8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Max

T he first week of filming went by in a blur. Sterling was shining in his role, the construction crew was working at lightning speed, and I'd barely had time to breathe. I had made time for the library, though, doing tons of research on the former owners of the home, trying to figure out where the letters could have come from and who the writer was. I'd learned a little, enough that I wanted to share with someone , but Jake didn't seem interested in anything but work.

Near the beginning of the first week, Sterling approached me with a small issue while I was standing in the production tent, reviewing camera angles.

"Hey, boss?"

I smirked and looked at him. "Yeah?"

"Can you help me out for a second?"

I nodded and looked at the tech who'd been helping me. "Be right back," I said, before following Sterling out to the front of the house.

"So, I know we agreed that my mark would be here," he said, using his foot to nudge a tiny metal wire adorned with a plastic ribbon sticking up out of the ground. "But the electrician says they're going to need to dig here starting tomorrow."

I nodded slowly as my brain turned over the possibilities. Nobody had told me the electrician would be digging, and I wanted to confirm the plan with Jake. "How about we start you next to the front steps and pan out when needed?"

"Sounds good."

When Sterling had headed off in another direction, I headed to the trailer, where I suspected I'd find Jake, putting out one metaphorical fire or another. I knocked lightly on the door once I'd approached.

"Come in," Jake's gruff voice called.

I pushed open the door to find him hunched over some paperwork at his desk. "Hey there."

His normally sour face lightened with a tiny smile when he saw me and he stood up behind his desk. It wasn't much, but I'd take it. I approached him and he straightened, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and he shifted a little like he was trying to get comfortable. "Max."

"I had a quick question…" I started, trailing off as my mind tried hard to focus on something other than his tongue and lips. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch him, to lean over and kiss him, to see if he wanted me the way I wanted him.

"Yeah?"

I blinked a few times, returning my mind back to the moment. "Is the electrician digging tomorrow?"

He nodded. "He'll be marking his lines tonight after everyone else leaves." I watched as his gaze dropped to my mouth.

I pinned my bottom lip between my teeth as I processed everything. It wasn't that his words were so complicated. It was more that his words and his actions were so different that I didn't know which to prioritize. My heart raced and I leaned closer. Heat simmered between us, a magnetic pull to reach across the desk tugging at me. I nearly did, too. We stood there, staring at one another, only his desk between us, silent.

A knock at the door startled both of us into action.

"Thanks," I said. "I appreciate you letting me know."

At the same time, Jake exhaled sharply. "Let me know if you need anything else."

I stepped away and the spell was broken. As I left the trailer, another construction worker came in to talk to Jake. I left, my heart pounding in my chest and my fingers aching with longing.

I decided on Saturday when I woke up and the sun was shining that I'd been in Port Grandlin for far too long without exploring the town, so explore the town was exactly what I did. I headed to the historic downtown area, my mind working overtime, thinking about which buildings would be good contenders if the show got renewed. Town Hall looked like a solid choice. There was an ancient general store that also looked like an option, and a little old library. I turned the corner and made my way off of the main strip, walking a few blocks to where I'd seen a brewery on the map. It didn't take long to find—there was a whole neighborhood of breweries, at least a half dozen taking up several blocks. I decided to go into the first one I came to and save the others for another day.

I made my way into the building, swinging open the glass door and stepping into the cool air-conditioned space. The room was vast, with high ceilings and glossy, sealed concrete floors, and the scent of hops and wheat drifted pleasantly around as I took a step up to the long bar.

The bartender, a guy covered in tattoos with a short blond ponytail held high on the back of his head, immediately sidestepped from where he'd been chatting with another employee to stand in front of me. "Hey, what can I get you?"

I hummed indecisively. "I don't know. What do you recommend?"

The patron standing next to me leaned over to offer his opinion, and when I glanced over, I was startled to see it was Jake. "Try the blueberry sour."

I wasn't sure he recognized me at first, but when he finally glanced my way, he did a double take before his cheeks turned slightly pink and his gaze darted around the room. "What are you doing here?" His tone was gruff, as usual.

I shrugged and offered him a smile, hoping to wear down his usual grumpiness. "Just exploring the town."

He let out a sound that was part grunt. "Can't get a moment's peace around here."

"You want to join me for a drink? We can talk business, if you want. Or not. Either way."

He frowned for a second before sighing. "Alright. Why not?"

I nodded to the bartender. "I'll have that blueberry thing he recommended." A minute later, cold beer in hand, I was taking a seat at a table across from Jake. In an open cabinet next to the table was a handful of board games and decks of cards. I gestured to the cabinet. "You want to play something?"

