Page 16 of Restored By You

He’s here.

The little voice in my head goes quiet.

Rhett kills the engine and steps out in one fluid motion, and I have approximately three seconds to arrange my face into something that does not scream I was terrified you wouldn’t show.

Three seconds is not enough time.

He comes up the front walk with that same unhurried ease from last night. “Hey,” he says, boots finding the bottom porch step.

“Hi.” I straighten, crossing my arms loosely. Casual. Completely unbothered. “How was your morning?”

“Productive.” He comes up the last two steps and stops at a polite, professional distance that I am desperately trying not to mentally measure for future reference. His gaze sweeps the porch, the roofline, in that same quiet, assessing way he looked at my flooded hallway last night. “Porch is in decent condition.”

I nod. “Yes. I’m thinking just a fresh coat of paint will have it looking brand new.”

“Window frame needs resetting,” he says, lifting a chin to my right.

I glance over my shoulder. “Oh, um, noted.”

His gaze drops to mine. “You mentioned something about being on camera? Care to elaborate.”

“Oh!” I laugh nervously. “Well, you see…I have this project, or pilot, rather, that I want to pitch to a network my father has an in with. The whole premise is home restoration, bringing vintage houses like this one back to their original character with a fresh twist instead of gutting them for a modern flip.”

He says nothing, just watches me with those hazel eyes while I talk with my hands like I always do when I’m excited and nervous all at once.

“I want to document the entire process. The before, the during, the after. Real and unfiltered.” I gesture vaguely around us. “This house is my proof of concept. My pilot episode.” I pause, reading his expression, which is giving me absolutely nothing. “Which means, whoever works on this renovation, would be…on camera. Occasionally. Nothing invasive, just…process footage, you know? B-roll, some talking head stuff maybe if you’re comfortable, but mostly just the work.”

Silence.

A beat too long that it has me swallowing thickly. I wasn’t nearly this nervous when I pitched the plan to my father a few weeks ago. Granted, the contractor I had previously lined up didn’t seem to care about being on camera or not, but something about Rhett worries me this may be a no-go…

“I completely understand if that’s a dealbreaker,” I add quickly. “I can work around it, keep the camera focused on the house rather than the—”

“It’s fine,” he says.

I blink. “Really? I mean, are you sure?”

“I’m not going to stop working because someone’s filming,” he says simply, like the idea of being self-conscious is a foreign language. “As long as it doesn’t slow the job down.”

“It won’t. I promise.” I smile with relief. “Tyler’s handling most of the filming, actually. He may act like he’s not happy about it, but I think he’s secretly thrilled.”

Rhett chuckles. “Got it.”

I stare at him for a moment. This man is either the calmest person I’ve ever met or the most unreadable man on the planet. “Right, um…”

“You done a full walkthrough yet?”

“Yes, uh, a bit last night, and everywhere this morning.” I wave my hands in front of me and drop them on an exhale. “It’s…a lot.”

His expression softens. “Show me.”

I push open the front door and Tyler is exactly where I left him—sprawled across the floor of the empty living room, laptop balanced on his stomach, camera sitting beside him.

He looks up, clocks Rhett, but doesn’t move to get up. “Hey.”

I glare at him. We really need to work on his manners.

“Hey.” Rhett steps inside, gaze shifting across the ceiling, the baseboards, the fireplace dominating the far wall. “You filming?”