Page 70 of Idle

He throws his arm in the air. “I’ll make it good.” In a much lower tone, he mutters, “Hope that’s enough.”

Because I have no experience with carving, I keep my mouth shut. From his demeanor, I can tell he’s not open to hearing me anyway. It’s not like I don’t have my own work to complete. I organize my tasks for the day, deciding to check in on the bathroom first. Perhaps having the bedroom all to himself will help him think.

When I walk into the bathroom, the guys are working on the tile. Due to budget constraints, I couldn’t put in the double shower heads I wanted, but this still looks nice. Although, the outline for the niche seems . . . off.

I point. “Why is the niche so small?”

The tile worker glances from me to it and shrugs. “We had to make it that small because of the framing.”

I designed the niche to be a long, rectangular shape spanning much of the accent wall. “This is too dinky.” My mind scrambles to come up with options and after about an hour, we’ve relocated the niche to the inside of the half-wall tile surround. Even though it won’t be visible unless the person’s using the shower, it will be much larger, ergo more functional. Bet the judges will eat it up.

This problem solved, I turn my attention to the various accessories we’ll need to complete the room. Making a list, I detour to the work area.

When I enter, Jesse’s back is to me. His T-shirt is riding up from his jeans—yet his jeans aren’t low enough on his hips to give the dreaded plumber’s crack. Wouldn’t want to tantalize the viewers with his backside anyway. I walk up behind him, aware of the cameras, so I don’t do anything crazy like pinch his delectable behind.It’s a close call.

“I solved an issue for us in the bathroom and made a list of décor we need.”

“Good,” he grunts.

I crane my neck. “How’s it coming along?”

He blows on the wood, sending sawdust swirling. “Alright.”

Since he doesn’t move, I walk around and check out his handiwork. Today’s attempt is much better than yesterday’s. The carving, while meticulous, also shows bold strokes. The only problem? He’s done maybe a foot by a foot, and the headboard is for a king-size bed. Perhaps he’ll speed up as the day progresses? “Wow. This is looking good.”

“Thanks. This is much harder than I anticipated.”

I study the drawing he’s carving. “Think you could scale back even more?”

His mouth purses. “I have.”

Sensing anything more I would say would not be well received, I hold my hands up. “Well, you’re doing good work. Keep it up. I’m off shopping for the items I need to complete this suite.” I pat myself on the back for remembering not to say “prop room.” Quinn told us they want the viewers to believe I actually went shopping. His response is to resume carving.

Throughout my “shopping spree,” I think about how Jesse can complete the headboard by the deadline. Because of where he started on the wood, he can’t limit his work to a well-placed rectangle. Unless . . . I head to the fabric section and find batting as well as some plush cottons and linens. Selecting a couple of colors that will complement the window coverings, I grab them all and rush back to the work area.

Jesse’s going to go blind if he continues to stare down the headboard like this. Ignoring the cameras, I rub his back. “Hey.”

He stands, and my hand slips off his body. “What’s up?”

I hold up my finds from the prop room. “Look what I saw when I was shopping for the bathroom.”

“Looks nice.”

His eyes stray back to the headboard, and I can tell he’s clueless about my idea. “What do you think about upholstering the bottom part of the headboard and leave a carved strip up top?” This is the perfect solution. He can showcase his work and not be so stressed.

His expression turns stormy. “Don’t think I can hack it?”

“What? No. It’s not like that.” My breathing speeds up. “I can see you’re struggling, and thought this was the perfect solution.”

The carving knife flips between his hands. “By covering it up?” His tone is low. Deadly.

I hide the material behind my back. “I only thought you could carve out a small slice instead of the entire headboard.”

“I got it, Paige.” He turns away from me and raises his knife.

Chastised, I hold my head high and leave the work area. In the prop area, I return the batting and fabric, explaining we changed our minds. Wandering around, I listlessly pluck at some fake plants. I need to get away and clear my head—the cameras can focus on Jesse and his carving. Exiting the building, I enter the High Line. Because it’s a weekday, it’s not as crowded, although tons of people still mill around. I pass the ice cream vendor, ignoring the call of strawberry, and bounce from one statue to the next. Stopping in front of one called, “Stormy Tides,” I stare at the harsh lines, imagining I’m being sucked into the storm. Not much of a leap.

Needing someone to talk with, I pull out my phone and call the only person I have access to. My lifeline. Chloe picks up on the third ring. “How’s it going? The competition must be winding down, right?”

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