Fever Dream (Emerald Lake, #1)(16)
But that doesn’t prevent confusion from touching Julia’s features as she stares down at the sheets.
Her brow furrows.
Her nose wrinkles in that same way I’ve noticed before.
I prop my hands on my hips and let out a weighty sigh. “Do you want help with that?”
“No,” she replies a little too quickly, eyes slicing up to mine for a beat.
“All right,” I say, resignation in my tone as I trudge toward her and swipe the manual out of her hands.
Because she may not want my help, but she looks like she might need it. And apparently, I have some sort of affliction when it comes to helping Julia Silva.
CHAPTER 8
Julia
“WELCOME TO ROMANCE RANCH! Where ten lucky ladies are going to be courting our cowboy, professional bull rider Emmett Bush. Right here on a picturesque farm in Canada. I’m your host Brad Nelligan…”
The man with the too-tight face carries on introducing the show, but I find myself taking a long look around the guesthouse as the sun sets beyond it.
Quite frankly, I am brimming with pride.
I stand with the crew, our backs to the rest of the farm as we face the bunkhouse where the contestants will live for the next month. The building is unrecognizable from the first day that Leon and Tina gave me a tour of the place and fed me freshly baked cookies. The main set is several minutes down a gravel road and much farther into the sprawling property, which has helped to maintain privacy up at their home.
When we started here, it was… rustic, to say the least. An old spot for staff to live while working the farm that had fallen into a serious state of disrepair. In the weeks that have followed, I’ve made a point of creating a lookbook and shopping around for simple fixes that would spruce the place up.
A fresh coat of stain on the cedar siding. Wine barrels from local wineries, cut in half and filled with planted lavender. String lights zigzagging over the bricked-in patio, where Richard decided most of the interviews and elimination ceremonies will take place. The inside was in desperate need of a deep clean too. But now, each room is fresh and tidy. One long, dorm-like hall of bedrooms attached to a communal living and dining room means all the women get private sleeping space, but they must share social areas. Which—according to Richard—is where all the magic happens.
And though I felt out of my depth with the project at first, I’ve managed to stay afloat and create a usable space for the show.
Earlier this week, Richard pulled up in his silver Cybertruck and strutted around the property—frantically dusting off his loafers. After he’d inspected every corner of the place, he’d finally turned to me with a firm nod and said, “Not bad, kid.”
So, I’m taking that as a big win, considering I’ve seen the man lose his shit at several crew members over the past couple of months.
My presence isn’t essential—until something goes wrong. Then, anything on the set or location falls on my shoulders.
Which is why I work quietly and plan to always be available for any issues that might arise during filming. Something broke on set and needs to be replaced? I’m here. Need to pivot to a different backdrop? I’ve got ideas. Someone is boxed in where the crew parks? I’ll find the offending driver.
I’ve kept my head down, slipped under the radar, and worked longer hours than I’m paid for, completing tasks beyond what any established location manager would tackle. But as the new girl, I don’t mind. I’m not above grunt work. And if it gets me to where I’m going, I’ll put that time in without complaint.
My only complaint is that Emmett keeps popping up. Every morning I see him. And every so often, he insists on helping me, even though I don’t want it.
Needless to say, he is always around. Helping. Watching. Working.
Often shirtless.
I’ve tried hard to keep my distance. To not overstay my welcome. To conduct myself as staff and not as a neighbor.
But unfortunately, his family has made it more awkward than necessary. Leon and Tina are constantly inviting me in for snacks and drinks when I’m on-site, and I’m a jerk for turning them down. They’ve begun trying different food and beverage combinations as though that’s the root cause of why I’m never available.
Cookies and coffee?
Tea and banana bread?
Beer and potato chips?
Wine and cheese?
My answer is always no, but I worry they’re starting to take it personally—which I don’t want, because they are genuinely the sweetest people.
I don’t interact with Emmett much. Save for the odd time when he stomps past and feels the need to make my business his own. But I do see him. Driving a tractor. Stacking hay bales. Setting jumps for his sister in the outdoor arena. He’s… everywhere. Inescapable.
“Cut!” someone calls, and Brad’s fake-ass smile drops instantly as the crew goes from quiet and still to bustling.
I look toward the driveway where a flash of movement catches my eye. It appears the women have arrived, and my stomach twists into a knot. Casting wasn’t part of the prep that I was included in—my predecessor was still on staff for that. So this is my first time meeting them.
They exit their limos and line up around the side of the house, out of sight for Emmett, but perfectly in view for me. Each woman who joins the line is physically different from the last. Varied ethnicities, different hair colors, and bodies that range from lean to curvaceous.