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.”

“And what’s my problem?” He inwardly cringed when his voice squeaked like he was back in middle school in the midst of puberty.

“You’re too easy.” She turned away, a grin playing at her lips. “If you’re not careful, people will take advantage of you.”

Too late for that.

He checked the time on his phone. It was getting late. Especially if he wanted to find something other than fast food for dinner. He glanced at the walls and could admit he wasn’t doing the room any favors by working that night.

He stepped down from the ladder to close the paint cans and cover the tray.

She watched him closely. “You callin’ it?”

“For tonight.” He hammered down the lid on the can. “I’d suggest you take off, too. All of this will still be here in the morning, and we’ll be the better for getting a decent meal and a good night’s sleep.”

She looked wistfully around the room. He knew she wished there was still time in the day to make everything as perfect as it had been before the fire. But even she recognized they couldn’t do it until the last of the furniture and artwork arrived Monday morning. “You’re right. We can finish painting over the weekend.”

With one final survey of the room, they made quick work of tidying up everything that couldn’t sit overnight.

On their way out, she inspected the wall one more time. “You know . . .”

“What?” He wasn’t quite able to keep the tension out of his voice. “I’ll fix it in the morning. It’ll look great. I promise.”

She lifted an eyebrow. “I was going to say it actually looks better now that it’s dry. You do good work.”

Oh. His shoulders slumped, and the argument he was fixing to have went away. “Sorry.”

“I deserve to be yelled at. I haven’t made your life very easy the past few days.”

“You’re just trying to get the job done.” And because he couldn’t seem to help himself, he took her hand. “Want to grab some dinner?”

Tearing her eyes away from their linked fingers, she met his gaze and nodded. “Sure. But I’m buying.” Wilder geared up to argue, but she shook her head. “You can get me back next time.”

He still wanted to protest. This was Texas. He was raised to believe that a lady shouldn’t pay for much. It’s just not how it was done. But from what he knew about Bailey, the usual wouldn’t work. He had to know when to pick a battle and when to let the lady buy him a beer.

Jaw still clenched, he nodded. “I’ll get you next time.”

It wasn’t a statement but a promise. There was going to be a next time. He was going to make damn sure of that.

***

They met at a crowded bar and grill near the motel. Bailey had been there a couple of times with Felix and the guys from the crew, but it was a different experience coming with Wilder. When she went with the guys, they’d been some of the rowdiest and loudest patrons in the restaurant. While the server took their orders, they’d shouted over each other to be heard, spilling embarrassing stories and secrets from their past job sites and nights out on the town. They’d received a mixture of dirty looks and curious glances. Her cheeks had burned red from laughing—and cringing—throughout the whole evening.

With Wilder, they’d slipped in quietly. He had a baseball cap pulled low over his face, his posture unimposing and unnoticeable. When he was on TV, it was hard to notice anything other than him. He seemed bigger than life. Now, in this place, he sank into the background. Unless a person looked closely—and were a huge fan of the show—they wouldn’t see much of a difference between him and anyone else.

She imagined he wanted to disappear. Though he’d been gracious with fans the few times he was recognized outside of a house or in a store, it had to be tiring to always be on.

She also guessed he didn’t want to be recognized having dinner with a woman who wasn’t his fake TV wife. She was fine with that. She wasn’t exactly dying to be seen as the other woman.

After the chaos they’d dealt with in the past week, it was nice to have an evening of peace. In theory. While none of the other people crowded around them were aware they were in the presence of a celebrity, it was nearly impossible for Bailey to focus on anything else.

She’d thought he was going to kiss her back there at the house. What’s more, she’d wanted it. When he hadn’t, she’d been tempted to feign clumsiness and trip over some of the tarp to fall into his arms just to see what would happen.

She probably would’ve ended up face-planting. They would’ve spent the night in the emergency room while she got stitches and he explained everything to Renee and the rest of the crew.

Given that possibility, she decided a night of silently lusting for the man seated across from her was a better option. At the very least it was probably less painful—though only a little.

She ordered a tuna melt with fries—she deserved them—and he chose a grilled chicken salad with the dressing on the side. She said nothing, but he registered the interest on her face.

As soon as they were alone, he reclined against the back of the booth. “Go ahead.”

She played dumb. It was her only defense against asking him a question that was more than a little rude. “Go ahead and what?”

“Go ahead and ask me why I ordered a salad and a light beer.”

“You can order whatever you like. It’s not my business.”

