“I have to be. Especially on a project like this.” He hesitates. “And given the local expectations.”
“You mean the betting pool about how fast I’ll give up?”
His eyes flicker, surprised. “You know about that.”
“Hard to miss. The Griddle isn’t exactly soundproof. Apparently I’m this season’s cautionary tale.”
That almost-smile is back. “What’s your counter-strategy?”
“Spite,” I say simply. “Also, I made a list.”
He blinks. “A list?”
“Tiny House Rules.” I pull out my phone and show him the note. “Rule one: Don’t buy houses while drunk. Rule three: Provethem wrong.”
“What happened to rule two?”
“Still under development,” I lie. Because the real rule two isno power tools after 10 PM, which feels too basic to say out loud.
Owen smirks—just barely—then sets another paper in front of me. “Speaking of rules, I’ve drafted some for the renovation. Safety protocols. Communication guidelines. Decision timelines.”
“Sensible.” I nod, opening my notes app again. “Very adult.”
“Ironic, considering the house’s structural integrity,” he says, almost smiling.
“Rule one,” he begins, “safety equipment required any time you’re on-site during active work. No exceptions.”
“Stylish hard hats included?”
“Standard-issue only,” he says, deadpan.
“Shame.” I type it in anyway.
“Rule two: no impulsive decisions on structural elements. Every major choice gets 24 hours for consideration.”
“That feels like a personal attack, but okay,” I mutter.
“Rule three: notify me of any changes to budget or timeline expectations in writing.”
“Rule four,” I add, “no work before 7 AM or after 7 PM. We respect neighbors and sleeping patterns.”
He nods. “Except in emergencies. Rule five: weekly progress meetings, Monday mornings.”
I type that in, too. As the list grows, so does a strange sense of calm. I know this feeling. I’ve lived in meetings, built brands, crafted order out of chaos. The context may be new, but the structure is familiar.
“One more thing,” Owen says, glancing at his phone. “I saw your Instagram.”
I freeze. “You... saw that?”
“Walt showed me.”
Of course he did.
“I just want to be clear,” Owen continues. “This isn’t a reality show. I don’t want my work process documented for content.”
“It’s not about entertainment,” I say quickly. “It’s about accountability. And maybe helping other people avoid my mistakes.”
“Noble,” he says, not unkindly. “But keep me—and my crew—off-camera.”
