“Exactly what sets your content apart,” Adele agrees. “Now, let’s talk timeline.”
Owen shifts beside me, his attention sharpening. We’ve already discussed this—the show would need to film the final stages of renovation and the reveal, which alignedreasonablywell with our projected completion date in about three months.
“Based on your current progress and our production schedule,” Adele continues, consulting something offscreen, “we’d need to schedule filming in approximately six weeks.”
I blink. “Six weeks? Our current timeline has us finishing in twelve, assuming no major surprises.”
Adele’s smile tightens slightly. “Unfortunately, our production schedule is pretty locked. We’re filming in the Pacific Northwest during that window, and our budget won’t allow for a separate trip later in the year.”
“Six weeks isn’t feasible for quality work,” Owen says, his tone firm but not confrontational. “We still need to install windows, complete electrical and plumbing, insulation, drywall, flooring, fixtures, exterior siding?—”
“We understand it’s an accelerated timeline,” Adele interjects smoothly. “But our viewers love the pressure of a deadline. That race-against-time element makes for compelling television.”
“It makes for rushed construction,” Owen counters. “Which isn’t what we do.”
The silence that follows is uncomfortable. I can feel the opportunity teetering. My PR instincts kick in—bridge the gap, find the compromise, keep the door open.
“What if,” I offer, “we aim for substantial completion in six weeks? Essential systems, major finishes, key design elements done. Some final details can come after filming.”
Adele brightens. “That could work! We’ll focus on the transformation journey and the reveal, with a brief mention of finishing touches still to come.”
Owen doesn’t immediately object, which from him is practically a glowing endorsement. “We’d need to revise the entire schedule,” he says at last. “Prioritize certain phases, possibly bring in help.”
“The show would cover reasonable acceleration costs,” Adele adds. “Within our budget parameters, of course.”
I watch Owen calculating—measuring standards against pressure, expectations against integrity. Finally, he gives a single nod. “We’ll need to discuss specifics after the call.”
“Of course!” Adele beams. “We’ll send over our standard contract and production requirements today. If you’re comfortable, we’d plan a site visit in two weeks for technical setup and camera placement.”
The call wraps with exchanged contact info and upbeat goodbyes. The moment I close my laptop, Owen stands and moves to the window opening—the one that will frame my beloved window seat—his back to me as he stares out across the property.
“Six weeks,” he says, and the words land with weight.
“I know it’s tight,” I say, joining him. “But you heard them. The show won’t work with the original timeline.”
“Quality shouldn’t be sacrificed for television,” he says, not angry—just weary.
“It won’t be,” I promise. “You’re too stubborn to let that happen.”
He turns to face me, expression serious. “This matters to you. The show.”
It’s not quite a question, but I answer anyway. “Yes. It’s validation that I’m building something worthwhile. That this impulsive disaster purchase is becoming something real.” I hesitate. “And it’s exposure for your work, whether you want it or not.”
“My concern isn’t exposure,” Owen says, running a hand through his hair—his signature move when things get complicated. “It’s doing the job right. Rushing leads to mistakes. Mistakes stick.”
“I get it,” I say. “And I’m not interested in shortcuts either. It’s my house—I’ll be the one living with the results after the cameras leave.”
Something flickers across his face—surprise, maybe. Or reassessment. “You’re planning to stay in it? Not flip it after?”
The question catches me off guard. We’ve never said the words aloud, but I realize my intent has shifted somewhere between the foundation pour and the window seat layout.
“I think so,” I say. “At least for a while. I’ve gotten attached to the little disaster.”
Owen nods, absorbing that. “Six weeks is possible,” he says finally. “Not ideal, but doable. We’ll need longer days. Maybe weekends.”
“I’m in,” I say. “Whatever it takes. I’m getting better at actual construction, I swear.”
“You’re already more help than that,” he says quietly.