She was just going to look like a little piggy eating her buttered sandwich and a side of fried potatoes with a bottle of hard lemonade, but whatever. She was allowed to splurge on a Friday night.

He didn’t say anything else but watched her expectantly. Darn it, he was right. She did want to know. “Fine. What’s with the rabbit food?”

“Because I’m a vain, self-conscious person.” His eyes lit up. “You’ve watched the first season, right?” He waited for her nod. “Well, you may have noticed I was a few pounds heavier then. Not a lot,” he added quickly. “But I had enough of a beer belly from eating like crap all the time.”

“And you didn’t like the way you looked on-screen?”

“That and people were kind of dicks about it on the message boards.” His jaw ticked. “There were whole threads with people posting comments like, ‘How did a slob like Wilder land a smokin’ babe like Waverly?’ and ‘There’s no way these two will last. She’s a ten who married a five.’”

She cringed. “That’s horrible. People can be such assholes. Especially when they’re hiding behind their computers and fake usernames.” On impulse, she covered his hand and squeezed. “You shouldn’t let a bunch of losers, who probably have no room to talk, bully you into eating salads the rest of your life.”

He shrugged. “They weren’t completely wrong. I wasn’t taking very good care of myself. I had a little girl, and I started thinking about how my bad eating habits probably weren’t doing me any favors if I wanted to be around a long time to take care of her.”

Her heart thudded a little faster. It was a struggle to draw a breath good enough to ask, “You did it for Virginia?”

God, this guy was so sweet, she might be sick.

“Well . . . that was part of it.” He flipped his hand over and part of her wished he’d reach across the table and link fingers with her again, like he had outside the house. “Mostly, I wanted to look good in HD. I felt like a five when I met some of the other guys on the channel.”

“Hello, Mr. Vanity.” She shook her head. “So, we’ve established that you’ve spent the past few years living on salads, green smoothies, and long runs. How else have you spent this time?”

“Do you mean have I been spending it alone, like a sad sap, while Waverly dates every man she wants?”

Way to read between the lines there, buddy. “Maybe I wasn’t asking about sex.” Pervert. “Maybe I wondered if you’d worked on any side projects of your own.”

“But you were asking about sex, weren’t you?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “It’s a reasonable question.”

“Fine.” She folded her arms on the table. “Yes, I was asking about that, but not for the reason you think.”

“Pity. I was thinking you were doing a little digging to see if this,” he motioned between them, “would be worth your while. It would, by the way. I haven’t, in fact, been living like a monk. I’m sure I’d blow your mind.”

She rolled her eyes. “I take back what I said before. You aren’t vain. You’re an egomaniac and you must be stopped.”

“You wound me.” He dramatically covered his heart with his hands. “Why don’t we stop tiptoeing around each other? Just ask me what you want to know. I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.” She shifted in her seat. “How have you guys managed to be so discreet all these years? How have you both maintained a public persona while living another life privately?”

“I think you’re operating under the impression that our celebrity is on the same level as a rock star.” He shrugged. “Unless we’re in the right setting—a hardware store or in front of a dilapidated building—most people don’t really recognize us. I’m sure the corporate suits wish that wasn’t so, but we’re not universally famous.”

“But someone has to recognize you from time to time.” She glanced around the bar, where no one paid them any attention. “It’s a long time to keep up a ruse.”

“It is.” He scratched the back of his neck. “We’re careful. I haven’t been a saint all this time, but I am selective about who I’m with.”

“Any women from your crews?”

“No, not yet.” He offered a wry grin. “Oddly enough, Waverly doesn’t have to be so careful. Most men see her as a beautiful face, but she’s not one they recognize.”

“That doesn’t quite seem fair.”

“I’m guessing both of our mamas have told us that life isn’t always fair. In the grand scheme of things, mine isn’t so bad.”

That was Wilder, she supposed. Able to be practical yet positive all in one statement.

His grin turned playful. “Okay, my turn to pick your brain.”

“Okay . . .”

“What’s the deal with your Design Network hate?”

“I never said I hated—”

“Let’s cut the bullshit, Bailey Honey. This is a safe space.” He winked to let her know he was teasing. “There has to be a reason you don’t like the shows.”

“I explained it in my interview.”

“You gave the Cliff’s Notes. I want the full story.”

Of course he did. The problem was she didn’t know quite sure how to put it into words. She took a sip of her beer, mulling it over while he patiently waited.

“Most people watching these shows don’t know everything that goes in to it.”

