Wilder was waiting patiently by the sink when she caught up with him. “What do you think in here?”
“New appliances.”
The coffee cup froze on its way to his lips. “And?”
“The wall needs to go,” she said with less vibrato. “If we open up the kitchen to the dining room—and maybe even the formal living area—we could make the space more functional.”
“The owners will like that.” He ran a hand over the chipped tile counter. “What else would you do? Like with the cupboards.”
“We tear them out. Start over with a newly configured space. Take the cupboards to the ceiling to add more storage. Give them a white finish with a granite or quartz counter. We ask Felix to find someone to build us a custom island, with a bar for additional seating.” She blinked rapidly, pulling herself out of the trance-like state she’d slipped into.
His lips twitched, a hint of a dimple dented his cheek. “And?”
“New paint on the walls. Install a backsplash—subway tile.” She tapped an erratic beat on the two cups of coffee she was still holding. “We change the lighting fixtures. Recessed lighting with an iron chandelier over the table in the dining area. Let’s change the sliding doors that lead out to the backyard to French doors. We install hardwoods or laminate—but I really think they’ll want hardwoods in here.”
“See. That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”
“No.” She released a short laugh. “I guess it wasn’t.”
“You have a good eye. Instinct. Skill. That’s why we hired you. Now,” he set his coffee on the counter, “you want hardwood floors?”
“Definitely.”
He pulled a utility knife out of his tool belt and motioned for her to follow him to the edge of the room. Crouching down like a football player taking a knee midgame, he freed the corner of the faux tile laminate. He peeled it back slowly to expose— “Hardwood floors. Original to the house, I’d guess, and in good shape once we get this monstrosity out of here.”
She gasped and dropped to her knees next to him. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. They’re beauties.”
“What kind of monster would cover these up?”
His hazel eyes met hers. “The same monster who put those carpets down in the dining and living areas.” Jumping up to his feet with more grace than she could muster, he repeated the act in the living room. “Hardwoods throughout the whole first floor. And I’d bet we’ll find the same on the second.”
“This changes everything.” She met his gaze and caught the sparkle. He was enjoying the discovery every bit as much as she was. “Refinishing the floors will take some money, but not as much as I figured we’d have to spend to install them ourselves.”
“That’s right. Felix already has a crew planning to come in once we get the debris out of here.”
She shook her head in wonder. “I just can’t get over the treasure hiding in this house.”
“That’s a great way of putting it.” They returned to the kitchen where he hunched down in front of the sink. “Before we go upstairs, I want to check out what we’re getting into with the plumbing.”
He swung the cupboard door open. She leaned forward, but kept a safe distance. Knowing her luck, she’d accidentally bump into him and bust open one of the pipes.
When he didn’t say anything for another minute, she inched closer. “What’s the verdict?”
“Not good. We’re—shit!” Orange-tinted water gushed out of the pipes flying into his face. He clumsily pushed out from under the sink. The water kept rushing out. “I knocked something loose. Piece of crap pipes are rusted clear through.”
Heart racing, she grabbed a wrench from his belt and dove under the sink. Covering her face with one hand, she found the faulty bolt and screwed it on tighter. The stream slowed to a trickle before coming to a halt. Good. Crisis almost averted.
She leaned back on her heels to check on Wilder. He was still lying on the floor, chest rapidly rising up and down. She met his stunned gaze. “You okay?”
Chapter Six
Her breathless question lingered in the air unanswered. He couldn’t quite speak yet. “That was freaking awesome,” and “You’re a total badass” somehow didn’t seem appropriate, even if they were true. He should at least say “thank you.” She had stopped the water before it caused a full-blown flood in the kitchen. Plus, she’d saved him from being waterboarded.
He wiped the water, and some of the remaining gunk, away with the back of his hand. His mouth tingled from the rusty water he’d undoubtedly ingested during his adventure under the sink. He sucked in a breath, but it only made the tainted metallic taste worse. Gasping for air, he turned to his side, coughing and choking.
“Hold on.” Bailey scrounged around in a pile of materials and came back with a towel. She shoved it in his hand and reached for a bottle of water. “Here.”
“Thanks.” He gasped while she helped him sit up. He met her gaze, and his breath caught in his throat. She patted his back—hard—until the coughing stopped.
“Are you okay?”
He nodded slowly, studying her face—the concern mixed with excitement in her eyes. “Yeah. Thank you.”
Her hand dropped from his back and she edged away to give him more space. “No problem. We should have the crew turn off the water before you go and play with any more pipes.”
“The water was supposed to be turned off.”
Her mouth formed an “o” and she winced. She was probably correctly imagining the ass-chewing Felix and his crew might get if Wilder came face-to-face with any of them before his temper cooled.
“I have to admit . . .”
“What?”
“I’m impressed.”
“Why?”
“Because you really are someone who gets his hands dirty when he comes to work.” She drew her knees to her chest. “Not a lot of bosses are big on doing the work themselves—especially when they have a whole crew at their disposal.”
