by Kait Nolan
Deanna’s car led the pack. She parked to one side and got out, opening the back door for Casper, as she waved everyone else past the house to the field in the back.
The sight of her was a sucker punch. Everything in Wyatt pulled toward her, needing to eradicate the distance and the hurt. He wanted to pull her into his arms. Stroke that messy hair back from the beautiful face that looked as exhausted as he felt. But he did no such thing.
She didn’t acknowledge him as she began issuing orders to the people who spilled out of cars and trucks. “Start setting up the tents in that open space on the other side of the barn. We should be able to run power from the house. We’ll offload everything from the trucks once those are up.”
Somehow, without being aware of it, Wyatt had closed the distance between them. “What’s going on?”
She finally turned her attention to him, and he noted the skin beneath her eyes was bruised. But there was an almost fevered brightness there that told him she’d hit a second wind. “We’re finishing the house. It’ll be down to the wire, but I think we’ll make it. At least if you and your team can get those floors down.”
“We can get them in, but they can’t be finished. And there’s still no furniture. You were right. There’s not enough time.” He hated admitting it, but facts were facts.
Deanna pressed her lips together, as if she didn’t dare unleash what she was actually thinking. When she finally spoke, there was a reserve and professional distance in her tone that he hated. “We’re not giving up now. Get the floors installed. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She started to walk away, leaving him with a distinct sense of being dismissed. He’d put that distance there by lashing out and hurting her. Treating her as if she were a project, not a person. He wanted to apologize. To talk things through and find that way his mother never had to overcome hard words. But they needed time and privacy for that. Right now, they had neither. So he nodded. “We’ll get it done. Just one more thing.”
She paused, brows arched expectantly as she looked back at him.
“Who are all these people?”
Her gaze slid past him to Porter, Landon, and their crew, who watched the unfolding chaos with interest. “You have your army, and I brought mine.”
Someone called her name. After one more long, humming beat, she walked away to command her troops.
Porter wandered over. “So I’m thinking that sleep is no longer on the table.”
“Looks like no.”
“Alright then. Let’s get to it.”
Chapter 18
Deanna eyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror and winced. “Well, that’s as good as it’s going to get.”
She’d pulled out every trick in her arsenal to make herself presentable—tea bag compresses and hemorrhoid cream for the suitcases under her eyes, a revitalizing face mask to add a bit of a glow to the skin that looked just a little sallow, the caffeinated moisturizer to perk up her whole body, and a bold red lip to draw attention away from the eyes that were just a little bloodshot. There was only so much that could be done to hide the fact that she’d had only about twenty hours of sleep in the past week and had been subsisting on energy drinks, fast food, and sheer, unadulterated stubbornness.
But they’d done it.
Their people had still been tearing down the work tents when the caterers arrived, and the last of the fans and dehumidifiers got adiosed a mere half an hour before the first guests were due to show. The only reason she wasn’t greeting people in ratty jeans and a filthy t-shirt was that Bennet had shoved her toward the stairs with a promise to set up the TV and video equipment for the screening. Deanna hadn’t had a chance to preview their pilot, so she was having to trust that her girl had her back. Maybe if she’d trusted more before now, she wouldn’t be in this untenable situation.
She’d thought bringing a veritable army and a plan and pulling all this off would fix the strain between her and Wyatt. She’d thought her actions would prove she did believe in him, in them. That it would make up for her initial reaction. But they’d barely exchanged a dozen words since she’d showed up yesterday. Of course, they’d been moving at a hundred miles an hour, not even stopping to sleep. But she thought there’d be… something. A word. A look. A touch. Something that would let her know they’d be okay. But there’d been no chance for that either. As staging was primarily her responsibility, he’d gone up to shower first. She’d been in the other bathroom when he’d headed down to greet the initial guests, so they hadn’t even had a moment alone.
No time for it now. Despite their current estrangement, they needed to present a united front for producers tonight, or the support for their show would likely be dead in the water. Resigned to her fate, she went back to the bedroom for her heels. Her gaze landed on the bed and spawned a wave of intense longing. She’d done her job. She’d made the house pretty, met the deadline under impossible circumstances. Surely no one would notice if she skipped the party to fall face first into bed. She was so tired, she was pretty sure she’d be unconscious before hitting the mattress.
Except her job really wasn’t done. She still needed to rub elbows and name drop the people and businesses who’d made tonight possible. The list was extensive and the good word and exposure was the thing she’d promised many of them in exchange for the help. So on a deep sigh, she slipped on her heels, put on her game face, and prepared to dazzle.
Low strains of easy jazz floated up to her at the top of the stairs. For just a moment, she held there, out of sight, and remembered her first view of this staircase. She’d known then it was meant for making an entrance. Some of that fanciful excitement leeched into her as she descended, feeling a little like Cinderella at the ball. Maybe she’d finally get the moment she’d been waiting for with her prince. She’d bought this confection with him in mind. The same bold red of her lips, the body-hugging lace cocktail dress had a curve of chiffon across the wide neckline, clipping at the shoulders to leave gossamer tails fluttering behind her arms. She’d fallen in love with it on the spot, imaging how it would make her a focal point for exactly this entrance. As she hit the landing, faces below turned up, studied her dress, and she automatically paused to let them as she sought one particular face.