“You’ll get no argument from me there.”

“You have some fans who understand parts of it. Like, they know the homeowners probably already bought one of the houses before the cameras arrived to film the shopping process. And obviously, people know the work takes longer than the thirty minutes allotted on-screen.”

“Obviously. So where does that get to you?”

“I guess even though people know it isn’t real—even though they’ve suspended reality to watch this supposed reality TV show—I don’t like that it’s mostly smoke and mirrors.”

“Isn’t most of what you see on TV?”

“Yes, but a TV show like Law and Order isn’t trying to pretend it’s anything else but a fantasy. On these shows, we’re creating an illusion.”

“And you don’t like illusions.”

“No. I don’t. I just wish people would be who they say they are. I think there’d be fewer hurt feelings and broken hearts that way.”

He appeared ready to follow up, but the server arrived with their meals, ending the discussion. They carried on a lighter conversation while he nibbled on his salad and she stuffed her face. She found herself laughing—more than she would’ve imagined given the serious nature of their earlier talk.

“So . . .”

“So,” he repeated, a hint of a grin playing at the edges of his lips, almost like he was waiting to see where she took this next.

“Tell me something about yourself.”

It wasn’t terribly original, but it was a start. Despite working together every day, she didn’t know that much about Wilder the person. It was a safe subject, the sort of topic a couple of people who were just friends would cover.

Of course, it was also a subject that a couple on their first date might broach, too, but that was hardly her fault that there was overlap. For his part, if Wilder found any fault in her request, he showed no signs of it.

“Well, I’m originally from Texas. I played a little baseball in high school, then moved to New York—”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “That’s the sort of information I could find out in a Google search or in a past episode of the show. Tell me something I won’t know. Maybe something no one knows.”

“Something no one knows?”

She lifted a shoulder. “Unless the world already knows everything there is to know about Wilder Aldrich.”

She highly doubted that was the case. He might still be a virtual mystery to her, but she could tell there was more to Wilder than the person people saw on TV. In the past weeks, she’d already experienced that for herself how many times?

“Something no one knows,” he said again, this time as a statement.

He tapped his fingers absently on the scarred table. It was oak—real, if she had to guess. It had seen better days, but that only gave it more character. It hid the conversations and secrets of hundreds of meetings of old friends, new dates, and every other person who had broken bread and spilled beer over it. If the restaurant’s owner hired her to give the place a facelift, she might change out the lighting and throw some paint on the walls. She wouldn’t touch the tables, though. They held too many stories. It would be a shame to toss them all out for the sake of aesthetics.

Plus, when paired with some other updates, it would give the whole place a shabby chic feel.

“It can be anything,” she suggested when he still hadn’t answered. “It doesn’t have to be earth-shattering or exciting. Just something about you—the real you.”

“Not the ‘as-seen-on-TV’ Wilder?”

He was funny in real life. He was on TV, too, but that was more in a campy or cheesy sort of way. The real Wilder was funny, too, but in a drier sort of way she found all too appealing.

“Wait. I’ve got something.”

She leaned forward. “Go on.”

“You know those magazines they have on airplanes? The in-flight ones they keep in the seatback pockets?”

“Yes?” At least she did in theory if not in actual experience. Her one-and-only airplane trip she’d been too excited by everything happening outside the window, she hadn’t paid much attention to the amenities afforded beyond the glass of ginger ale and the dry cookie a flight attendant had plied her with at some point midflight.

“Most people only read them in a casual way—or not at all. But I love them.”

“You love in-flight magazines?” It wasn’t exactly the most eye-opening or exciting tidbit, but she supposed she’d opened herself up for it when she’d told him it could be bland.

“They’re one of my favorite things to read. They’re full of the most random information and factoids.” If he didn’t look so sincere as he said it, she’d wonder if he was pulling her leg or punishing her for trying to get him to open up. “Like, on the flight to Austin last month, I read an in-depth article about how Lincoln has quickly become one of the capitals for start-ups. They call places like that the Silicon Prairie. I don’t know when I’ll ever have to know that. But maybe someday I’ll be talking to someone from Nebraska—”

“Or you’ll be a contestant on Celebrity Jeopardy!”

“Exactly, and knowing that kind of random trivia will help me win the Daily Double or at least be able to make some kind of small talk.”

She almost laughed at his earnest excitement, but smiled inwardly instead. It was kind of adorable, actually, watching him get so pumped talking about a complimentary trade publication. It was endearing in a nerdy sort of way that made him all the more human.

