s here,” he said, giving the door a shove.

  The apartment was small, but Paige could see touches of Gannon everywhere. He made much better use of the space than she and Becca did in their crappy little apartment. A battered leather couch faced the massive flat screen mounted to the wall. It was flanked by custom built-ins that housed a sparse collection of books. The coffee table was obviously a King original with its thick wooden top and hefty metal legs.

  The kitchen was no bigger than a medium-sized closet with a skinny L of countertop. Pocket doors painted a glossy black led to the only bedroom. There were no plants, no homey touches or pictures.

  “Are you a minimalist?” Paige teased, crossing her arms and studying the view through the three windows in the living room.

  He gave the pocket doors a shove and dumped her bag on the serviceable navy spread on the bed.

  “Smart ass,” he said without any heat.

  “I don’t like to have to worry about a bunch of crap when I’m on the road so much of the year,” he shrugged.

  Paige crossed to him and slid her arms around his neck. “I’m just teasing. I’ll show you my place, and you’ll get the joke. It’s just a dumping ground between shoots. We don’t even have a coffee table. My bed is my desk.”

  “You’re nervous,” he accused, running his hands down her back to rest on the curves of her hips.

  She nodded. “We’ve never not been working. I don’t know how not to work,” she confessed.

  He blew out a breath. “I hadn’t thought about that. Consider this though. If we can get along on set with deadlines and drama and bullshit, don’t you think we can enjoy a few days of peace and quiet together?”

  She bit her lip. “I want to say yes, but it’s us. We thrive on deadlines and drama and, yes, bullshit.”