Wyatt stood in conversation with a man she didn’t know. He looked as at ease in the charcoal suit as he did in work clothes. It was the first time she’d seen him in a suit, and damn, he cleaned up well. As if he felt her gaze on him, he stopped speaking and turned, lifting his eyes to hers.
For a beat—two… three—she stood frozen as something pulsed between them. Then those unfairly long, sooty lashes swept down, and he turned away, murmuring an excuse to his companion before he walked out of the room.
Deanna’s hand curved tight around the banister. That was it then. He was well and truly done with her. There’d be no Prince Charming moment for her. No reunion on the other side of the struggle. The pain of it lanced through her, almost buckling her knees. But she still had a job to do before she could fall apart. Drawing on all her years of pretending things were fine when her world was falling apart, she released her death grip on the railing and glided down the foyer.
Patrick snagged her immediately. “And here’s our lovely hostess. Darling, let me introduce you.”
She played the game, smiling, nodding, making small talk and answering questions. When a glass of wine made its way into her hand, she made herself sip instead of gulp. At this level of exhaustion, the alcohol would go straight to her head. “Thanks.”
“You looked like you could use it.”
Wyatt’s low voice had her head whipping toward him. But he was already leaning toward one of the producers, smiling and laughing at something the other man said.
What was this? A peace offering? A way to present that faux united front? Deanna didn’t know.
“—find this gorgeous rug?”
She dragged her attention to the woman she thought was an associate producer. “It’s custom pai
nted. Several area artists pitched in to help make all the canvas rugs you’ll see tonight. Are you familiar with Ruby Lindon?”
“The Ruby Lindon?”
“The very one. Turns out she’s a fan of DIWyatt.”
For nearly an hour, she chatted people up, played the game. Wyatt joined in conversations, and anyone who didn’t know they’d been involved would have thought they were professional friends. Good colleagues. They answered questions about the house and restoration as the team they’d been. But it wasn’t the same. They weren’t the team they’d been, and her heart wasn’t in it. She just wanted to get through the night and get him his show. She’d deal with the devastation later. Her price to pay for this adventure with him all these months.
“Patrick’s been talking you two up. I’d love to hear your ideas about the premise for the show.”
Deanna smiled at the suit—she couldn’t remember his name. “In fact, we have a mini pilot pitch we’ve put together. If everyone could turn their attention to the TV.” She wished there was time to do something about this. To make it focus on him, not them. But it was what they had. She’d find a way to salvage it. Somehow.
From the other side of the room, Bennet sent a thumbs up and started the video, raising the volume until they all could hear.
It began with stills of the original exterior in all its faded, awful glory and rolled into a montage of interior shots that played up exactly how bad things had been. Bennet had spliced in a voiceover of one of Deanna’s interviews, talking about all the potential she saw in the house. Then came Wyatt, with all his practicality and confidence that they could make the house a home again. In the footage that followed, she saw what Bennet had seen in the way she and Wyatt looked at each other. That tension and attraction had been simmering from the beginning. The cut was masterfully done, weaving together dual love stories of the two of them and that of the house itself. Hers wasn’t the only sigh as the tale unfolded.
When the flood footage filled the screen, Deanna slowly backed out of the room. She didn’t want to see it again. Didn’t want a front-row seat to the end of them or she’d never be able to make it through the rest of the night.
Edging free of the crowd, she hurried down the hall and out the back door in search of some air.
Wyatt’s smile weighed a thousand pounds. Keeping it in place for this houseful of people who held power over his future felt about like trying to bench press Blackborne Hall in its entirety. Every muscle ached, and every fiber of his being wanted these people gone. He just needed to talk to Deanna.
She’d come through in the end, doing what she had to in order to give him the dream she’d promised. And she’d done it after he’d implied she was some broken thing. A fixer upper he’d taken on. There was so much to say, and he hadn’t even managed the barest, “I’m sorry.” Saying it without addressing all the rest felt like a copout somehow. So he’d said nothing. He’d realized the mistake of that once he’d seen her tonight, seen the hurt in her eyes.
But they both had to play the game, schmooze the producers they’d done all this for, or all their hard work would be for naught.
On the flat screen TV, the pilot episode Bennet had developed continued to play. Watching the outsider’s view of their romance made him ache, wanting to hold Deanna, to face this pitch truly together as they’d intended. Could the powers that be sense the rift between them? Would they attribute it to nerves or to relationship problems? Would it impact what they thought of the show? They weren’t just selling him anymore. They were selling them.
Would there still be a them after this?
The flood footage had guests murmuring in alarm and surprise.
Someone nearby gasped. “That was last week?”
“Yep,” Wyatt muttered.
“How on earth did you pull this off?’’
As if in response to the question, Deanna’s face filled the frame.
“DIWyatt fans, we need your help.”
