Page 24 of The Single Dad Project

“All right, Jussy. Let’s go back to the house for a minute. I need to lock up.” Adam stretched his hand out toward his daughter, and she skipped to him.

“Okay, Daddy. You got to get your plans,” she announced, slipping her hand in his, and Flo stared down at them—the tiny, fragile fingers disappearing in her father’s bigger, stronger clasp—fascinated for a moment.

Flo’s palms and fingers itched for her camera again. To capture the purity of this moment. This instance of...safety, security. Trust.

She snatched her gaze away from the sight, but she couldn’t dismiss the oily glide of shame slicking its way to her stomach.

Because for a brief moment—long enough to be disgusted with herself—she was envious of little Jussy.

She looked at the child, with those small, dainty fingers resting in her father’s hand. She possessed the confidence that came with a child who recognized she wasn’t only loved, but also protected. That she would never wake up one day and find he’d disappeared, rocking the only world she knew. Even with her mother gone, Jussy still stood on the solid ground of her father’s affection and dependability.

Flo shuffled back a step.

From the feeling that shamed her.

From the pair that stirred up old memories and unwanted thoughts.

“I should go,” she whispered, and could do nothing about the hoarseness. Clearing her throat, she tried again. “You two have a great evening.”

Not daring to meet those too intense, too piercing eyes, she kept her attention focused on Jussy as she forced a trembling smile and waved.

Spinning on her heel, Flo headed toward the walkway. And though Jussy called another cheerful goodbye, Flo didn’t glance over her shoulder. Didn’t look back.

Yes, she was running. She could admit that to herself.

But not from Adam and Jussy.

From herself.

CHAPTER FIVE

“THISHOMEISGORGEOUS. The pictures didn’t do it justice,” the producer ofVintage Renovationmurmured, strolling through the bare living room into the connected dining room.

The petite woman with her natural dark curls bound into a bun on top of her head glanced over her shoulder at Adam as she stroked a hand with short, pink nails over decorative scrollwork on one of the sliding doors that, once closed, separated the two rooms.

“It is lovely,” Adam agreed, standing a little distance away, arms crossed over his chest. “And there are more than enough strong bones here for the house to be fully restored to its former state.”

A low hum of anticipation buzzed beneath his skin as he surveyed the living room with its large bay windows and box storage seating that provided streams of light to the area. With the open floor plan, he could easily envision parties being held in this home, and guests flowing from the living room to the dining room. Or from the small vestibule area into the parlor and ballroom. Only the kitchen and bathroom were sectioned off and enclosed.

The rooms were airy with high ceilings, while the dark paneling prevented the space from being too cold or formal. Of course, how the homeowners decided to decorate this place could take these rooms from cozy and intimate to aloof and reserved. But that would be long after he finished his job. In the meantime, he would do his best to restore this home to its stately beauty while remaining as close to the original design and aesthetic as possible.

“Do you think you’ll be able to salvage anything in here?” The producer—Mira, was her name?—was coming back through the wide doorway into the living room.

Sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans, Adam cocked his head, taking in the finer details of the space, even though he could probably enumerate each feature in his head without looking. That was how often he’d been over the house.

“Definitely. Like I said, the structure is sound, and some of that elaborate crown molding—” he pointed to where the wall met the ceiling and around the door “—we’re absolutely going to save. Our goal is to conserve as much as possible. But we’ll end up having to replace some, of course. We’ve already gathered samples from throughout the house and sent them off to have them prefabricated to match. And at some point one of the owners replaced the fireplace with marble. We’ll redesign it with Italian tile, like the original, and change it back to wood burning instead of gas. That’s the theme of the renovation. Retaining as much of the original design as possible while keeping it modern and comfortable. The owner doesn’t want a showplace, but a home.”

“Please remember every bit of that for when we start filming. I will need you to repeat it,” she directed, smiling. “I have to admit, I’m eager to see the transformation. How long do you think the whole reno will take? We’ve estimated about sixteen weeks.”

Adam nodded. “That sounds about right. No longer than twenty, and that’s if we run into some unforeseen complications.”

He’d worked with a couple of home improvement TV shows before, and understood their production schedule, and how they preferred to keep it as tight as possible. But those prior projects hadn’t been as extensive as this one, and most of his job had taken place off camera, prior to filming. This one was different.

FirstVintage Renovationdidn’t shoot a renovation per episode. They dedicated an entire season to one rehab, each weekly installment focusing on one aspect of the reno. Or, as sometimes happened, an issue that cropped up during the reno.

So for the next four or five months, he would be surrounded by cameras as they followed the reformation from the beginning to when the homeowners arrived and set eyes on their fully restored home for the first time.

It had been a no-brainer to accept the job. It meant more exposure for him as viewers would see him weekly for months. And he couldn’t pass up the financial compensation for a project this size, as well. Those two factors evened the scales against the aggravation of having a camera in his face for nine to ten hours a day.

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