Page 42 of Call It Home

Chapter17

Mac

Once again,the house was a frenzied, bustling mess, filled with the heady aroma of sawdust and paint that hung thick in the air, the screeching of power tools, and workers hurrying from one corner of the room to another, shouting out orders and calling for tools.

Last week’s loss stung. But even without Vivien’s unwarranted comments, we’d known going into this competition that it would be tough. Now it was time to regroup and focus on the next challenge. I was pleased with the progress of work and thought we’d laid out a good design.

But Cameron was uncharacteristically on edge.

“I don’t know, Mac. Something is missing.” She twisted her lips as she looked around the room. “It’s nice, but it’s like it’s missing life.”

I glanced around, as well. To me, everything looked like a significant improvement over the original room. We’d taken out a regular sliding door and added an accordion one to maximize the size. We’d gotten rid of the traditional fireplace and added a more modern gas one in a better location. A new wood ceiling made from local boards added a beautiful accent and helped to make the room feel warm and cozy.

“It’s amazing, Cameron. Adding some plants will make it feel more alive. You’re just frustrated after Vivien’s comments. Shake it off. We have work to do.”

She sighed. “Maybe you’re right. Still…”

I didn’t have time to keep reassuring her. I had work to finish. The contractor had made a costly mistake with the measurements for the built-in bookshelves, which meant we had to rip them out and start again. The error had eaten up more of our budget, and we were already pushing it, knowing how much more work we had ahead of us. “Just stay focused or we’ll never get done, and thatwillbe a disaster.”

She nodded and went back to painting a wall. I had to admit, I was surprised by how much Cameron jumped in with the physical work. She’d helped knock down walls, tear up flooring, and was a pro at painting. She pulled more than her weight when it came to the construction side of the process.

She was smart. She was strong. She was beautiful.

And it was becoming harder and harder to ignore the growing feelings I had for her.

“No!” I heard her shout. “That’s all wrong. That wallpaper goes on the back of the shelving units.Thiswallpaper goes in the bathroom.” She waved a big roll of the aforementioned wall covering in a contractor’s face.

“Well, maybe someone should have labeled them,” he snapped back, whipping it out of her hands. “That’s your job, isn’t it?”

“Oh, my god,” she mumbled. I watched as she threw her hands in the air as she turned to go back to her work, nearly tripping over one of the guys who was laying new hardwood flooring. “Why are we just now getting the flooring done? That was supposed to have been finished yesterday. Why can’t we keep a schedule here, huh?”

Those around her cringed, then quickly ducked back to their work.

It hadn’t been done because she changed her mind about the placement of the fireplace at the last minute. One little event like that in this tight timeframe had a significant domino effect. Her change was a smart one, but we were all feeling the extra pressure today as a result.

Still, we couldn’t afford to upset the people who were trying to support us. I knew she’d been up late last night, double- and triple-checking our plans, color schemes, and everything else, claiming she wasn’t going to give Vivien any further reasons to be ultra-critical.

“Let’s go,” I said, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the door.

Not to my surprise, she literally dug in her heels—or at least the soles of her work boots. “What are you doing? I have work to do.”

“We’re getting out of here for a bit. They can handle it. They can’t, however, handle it when you’re acting like a diva and yelling at everyone.”

Her mouth dropped open, but her surprise unstuck her enough that I was able to pull her behind me. I dragged her to the golf cart HRTV had provided us to make getting around easier and jumped into the driver’s seat.

Once again, she stopped. Hands on her hips, she demanded, “What are we doing? We have work to do.”

I looked at her as I turned the key. “Trust me?”

Her lip twisted beneath her teeth as she hesitated. With a long sigh, she dropped her head and shook it, then finally answered, “Yes.”

Pleased with her answer, I drove us to Crafty. “Wait here.”

Her eyes narrowed, and I knew she was getting ready to protest. “Trust, remember?”

With a tiny grunt, she crossed her arms but remained in the cart. Inside, I grabbed a few different sandwich options, some chips, a couple of apples, and water bottles, and talked to the guy overseeing the trailer. After a few minutes, I headed back to the golf cart. I put the bag in the back and headed down the street, away from all the chaos of the show.

“Where are we going? Mac, we really need to sit and go over the plans.”

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