“Well . . .” He cleared his throat and took another sip of water to mask the hitch in his chest. “I like to think I’m more than a model or actor in a tool belt swinging a hammer in front of the cameras.”
She winced. “Yeah, sorry about that. I tend to speak before I think in awkward situations—like a job interview.”
“It’s all good. You aren’t wrong about all of us. Trust me—I’ve met the people on the other shows. Some of them really aren’t much more than pretty faces, even if they used to get their hands dirty.”
He downed the rest of the water bottle in two long gulps. The taste of copper lingered on his tongue, but he could live with it. He mopped off chunks of rust from his shirt. It took him a moment, but he noticed Bailey wringing out the bottom of her flannel shirt. He wasn’t the only one in need of a change of clothes.
Rather than state the obvious, he handed her the damp towel in case she wanted to remove any of the larger chunks of rust from her shirt. She accepted it and started dabbing away.
Now that he was sure he wouldn’t die of suffocation, he inspected the entirety of the damage she’d sustained during her water pipe rescue. Her once straight honey-blonde hair was a few shades darker and curling around her face in scraggly strings. Little lines of mascara dribbled around her eyes, and any other signs of the light makeup she usually wore had washed away in the flood. She blotted her face, smearing even more of the mascara, then turned her attention to towel drying her hair.
She was a mess, but a beautiful one. Her face was still flushed and her eyes were bright from the excitement. Not everyone could pull off disheveled and still look appealing.
Appealing? He cursed at himself. The woman had just saved him from a flood that rivaled Noah’s, and he was checking her out. That was inappropriate on more than a few levels.
“You’re pretty good at that,” he said in an effort to redirect his thoughts. Her hands froze with the towel midstroke in her hair. He shook his head, because he still wasn’t making sense
to anyone—not even himself. He motioned to the wrench still perched on the ledge of the sink where she’d left it. “That was some quick work.”
“Thanks.”
“I didn’t realize they taught plumbing basics at interior design school.”
She laughed, a deep and full sound that started in her belly and flowed out. It wasn’t like the polite chuckles she’d given so far on the job site. They probably hadn’t given her much of a chance to find humor in their world with everything they’d thrown at her.
“Oddly enough, I didn’t learn much about tightening nuts and bolts in design school. I’m not even sure they even taught us the proper way to nail a picture on the wall. They just kind of expected you to work that out on your own.”
“I figured as much. I’m pretty sure the only time Waverly has held a hammer or wrench was the time she considered giving a man cave a hardware store look.”
“That would have been . . . edgy.”
“It would’ve been something.” He reached for the wrench and tapped it against the palm of his hand. “If it wasn’t college or on the job at that fancy firm, where did you get your formal training in popular mechanics?”
“I’m sure this will come as a major surprise to you given the natural elegance and mad skill I displayed, but I had no formal training in home improvement. I picked up the basics when I was a kid.”
“Did you help your dad with projects around the house?”
The grin fell from her face. Irritation flashed in her eyes, but only for a second, before she eased it back into a mask of indifference. “No.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend, or . . .” He ran a hand through his still-damp hair, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but wanting to say it all the same. “Sorry.”
“No. It’s fine. My father wasn’t around much when I was little. But my mama hated calling a repairman in to fix every little thing that went wrong around the house, so she learned to do it herself. When we were old enough, she taught my sister and me how to make a few light repairs for ourselves.”
“You have a sister?”
“Paige. We’re only a year apart.”
“Younger or older?”
“She’s older by a year, but that’s a sore subject now that we’re inching closer to thirty.” Her eyes crinkled around the edges. “She’s a teacher, here in Austin, actually. She’s a big fan of the show.”
“You’ll have to bring her by one of the job sites sometime.”
Her lips parted. “Really?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He slipped the wrench back into his tool belt and leaned against the cupboards they’d gut the next day. “It’s a nice boost for our egos to have a fan around every once in a while. It’s not so much for me, mind you, but poor Waverly depends on that admiration to survive.” She snickered then, and he relaxed, relieved to have reinstated their easy banter. “Is Paige a pro at plumbing, too?”
“I’m hardly a pro—”
“You knew exactly what to do. You’re solid.”
“I suppose. Paige prefers to call a handyman for those sort of things, but she could get by in a pinch if she had to.”
“That’s better than a lot of people can say.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “It’s a good thing Renee wasn’t around to see that?”
“Why? Afraid to let your producer see you in an embarrassing state?”
“No. Afraid she’d make us do it again with a camera crew.”
Her easy grin had his heart pounding again. He couldn’t help but stare as she adjusted the sleeves of her button-up shirt, rolling them up to her elbows. She moved so easily when she was working on something. Whether it was literally rolling up her sleeves to go to work or fixing a leak.
He’d made plenty of mistakes since starting his business and this show. Like the time he ordered bargain tile that looked every bit as cheap as it had cost once it arrived. And when he’d broken his thumb trying to show off for the cameras.
