She’d been contemplating walking out onto the dock to check out the dock house. The planking was decaying, boards missing and sagging in other places. Should she risk it? Was there enough money in the budget to rebuild the dock?
Trae sat down beside her and bit into a peach. “I’m definitely getting the keep-away vibe,” he repeated. “Tell me if I’m wrong.”
“You’re not wrong,” she admitted. “It’s just … awkward. I thought our dinner last night—you know—”
“Are we talking about the kiss? Because it didn’t feel awkward to me.”
“You know what I mean. That was a private moment. But those photos on that website. Everyone has seen them. They’re plastered all over the internet. It makes me feel kind of dirty. Like we were doing something shameful.”
“It was just one kiss. Between consenting adults.” With his fingertip, he traced the curve of her cheek, and Hattie shivered, involuntarily. “Although I think you know I wish it had been more.”
“How do you stand it?” she asked abruptly. “And I’m being serious.”
“What? Being young and semi-rich and semi-famous? I love it. I’m living my dream. I get to pick and choose my clients and my projects. I get to travel and see new places and meet new people. Like you. How is that a bad thing?”
“But I don’t want to be famous,” she blurted.
“What do you want?” He rested his chin on her shoulder.
“I don’t want to be spied on. I don’t want strangers gawking at me, or sticking cameras in my face. I don’t want my private life out there on the internet. I want to do my work and make enough money to do … whatever I want.”
Trae laughed. “In other words, you want to be rich.”
“That’s not it at all,” Hattie said. But she couldn’t tell him about what her life had been like before. Before her father got caught and went to prison. Before her family had been shattered. Before the mention of her maiden name made people snicker and whisper about her behind her back.
They heard rustling behind them and turned. Gage, one of Mo’s production assistants, cleared his throat nervously.
“Hey, uh, Leetha and Mo sent me to look for you guys. They’re set up for the after-the-fire shoot now.”
Trae stood and helped Hattie to her feet. “Let’s continue this discussion later.”
* * *
Jorge and Tomas had changed into fresh white painter’s pants and crisply pressed work shirts that had their company name embroidered over their breast pocket. A clearly nervous Jorge pointed to the fire-damaged porch and clapboard exterior wall.
“First, we are going to carefully clean up as much of this black soot as we can. We use a commercial degreasing product. Then, when we see how bad the damage is, we will figure out which part of the wall might need to be replaced.”
Hattie ran the flat of her hand over the wall near the kitchen door and held her greasy palm up to the camera. “Yuck. Jorge, how long will it take your crew to clean up all this mess?”
“Four guys, we start this afternoon, work late. Maybe two, three days.”
“In the meantime,” Hattie said, sighing, “there’s still plenty of work to do. The carpenters need to finish framing out the new stairway inside, and the plumbers are already working on roughing in the new half bath in the hallway.”
Trae stepped easily into the frame. “Let’s take folks inside and show them the progress we’ve made on the new downstairs master suite.”
* * *
The claims adjuster was writing up his report in the kitchen when Hattie and Trae finished shooting at the front of the house. He was in his fifties, with silver hair and pale blue eyes behind silver-framed spectacles.
“And how soon can we get a settlement check?” Cass asked. “As you can see, we’re on a tight deadline here.”
“I need to get back to the office and check some numbers, but I think it should be early next week,” the adjuster said. He glanced over at Trae, and then back down at his report, and then back again at Trae with a sheepish expression. “You’re Trae Bartholomew, right? You probably get tired of hearing this, but my wife is a big fan. Huge fan. Loved that last show you did.”
“Thanks,” Trae said. “I never get tired of hearing from my fans. What’s your wife’s name?”
“Dani. Well, Danielle.” He produced a sheet of paper from the back of his notepad and held it out to Trae. “Would you mind? I mean, if it’s not too big an imposition?”