FINALLY. I was genuinely worried you two would slow-burn each other into oblivion. Just tell him you’re staying. And use your actual words, Penny. No renovation metaphors. No jokes. Words.
I wince. She’s not wrong. He left right after finding the notes and hasn’t brought it up since. Now we’re locked in this performance of professionalism, pretending there’s nothing unresolved.
Classicavoidance,
she texts again.
Someone needs to put on emotional grown-up pants. You’re both allergic to honesty.
I barely have time to roll my eyes before Owen returns. His face is unreadable, but his body language screams shutdown. He heads straight to the electrical panel and starts checking breakers with more focus than necessary.
“Tile’s delayed until tomorrow,” he says eventually. “I’ve adjusted the schedule.”
“Thanks.” I tuck my phone away. “I posted the daily update. Sponsors are excited.”
He doesn’t look at me. Just nods and keeps working. The silence between us stretches, stiff with all the words we’re refusing to say.
I open my mouth—maybe to ask how his dad is, maybe to start explaining—when my phone rings. Adele Hutchinson. Of course.
I answer, switching to speaker. “Hi, Adele. You’re on speaker with me and Owen.”
“Penny! Our favorite renovation story!” Her voice is full of cheer. “We’re locking in our shot list for filming and had a few ideas for the reveal.”
“We’re still on track, despite the water damage setbacks,” I say smoothly. “What did you have in mind?”
“We’ve been reviewing your posts—audience response is amazing. The arc from ‘drunken auction disaster’ to ‘found family’ is resonating hard. We’d love to lean into that for the episode.”
Owen’s hands still, but he doesn’t speak. His eyes flick toward me, unreadable.
“What kind of direction are you thinking?” I ask, wary.
“First, a more dramatic reveal when the house is finished. Maybe we do a styling setup and film your reaction walking in? Second, more personal elements. You’ve mentioned thosepostcards—maybe we hang them somewhere? Visually show the journey to ‘home’?”
I nod slowly, already sensing where this is heading.
“And,” Adele continues, “we’d love to show more of your collaboration with Owen. The stoic local builder and the impulsive LA transplant? It’s gold. The chemistry, the growth—it’s real. We’re not asking for anything fake, just leaning into what’s already there.”
Owen sets the tool down. Quietly. Deliberately. And walks out the front door.
The sound of it closing is soft. But it echoes like a slammed one.
“A few things,” Adele continues. “First, we’d like to stage a more dramatic reveal moment when you first see the completed space. Maybe have you wait outside while we do some final styling, then capture your genuine reaction walking in?”
“That seems reasonable,” I say. “Though to be clear, I’ve been involved in every step of the renovation. It’s not going to be a surprise.”
“Of course! We just want that emotional ‘wow’ moment. Second, we’d love to include more personal elements—your journey from LA PR executive to small-town renovation influencer. Maybe display some of the postcards you’ve mentioned in your posts? Create a visual representation of your finding home after years of moving around?”
I feel Owen stiffen across the room. He doesn’t say anything, but I catch the subtle shift in his shoulders. The postcards are mine—I’ve talked about them online, sure—but I’ve never shared them with him. They’re from every place I’ve lived without staying, a breadcrumb trail of almosts and not-quites.
“We could discuss that,” I say, careful to keep my tone neutral. “What else?”
“The big one,” Adele says, her voice shifting into the practiced brightness of someone who knows she’s about to test a boundary, “we’d love to feature more of yourpartnership with Owen. The comments on your posts are full of people responding to your dynamic. The stoic local craftsman and the impulsive city girl finding common ground through renovation—it’s storytelling gold.”
Across the room, Owen doesn’t move, but everything about his stance changes. His back straightens. His jaw sets. His grip on the screwdriver tightens until his knuckles turn white.
“That’s not really part of the renovation story,” I say slowly. “Owen prefers to focus on the craftsmanship rather than the personal aspects.”
“But it is part of the story,” Adele insists. “The house is a metaphor—it mirrors your personal growth. It’s the emotional heart of the narrative. We’re not suggesting you fake anything. Just lean into what’s already there.”
