“And now you scatter them around town like little anonymous gifts.”
Owen’s lips twitch. “I like making them.”
“And I like making poor real estate decisions while drunk,” I say, shrugging. “We all have our hobbies.”
His laugh is low and genuine, and itwraps around me warmer than any blanket. The tension that had sparked between us earlier has softened, shifting into something less combustible but no less charged.
Outside, the storm begins to ease. Thunder rumbles farther off now, and the rain has mellowed to a steady rhythm. The edges of daylight are starting to filter in through the seams of the tarp-covered windows. Our flashlights are fading too, their beams a little weaker, a little less harsh.
“We should be able to leave soon,” Owen says, watching the window.
“Back to real life,” I say, more to myself than to him.
The weight of what we’ve shared lingers, but the moment—the weird, suspended calm of being stuck here together—is slipping away.
“About what happened,” I start, then hesitate.
“The kiss,” he says, like he’s not going to let me dance around it.
“Yes.” I swallow. “It was probably just... the storm. Close quarters. All the romance-novel tropes kicking in at once.”
“Probably,” he echoes, unreadable.
“So, we’re good?” I ask. “Back to contractor and client? No more... closet detours?”
“If that’s what you want,” he says.
Is it? The question settles in my chest like unfinished business.
I nod anyway. “It’s for the best. We still have a house to finish.”
He nods too. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”
The rain thins to a whisper, and pale gray light seeps into the room. The storm has passed.
We never said the kiss was a mistake. We just pretended it didn’t matter.
But as Owen turns away, I catch him—just for a second—touching his lips like he’s trying to hold on to something.
And I wonder which of us is lying more.
My phone wakesme at 5:52 AM with the distinct sound of social media notifications—not the occasional ping of a new follower, but a rapid-fire cascade that suggests something big is happening. I fumble for it in the dark, squinting at the harsh screen glow.
@RenovationNationmentioned you in a post
@TinyHouseDreamsand 47 others started following you
@HomeRenewaland 83 others liked your post
The alerts keep coming, too fast to read individually. I sit up, wide awake now, and open Instagram. My follower count is ticking up in real time—17,824... 17,856... 17,903...
“What the hell?” I mutter, thumbing through to find the source of the avalanche.
It hits me as soon as I see it: Renovation Nation, one of the biggest home renovation blogs—two million followers big—has featured my tiny house project in their “Transformations to Watch” series. They’ve shared before-and-after shots of the foundation with a glowing caption about honesty and charm.
While most renovation accounts focus on the pretty ‘after’ shots, @ThisLoveIsUnderConstruction takes followers on the entire journey—foundation repairs, structural challenges, and all. Penny Winslow’s candid documentation of her impulse-purchase tiny house in Maple Glen, WA (bought atauction after one too many glasses of champagne!) is equal parts informative and entertaining. Her ongoing collaboration with local craftsman Owen Carver showcases traditional building techniques alongside modern design solutions. We’re especially charmed by her advocacy for an impractical-but-perfect window seat. This is renovation content that feels real in a sea of staged perfection.
I read it three times. My heart’s doing something between racing and stalling.
