Page 60 of Idle

When we’re inside our apartment, I take a second to enjoy all we’ve already accomplished in here. I’m most proud of the hidden pantry, while I know Jesse’s partial to the hydraulic lift above the fireplace that moves the artwork over the television. That was a feat, to be sure. Doesn’t compare with his using cabinets to conceal the pantry doorway, in my opinion.

“Ready?”

For more things than one. Even though the cameras are stationed inside the primary suite, out here we’re alone. I kiss his cheek. “Let’s do this.”

In the bedroom, I put the finishing touches on the curtain holders and figure out how I’m going to attach the material to them. Needing a breather, I lay the long pieces of timber on the floor and go to the work area where Jesse’s working on the bed. “The frame looks great.”

He glances at me. “Whatever. That was the easy part.” He taps the butt of the handle of the knife he’s using to carve the headboard. “I don’t think this is going to work.”

Since he’s blocking my view of his work, I place my hands on his shoulders and move him to one side. Blowing on the wood, I uncover the work he’s done so far. It’s . . . minimal. “Can I see your sketch again?”

He flips a piece of paper at me like a petulant little boy. I hold it up against the massive wood he’s laid out on the bed. “Looks like you’re starting off strong.” I purse my lips, trying to figure out the best way to offer him advice. “You may want to draw your sketch directly on the board. It might make it easier for you.” I hand him my pencil. “You can use this. It gave me luck with the window covering frame.”

He snatches the graphite out of my hand. “Thanks,” he grumbles, dropping it onto the bed.

Irked at his reaction, I toss, “Just trying to help.” I give him my back. “I’ll return to my assignments and get out of your hair.”

“You do that.”

Jerk. How can a man who was so tender this morning revert into such a rude cave dweller on a dime? Vowing not to engage him again, I pull out my sketches for the side tables and assemble the materials.

Focused on sawing the wood needed for the tables, I jump when someone taps me on the back—luckily, I had finished the cut. Spinning around, I scream, “What!”

Jesse stands before me, hands in his pockets, looking at the functional concrete floor. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

My heart continues pounding. “Well, you did.” This is the first contact we’ve had in hours. Jutting my chin, I ask, “Can I help you?” Still not over the earlier fiasco.

“Guess I deserved that.” His foot rocks. As if being forced out of his soul, he asks, “Can you take a look at what I’ve been doing?” When I don’t react, he adds, “Please.”

Knowing it took a lot out of him to come to me, and wanting to present a united front for the cameras that have now appeared, I force my expression to soften. “Of course.”

I follow him, stopping in front of the headboard he’s carving. His hand runs over it, removing sawdust. “It’s much harder than whittling. What do you think?”

Glancing from the headboard to him, I take in his dejected air and let go of my anger from before. He was frustrated and lashed out, and I happened to be the lucky recipient. “Let me see.” I study what he drew and the carving he’s started. He followed my advice and sketched the drawing onto the wood, which is good. His carving, however, is tentative at best. Already a day and a half of this challenge have gone by, and he’s barely made headway on this project.

Best to start with the positive. “I like your sketch. I think you accurately drew it. Good job.”

He shoves his hands into his back pockets. “Thanks.”

“As for the carving, it feels, I don’t know, timid. This design calls for big, bold strokes of your knife, but these”—I run my finger over a small groove—“are too light. Do you understand what I’m trying to convey?”

His hand slashes through his hair. “Bolder, got it.”

“Yeah, and maybe try to angle the blade more. You also might want to consider deleting some of these lines,” I point to them on the headboard. At the rate he’s going, he’ll be lucky to finish the larger outlines. Picking up the pencil, I start erasing some lines. Stepping back, I examine my handiwork.

Grumpy Jesse comes out to play. “Fine. I got it.”

“Only trying to help.” I take a step backward. “You asked me, remember?” He wanted help and that was what I was giving him. Guidance. He doesn’t have to be sulky about it. If he’s like this now, what would he be like in a relationship?

Relationship? Just because I have high hopes he’ll be the first man to give me an orgasm doesn’t mean we’re in one. From his demeanor, it looks like he doesn’t remember this morning at all. I stomp back and resume working on the side tables. Which I’m creating for him so he can carve the headboard. He’s frustrated, not mad at me.Let it go, Paige.

The end of the day arrives faster than I thought possible. I got both side tables done today, plus the window coverings are ready to be hung. Tomorrow, I need to turn my attention to the other elements of the bedroom before spending the final day on the bathroom. I checked and the tilers did a great job, so there is that.

Quinn breezes into the work room. “Thanks for all your hard work today, guys.” Her eyes linger on me a tad too long.What’s that about?The director announces, “Day Two is in the history books. Like before, you’re allowed to stay in the apartment as long as you would like, but you can’t do any more work in there.”

“Great,” I offer as Jesse responds, “Okay.”

We return to the apartment to gather our things. “How are you two feeling? Excited for the competition to be coming to a close? Wanting more time to execute your vision for the suite? Enjoying this process?”

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