Jake raised one eyebrow. "Do I look like the kind of guy who wants to play Candyland at a brewery?"

I laughed and grinned. "Guess not." Leaving my beer on the table for a moment, I rummaged through the cabinet until I found a deck of cards that read Would You Rather in big letters on the backs. "How about this?"

Jake hummed and sipped his beer. "Sure."

"Awesome." I drew the first card. "Would you rather have telekinesis or telepathy?"

"That's easy. Telekinesis."

It was my turn to raise my eyebrows. "Why?"

"Makes my job easier. Besides, telepathy comes with issues about consent."

I tilted my head to the side. Interesting answer. Without another moment's thought, I pushed the deck across the table toward Jake. "Your turn."

He pulled a card and let out a soft little chuckle when he read it to himself. "Would you rather swim in a pool of chocolate sauce or a pool of maple syrup?"

"That sounds like a nightmare." I ran my fingers through my hair. "Chocolate sauce, I guess. I'd imagine maple syrup is stickier, but it's probably just my imagination."

"Probably."

"Okay, my turn. Beach or pool?"

Jake thought for a moment. "Pool. I'm not a fan of sand. Besides, nobody knows what the hell is lurking in the ocean. It could be anything."

I suppressed a smile. "I'm with you. Give me a poolside cabana any day. Ooh, and a cabana boy. My turn. No food-related ones this time. Give me something good."

He glanced at the card he drew and frowned. "Would you rather ask your ex for a favor or a complete stranger?"

"Oh, a stranger, hands down. My ex is a terrible person and we don't talk about him." He raised his eyebrow again, and I held up a hand to keep him from asking. "Garden variety cheater, but it was pretty crappy to walk in on him sleeping with someone else in our bed . So yeah. Definitely the stranger. How about you? Ex or stranger?"

"I don't have any exes," he said quietly.

" None ?"

"It's been about fifteen years."

"That's one hell of a dry spell."

Jake shrugged. "I don't mind. Don't miss what you never really had in the first place." He took another sip of his beer and we just watched each other for a moment.

I didn't want to press, so instead, I nodded. "Understood."

We chatted for a while longer, going back and forth with the questions, and slowly Jake began to open up. I noticed his gaze dropping to my lips a few times, and when I caught him staring, his cheeks reddened in a blush that could only be described as "adorable." Our hands brushed exchanging cards at one point, and my heart rate went crazy, pounding in my chest as if I'd been running a marathon. When it happened, he stammered out that he needed to use the restroom and darted away. The more time I spent with him, the more I liked him. I just needed to break through his tough exterior and get to what I knew was a softie inside, and I was going to do that even if it killed me.

By the time we wrapped the next Friday, I was drained. Someone from the construction crew—probably Jake—had negotiated weekends off, which I was glad for. I wanted to catch Jake before he left, but it seemed like anything and everything that could have held me up did just that. First, Brooks wanted me to review the day's footage with him, then Micah pulled me aside to talk about the set design for the following week. Just when I thought I was free, Gideon stopped me to ask about getting some shots for B-roll. I was grateful that my group of friends had all landed jobs on set, but in that moment, I was ready to get the hell out of there.

I rubbed my temples with my fingertips. "We'll figure it out Monday, okay?"

Gideon looked skeptical, one eyebrow raised, but he nodded anyway. "As long as you're fine with waiting."

"Yep." My tone was clipped, and I cringed as soon as I heard myself. "Sorry. I've got a headache and it's been a long week."

He waved away my concern. "No worries. I get it. We've all had a long week. It's totally fine."

"Thanks." I glanced around to see if Jake's big pickup was around and spotted it pulling away from the curb. With a sigh, I turned back to Gideon. "Actually, I've got time. Let's talk."

A half hour later, I locked the production trailer behind me and headed to my car. I started the engine but didn't put the car in gear immediately. Instead, my mind still on the letters, I picked up my phone and texted Jake.

Max: Hey, it's Max. Sorry to bother you after hours. Do you have time to get together this weekend and chat about the show? I have some ideas I wanted to get your opinion on.

I waited a moment for a reply and just as I gave up and put the car in gear, my phone dinged. I slid it back into park and checked the message.

Jake: Sure. Come on by.

It was accompanied by his address.

My eyebrows shot up. It wasn't what I'd expected but I wasn't about to argue with him about where we could meet to discuss the letters and how I wanted to incorporate them into the show. I let him know I'd be there in ten minutes, and sure enough, I was pulling into a quaint neighborhood not long after. When I found his house, a sprawling rancher, I pulled into the driveway, nervousness zinging through me. Relax , I told myself. It's just a work meeting. Even so, I had to take a deep, shaky breath to steady myself before getting out of the car and heading up the walk, a folder with my research and copies of the letters tucked under my arm.