“So, tell me. What other random info can you school me on?”

He launched into a story about an article on the link between earthquakes, volcanoes, and tornadoes and the concerns scientists have with how fracking has become another way for mankind to leave a negative impact on the environment. That reminded him about how she’d studied environmental sustainability in construction and design while she was in school, which carried the conversation well through a round of drinks and their first bites of dinner.

His interest in her master’s project—in her education and career aspirations in general—emboldened her to ask more questions about him.

By the time they’d finished eating, she was finding it harder and harder to ignore his hands—and the strength she knew was in them. As she watched him trace the condensation on the bottle of beer, she wondered what it would feel like to have those same strong but gentle hands move on her. The thought sent a shiver of delight down her back and a flush of embarrassment to her cheeks.

If she wasn’t careful, she could be in real, serious danger where this man was concerned. And she was almost sure she was ready to see what would happen if she gave in to the urge to discover what would happen if she played with that fire.

With everything they’d discussed, they were still dancing around the issue weighing on both of their minds. What were they going to do about the sparks between them? She’d tried pretending the air didn’t sizzle when they were together. But it was impossible. If they were going to keep working with each other for the next few months, they had to make some decisions. Were they going to keep coasting, pretending it wasn’t going to happen, and wait for the day when that spark blew up? Or were they going to give in to it now and see where it went?

She knew what she wanted. Especially now that she knew a no strings attached relationship could happen. They could spend some time together, enjoy each other, and move on from it once they’d run their course. It was kind of perfect.

“Wilder?”

He leaned forward. “Yes?”

“I understand what’s at stake here.” She took a deep breath through her nose to settle her nerves. “And I understand what happens when the season ends.”

His stare darkened. “Do you?”

She nodded. “I can take it for what it is and enjoy it while it lasts. If you can.”

The country tune wailing over the speakers died out. The bar fell silent a second before the voices around them started up again, louder. He swallowed hard. His eyes wandered to his half-full bottle of beer before coming back to hers.

“Here’s the deal,” he said softly. “I can’t be the man you take home for Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, I can’t go to your mama’s for any dinner, really. I can’t be someone who holds your hand at the movies or takes you out for candlelit dinners. I can’t give you anything long-term. No matter how much we might wish otherwise, after filming wraps, I probably won’t be here anymore. Not in this state, and maybe not even this country. That would be it.”

“Why can’t that be enough?”

“Would it be?”

Her hands curled into fists on the table. “Who says I want any of those things you just listed?”

“Most women do.”

Her lips clamped shut, but only for a second. She had too much to say to keep quiet long. “Two things. One, way to generalize a whole gender based on tropes you’ve undoubtedly watched on TV or in the movies.”

His cheek twitched. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not. Anyway, two, I don’t want any of those things. I couldn’t do them for anyone else, so why would I expect them from you?”

The strums of a guitar began again, forcing Wilder to speak louder. “Why not?”

“They’re not for me.” Her shoulders rose up and down. “It’s not that I think those trappings aren’t nice for some people. But in my experience, they’re not for everyone.”

“What do you mean by trappings?”

“Flowers, long walks on the beach, movies where everyone is hugging and crying. Dropping to one knee and pledging a life of undying devotion while the sun sets behind us on a beach in Mexico. They’re not for me.”

His lips quirked. “So, we’re on the same page. Where does that leave us?”

“How about we go back to the motel and find out?” She flinched. “Ugh. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

“Now who’s recycling tired movie tropes?” He gripped her hands again and waited for them to unclench.

She stared at him. There it was. The spark. No denying the electricity streaming between them. It was now or never. Well, maybe not never, but it might as well be now.

“Clichés aside,” she leaned closer, speaking softly into his ear, “do you want to come back to my room for some no strings attached fun?”

“More than anything. But just so we’re clear—”

“This is just sex,” she assured him. “It won’t affect anything on the job, and it won’t come with an expectation for anything more. It’s just a man and a woman unleashing some pent-up sexual frustration between the sheets. I’ve got it. Do you?”

He answered by jumping to his feet and tossing a few bills on the table. She almost took exception—she was supposed to buy his dinner—but it hardly seemed worth arguing over at the moment. She’d get him next time. They were out the door before either of them could second-guess themselves. Out in the cold air, he practically dragged her to his truck across the parking lot. Hidden from view, he pulled her up against him. Her hands gripped his jacket. His lips slammed against hers.

As far as answers went, this one was to the point.