Behind Bailey’s nerves, there was a quietly confident woman who got the job done. A woman who showed up when it counted most.
Which reminded him . . . “I’m sorry.”
“About the pipes? I told you, it was—”
“I’m sorry Waverly didn’t tell you she was leaving. I’m sorry she’s been so focused on this book project of hers and the new furniture and paint lines. And,” he cleared his throat, “I’m sorry about the leak and your shirt. Let us know how much it costs to replace it and we’ll take care of it.”
“Does she do this a lot? Waverly—does she leave the job site during filming?”
“Not usually. This season is kind of a first.”
“Because she has the book and product line coming out?”
Among other things. Namely her budding relationship with Devon, the exec. It would be so easy to tell Bailey about everything. About his and Waverly’s whole arrangement. About her hot affair.
He wanted to tell her. It wasn’t something they always shared with their team, especially not this early in the filming. But he needed to tell her. Someday, sooner than later, he would. It couldn’t be today. Renee would strangle him if he brought someone in on the secret without making damn sure they could trust her. They being the key factor, because he already trusted Bailey. How could he not? She’d just saved his life.
So instead of telling her everything, he nodded slowly. “I suppose this season is new for all of us. She still should have given you notice.”
“Did Virginia go with her? I haven’t seen her around much since the start of the shoot.”
“No. She’s back for another visit with my parents.”
“I’m sure they like having you back in Texas.”
“You bet.”
“What are your folks like?
“They’re the best. Pops owns a construction company, and Mama used to teach—like your sister.”
“Your mama’s a teacher? So is mine. We’re surrounded.”
“We’d better behave ourselves or we’ll end up in the principal’s office.”
She tossed her head back to give that deep throaty laugh again. “Did you ever end up in the principal’s office as a kid?”
“Are you kidding? I would’ve been too scared of the butt-chewing I’d get if I ever acted out. Did you?”
“Once. In first grade.” She reached for her cup of coffee on the counter. “I punched someone.”
He wasn’t positive, but his jaw might have hit the floor. Or at the very least it was wide enough for her to see his back molars. “You got in a fight?”
“I wouldn’t exactly call it a fight.” Her eyes sparkled over the coffee cup. “I slugged a guy in the jaw and he keeled over. The playground attendant had us separated before he could retaliate.”
The surprises just didn’t stop coming with Bailey. Every time he thought she couldn’t possibly do or say something else to knock him off his feet—boom—she did. “What’d he do to tick you off?”
“Why do you think he did something? Maybe I wanted to punch someone.”
“You don’t strike me as the type to fight dirty.”
She crossed her arms. “Until five seconds ago, did I strike you as the type to fight at all?”
“Fair enough.” He folded his arms in imitation. “Come on. Tell me. What did he do?”
They stared each other down. Arms crossed, expressions falsely fierce. Each waiting for the other to stand down. She let out a little snort, which forced a laugh out of him. When they’d both recovered from their fits of laughter, she gave in and told him.
“As I said, it was first grade, and we were at recess. One of the boys—we’ll call him Little Bobby to protect his anonymity—”
“That’s gracious of you.”
“I’m a giver. Anyway, Little Bobby was chasing me around the playground every day at recess. I tried tattling on him. That’s what my mama always said I should do when someone did something wrong.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Your mom told you to tattle?”
“Not her exact words, but more or less. She said I should tell an adult. But when I told the teacher that Little Bobby was chasing me, she told me Little Bobby was just doing it because he liked me. Even now, I think she was full of crap. You’re a guy—do you think terrorizing a woman is a way to win over her heart?”
“Nope. If any little boys—or girls—try that crap on Virginia—or if she does it to them—there’s going to be a conversation about respect and the right way to treat people.”
She nodded in approval. “So after weeks of chasing me around the playground, one day Little Bobby caught me. He threw his arms around my waist and I let him have it.” She unfolded her arms, letting her hands fall to her lap. “It was the first time I’d ever hit someone—well, aside from my sister, but that was different. You would’ve thought I’d trained with a heavyweight boxer the way he went flying. He ended up with a bloody nose and scraped elbows. I ended up at the principal’s office.”
“What happened next?”
“The principal and I had our own conversation—with my mother, which kind of sucked—about the right and wrong ways to resolve conflicts. He also had a chat with Little Bobby about being considerate of other people’s feelings. Little Bobby left me—and the other kids—alone after that. So I consider it a moral victory, even if I spent the next month grounded.”
“Sometimes a moral victory is the best one to have.” And he’d bet she learned her lesson and found other ways to stand her ground that didn’t involve bloody noses. “I don’t suppose I have to worry about you beating up Felix or anyone else on the crew.”
“I’m reformed.” She crossed her heart. “I swear.”
Chuckling, he pushed himself up from the floor and offered a hand to help her stand. “Want to check out the rest of this house?”
“I’d love to.” She placed her hand in his, and there was a zap that almost had him stepping back. His heartbeat quickened. Her eyes flew up to his and he knew then she’d felt it too.
Playing House Page 7