What was this? Wyatt dragged his flagging focus to the TV as she outlined what had happened and the appalling deadline they were under.
“What you’ve seen so far is all there is. The team is Wyatt, Simon, me, and the handful of volunteers you’ve seen in various episodes. We don’t have a full crew. This isn’t some bait and switch where we claim to do it ourselves and secretly have an army off camera. That’s not why any of you watch the show. It’s just us.” She paused, and he recognized she was taking the time to carefully word what she was going to say next.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but falling in love with this house and with the man who’s helped me bring it back to life isn’t one of them. We have a chance to save his dream. But I can’t do it without all of you. So I’m begging—if you’re in the Nashville area and love the show, come volunteer your time and your backs to save it.”
Wyatt couldn’t breathe. The gut punch of her words nearly sent him to his knees. She’d made a public declaration that she loved him days ago, and he’d said nothing. Because he didn’t know. Because he hadn’t been on social media for the last week, even for his normal duties, because he’d been so focused on trying to do the work. To get the house done.
Shit. No wonder she’d looked so hurt. He was an ignorant asshole.
Frantic, he turned, searching for her tumbled blonde waves in the crowd. But she wasn’t in the room.
At the back, Bennet jerked her head toward the door.
Wyatt cut through the guests, making a beeline in her direction. Despite the fact that he wanted to shout, he kept his voice low. “Where is she?”
Bennet gave him the long, studied look of a friend looking out for another friend. Apparently satisfied, she nodded. “Saw her step outside. Kitchen door.”
He left the party, moving fast. That was probably violating some kind of host rules, but he really didn’t give a damn at this point. This was way more important. She was way more important.
The night air was cool as he stepped out, his eyes automatically searching the reclaimed sun porch. But she wasn’t there. Had she headed out to the barn? Around front?
In the end, it was Casper who alerted him. The dog’s soft woof pulled his attention to the lone figure who stood beside the pond that had finally been uncovered by part of the army of volunteers. Moonlight cast a halo over her hair, washing out the vibrant color of her dress. Everything about her seemed muted, like something out of a dream. Or a ghost story. The erect carriage and flawless poise she’d displayed inside were gone, replaced by bowed shoulders and arms crossed tight over her middle. As she caught sight of him, her whole body curled in on itself.
Love and guilt tangled inside him, invisible vines wrapping around his feet as the need to fix warred with a desire to comfort. Wyatt’s heart hammered against his breastbone as he closed the distance at a stumbling run.
She didn’t move as he approached, and that was almost worse because he could see defeat written all over her face.
No. No, this had to be fixable. He could still salvage it.
“I’m sorry.” The words came out in a breathless rush, feeling entirely inadequate as she turned to look at him with wounded, cautious eyes. “I didn’t know what you’d done. I haven’t been on social media since last week. I didn’t see the point because I was too focused on trying to figure out how to fix the problem and thinking you were done with me.”
Her eyes widened. “I thought you were finished with me. That’s why I stayed away. You were angry, and I wanted to prove that I don’t think you’re a mistake. That I still believed in this project. In you.”
Even after everything she’d proved with her actions, hearing the words released the teeth of doubt that had clamped around his heart.
“I mean, you pulled that off in spades. I cannot believe how much you managed to orchestrate in so short a time. It’s nothing short of miraculous.”
“I’m not great at rolling with disaster in the moment, but I’m the person you want in the aftermath to pick
up the pieces.”
Wyatt couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to stroke her cheek. “You’re the one I want for the all the time.”
Deanna turned her face into the touch. “You do?”
“Yes.” The word came out rusty because so much emotion caught in his throat as she looked up at him with tremulous hope. There was no more caution, no more reluctance, only pure depth of feeling in her eyes. And with it, he realized just how much he’d hurt her.
He stepped into her, framing her face and dropping his brow to hers. “God, I’m so sorry you even have to ask that. I’m sorry I lost my temper. Even in all the chaos, I should have made the time to talk to you. I never meant to make you feel like you were a project.”
Deanna huffed a laugh. The sound flowed over him like gentle hands smoothing over tense shoulders. “Well, you weren’t entirely wrong. You effectively restored me. Gave me a dream I’d never even allowed myself to have. But it doesn’t mean anything if you aren’t here to share it with me.”
“I’m not going anywhere. I love you, too. I want to build that life we talked about. To finish the house. To do the show if you still want to do the show. And it’s fine if you don’t because you’ll find something else that makes your heart sing. None of it matters in the end, so long as I still have you.”
“Wyatt.” His name sounded like a prayer.
And then her mouth was on his, and she was, at last, in his arms again. The foundation of his world resolidified. He didn’t give a good damn about any of the rest of it because they were okay, and he hadn’t lost her.
Deanna dropped back to her feet, breathing hard. “God, I missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” Needing to touch her, he ran his hand down the skin of her bare back, absorbing her shiver of reaction. “And I can’t wait to go to bed and pass out for about seventeen hours so that we both have the energy for the makeup sex we deserve.”