“Let’s finish the inspection,” he says, heading for the bathroom. “Need to check the tile sealant and ventilation.”
I follow him. The bathroom used to be a nightmare. Now it’s a space you’d actually want to linger in. Salvaged sink gleaming under the light, custom tilework that Owen installed himself, perfectly framed mirror. And beside the sink, the toothbrush holder he made—two slots, angled toward each other. His version of a question.
“The tile’s beautiful,” I say, running a hand along the grout. “Your attention to detail is a little terrifying, but I’m not complaining.”
“Sealing prevents leaks,” he says, peering into the drain. “After last time, I wasn’ttaking any risks.”
“Our weatherproofing game has improved,” I say. “Protecting what matters, letting the right things in.”
He looks up at that—his own words, echoed back—and there’s something unspoken between us in the pause that follows.
“Exactly,” he says.
We finish the inspection in quiet, working in sync. I hand him the tester without being asked. He shifts just in time for me to access a cabinet. Every move is easy now, efficient, like we’ve found our pattern and settled into it.
“Final verdict?” I ask when he closes his clipboard.
“Structurally sound. Functionally efficient. Aesthetically...” He pauses. “Satisfying.”
I laugh. “Coming from you, that might be the most glowing review I’ll ever get.”
“The tasseled pillows remain under protest,” he says, but there’s the familiar pull at the corner of his mouth. “Final paperwork’s at the county. Permit inspection’s this afternoon.”
“And then it’s officially a real house,” I say, a strange tightness catching in my chest—part pride, part disbelief. “Not just a renovation nightmare or a viral curiosity.”
“It’s been a real house for a while now,” Owen says. “Just needed the right person to see it.”
We both know he’s not just talking about the house.
The updatedTV contract lands in my inbox while Owen’s out filing the paperwork. I settle into the window seat with my laptop and a stubborn determination to read every word.
What started as a one-off episode—”girl buys crumbling house at auction, chaos ensues”—has evolved into a pitch for a recurring series. The new title:Reclaiming Space. It highlights the renovation, the town, and Carver Custom Designs as a boutique firm focused on smart, beautiful small-space living.
It’s everything I could’ve hoped for: national exposure, a platform for our business, a chance to pivot my career into something I believe in. But halfway through the contract, a clause stops me cold:
Talent (P. Winslow) agrees to participate in on-location filming at future renovation sites as directed by Production, including but not limited to sites in Pacific Northwest, California, and East Coast regions as determined by network programming needs. Minimum commitment of 6–8 weeks travel annually required.
I reread it. It doesn’t get better the second time.
This isn’t just about showcasing what we’ve built. It’s about filming future projects in other towns. Other states. It means leaving Maple Glen. Leaving Owen. Six to eight weeks every year.
Six months ago, I’d have jumped at this setup—freedom with structure, movement with meaning. A home base I could conveniently escape when things got too real. That used to be my version of balance.
Now the thought of leaving makes my chest tighten.
My phone rings. Adele Hutchinson.
“Penny! Got the revised contract?” she asks, already mid-pitch. “It’s a great expansion. The network’s loving the angle—small-town craftsman with hidden architectural chops, PR exec turned design partner, building something together. It’s authentic and aspirational.”
“It’s definitely a shift,” I say. “I was reviewing the travel section.”
“Oh, that’s the beauty of the format,” Adele continues, breezing past my hesitation. “We’d use your place as the kickoff, then follow you to other sites—Seattle, Charleston, Sedona, you name it. You and Owen are the hook, but the real draw is applying your model to new markets. It’s a lifestyle brand in the making.”
I stay silent.
“But it’s not a full relocation,” she adds. “You keep your small-town anchor. You just expand the reach. Home base and national platform—it’s the best of both worlds.”
Six months ago, I’d have called it perfect. Now, it feels like a step in the wrong direction.