I knocked a couple of times and waited for Jake to answer. When he did, swinging the door wide, wearing sweatpants and a relaxed T-shirt, I could barely cover my surprise. His hair was damp, and he looked like he'd just stepped out of the shower. He looked good, even better than he did on site in his hard hat and boots, and I had a feeling that I was going to end up very distracted during our conversation. My face heated as I drank in his appearance, mesmerized by his softer casual look, while still looking like an absolute snack.

I glanced at my feet in an attempt to hide the fact that I was blushing. "Thanks for letting me stop by," I said, trying to break the heavy silence between us.

The tips of his ears were pink as he blinked at me a couple of times. "No big deal." Jake stepped aside to let me enter. "In my line of work, the job never stops."

When I stepped into his house, I glanced around, taking it all in. The house had looked dated from the outside, but inside, it was fresh and new. There were light-stained hardwood floors, the walls were painted in fresh, modern colors, and the fireplace in the living room was surrounded by painted white brick. "Wow."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "What?"

"This place is great. I mean, the decor is a little sparse, but it's so nice. Very updated."

"Did you think my house was going to look like the Collins house or something?"

"No," I said in a hurry. "No. I don't know what I was thinking. A cluttered bachelor pad maybe. Not this. But it's really nice. Did you do all this work yourself?"

He rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged. "Yeah. I mean, most of it. I'm a general contractor, so I can do most of the disciplines myself if I need to."

"Well, it looks great. Really." A beat passed, and he glanced at the thick folder I was holding. "I didn't come here just to scope out your house, obviously. I wanted to talk about the letters, actually."

His face froze. "Oh. Okay."

"Can we sit down and talk about some of my thoughts?"

"Sure, whatever you want." He led me into his living room, and we sat next to each other on the couch so I could spread my research out on the coffee table in front of us.

"So, I've spent a lot of evenings in the library lately."

He frowned and furrowed his brow. "Why?"

"To see if I could figure out who the letter writers were. I figured I'd start with determining who owned the house last, and maybe work backward, but I haven't had much luck there yet. I also checked out old local newspapers for the names in the letters, but without last names, it's hard to find much."

"You've put an awful lot of work into a handful of irrelevant old letters."

"That's the thing," I said, picking up a newspaper clipping I'd copied. "I don't think they're irrelevant. They're a part of the house's history, and I want to see how we can tie that back to the work we're doing. These two really loved each other. I'm hoping I can reach out to the other family and maybe they still have the corresponding letters."

"Slim chance."

"It's just—" My throat tightened as I spoke. "They deserved to be able to love each other openly and freely, and they weren't given that opportunity. I want to do right by them." I rubbed my palms on my thighs, trying to release the anxious energy I'd built up.

Jake was still for a long moment, and just when I opened my mouth to apologize for my outburst, he put his hand on mine. When he spoke, his tone was soft, almost a whisper. "It's okay. I get it."

Exhaling slowly, I waited to see if he'd pull his hand away, but he didn't move. When I looked at him, his gaze met mine and he swallowed hard. We were quiet and still for a few seconds before Jake's gaze wavered. Instead of meeting mine, he glanced at my mouth, sliding his tongue out to wet his lower lip. It felt like an invitation, and I seized my opportunity.

I took a deep breath and leaned toward Jake, moving my free hand to rest on the side of his neck and pulling him in. He didn't resist at all, coming in close. I was sure he'd pull away at the last second, but I was wrong. Instead, he shut his eyes and allowed me to press a gentle kiss to his lips. He opened to me and our tongues moved together. His breath hitched as the kiss slowly unfolded, delicate and tender.

There were fireworks going off inside of me as we kissed, my body heating as Jake moved his hand to my waist. His fingers gripped the fabric of my shirt, making a fist and drawing me closer. We kissed for what could have been an eternity or just for a few delicious seconds, but eventually, we pulled apart, Jake's breathing shaky as we made eye contact again. I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what. I wanted his tongue against mine again, to feel the soft scratch of his stubble against my face as we kissed, to breathe his scent in deeply.

As we parted, I looked at him, trying to gauge how he felt, where his mind was. His eyes were wide with what seemed to be panic. Maybe I had misread all of the signals I thought he'd sent me indicating he was interested. He was probably straight and I'd just read everything wrong. The hand touching was probably just a comforting gesture, not a come-on.

The warmth in my body turned sour and words tumbled from my mouth, unfiltered. "I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have done that." I scooped up my papers all at once and tucked them into the folder. "I'll see you Monday." With that, I rushed out of his house and to my car, before he could say another word.