But Arden had talked plenty about her grandparents, just like she was doing in the footage. And the longer she talked on the screen, the more it became obvious that she'd been living here at the house, not just visiting on Saturday afternoons.
What did that mean?
By the time the footage ended, I'd half-forgotten that I wasn't alone. As the screen went dark, I felt a pang of something I hadn't felt in a long while.
With my eyes trained on the screen, I asked, "Is that it?"
"From that segment," Roy said. "What, you wanna see more?"
It was obvious bait to lure me in. But already I'd seen more than enough to get me thinking. And feeling.
I didn’t want to think or feel – not about her.
I told him, "Nah, I'm good."
He paused. "So, uh, what'd you think?"
I gave a tight shrug. "It'll make for some good TV." As I turned to look at him, I said, "So, what'd Waverly think of it?"
Roy grimaced. "Don't ask."
In theory, Waverly was the producer, which meant she had the final say in how the episodes were cut. I asked, "So, is she gonna air that footage or not?"
"Oh, it's gonna air," Roy said. "You can bank on that."
I believed him. Roy was bucking for a promotion. And I had no doubt he'd get it. As far as Waverly, with every day that passed, she was taking less of an interest in doing her actual job.
I wasn't surprised. Hell, I'd seen it coming.
I knew her type.
Probably she'd expected it to be all glamor and glitz, when in reality, it was hard work on both sides of the camera – and even harder when you couldn’t keep your head on straight, as I was learning firsthand for myself.
Chapter 37
Arden
During the past couple of weeks, things had gradually improved. Thank goodness.
Unlike that first awful day of construction, Brody's brothers were rarely on-site. Instead, they showed up for a few hours here and there to look gorgeous for the cameras, before scuttling back to wherever, leaving me in relative peace.
As far as my dealings with Brody, we'd settled into a shaky truce. We never discussed his flaming truck or that incident with the chemistry lab. In fact, we never discussed anything from back in high school.
It was a good thing too, because there was more than enough tension floating around already.
But this time, I didn't mean arguments.
I meant something else – something that was a lot harder to put my finger on. It might've been friendship. Or might've been something a whole lot scarier.
Regardless, it was growing by the day.
Brody and I were living together, working together, and sometimes even laughing together. I discovered that he was a surprisingly fun roommate, and that he loved a lot of the same things I did.
We both liked toast with crunchy peanut butter, funny action movies, and classic architecture. We both hated McMansions and developers who didn't respect the character of historic neighborhoods.
And we both loved the house.
We spent at least some portion of every night pouring over restoration plans, much to the annoyance of Waverly, who kept angling to get Brody alone.
But for whatever reason, he wasn't biting.
As far as the house, tonight I'd left the job site later than usual. A couple of laborers had left early with some sort of stomach bug, and I'd volunteered to finish their work so the project wouldn't fall behind.
I hadn't done it for Brody's benefit. I'd done it for the house – or least that's what I kept telling myself.
And besides, I was making a terrific amount of money for very little work, so it seemed only fair to balance the scales wherever I could.
As for Waverly, she was looking anything but balanced. Standing in the kitchen, she looked twitchy and unsettled, like a junkie in need of a fix.
That fix had a name. Brody Blastoviak.
She wanted him, bad. Even now, this was glaringly obvious by the way she kept glancing at the side door, as if preparing to pounce on him the moment he walked in.
With an irritated sigh, she said, "It's ten o'clock."
I'd only ventured out of my bedroom to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. "Yeah? So?"
"So why is he still working?"
The answer should've been obvious. Brody was juggling a ton of details. Over the past couple of weeks, I'd gained a new appreciation for how much work went into fixing up such a massive old house.
Add in a film crew, a prickly producer, and two older brothers who were no help at all, and it was surprising that Brody had any free time whatsoever. Plus, I knew for a fact that he was laying the groundwork for two other restoration jobs in two different states.
The guy had his hands full and then some.
When Waverly made some snide comment about him needing a course in time-management, I couldn't stop myself from saying, "Oh come on. He's got a lot going on."
"So do I," she said. "And you don't see me skipping dinner."
I bit my lip. Actually, Brody hadn't skipped dinner. Sometime around seven, we'd had pizza delivered to the job site. By then, nearly everyone had already left for the day – everyone except for me, Brody, and Roy.
When Roy took his pizza to the SUV to make some phone calls, that left me and Brody to dine alone.
It had been nice, actually.
Even though we'd taken only fifteen minutes to eat, we'd sat near the beach, talking about color schemes for the home's exterior.
Waverly would've hated it.
But I didn't. To my surprise, I was loving the whole project, and not only because it was my grandparent's place. There was something magical about taking something neglected and making it beautiful again.
Of course, the house was far from beautiful now. In fact, it looked worse than when we'd begun. But that was only a temporary phase – the dark before the dawn, the demolition before the restoration, and the mess before
