It remained so as he answered Martha’s initial question.
His hands lay flat on the table before him. “I’m thirty-three. A mechanical engineer. I help my company modify our engine designs to meet upcoming emissions legislation.”
Martha didn’t waste any more time on irrelevant topics. “And why did you agree to help Lucy with her tiny house search?”
Irene had leaned forward, her green eyes sharp on Mr. Castillo’s face.
Cowan returned his attention to the interview just in time to see the transformation.
Sebastián Castillo’s stony façade cracked at the mere mention of Lucy Finch’s name. His countenance softened, his fingers curled into loose fists, and the corners of his mouth tucked inward. An abortive smile? A frown of worry? Cowan couldn’t tell, but it was something. Something that might make for very, very good television.
“She needs me.” That was all Mr. Castillo said. For him, it was clearly enough.
“And you’d do anything for her?” Martha prodded.
At that, an almost indecipherable smile stretched his lips, affectionate and a touch sad. “Anything. Even go on a cable reality show.”
Irene whistled. “He’s hot as hell when he smiles.”
Cowan let out his own slow breath as he battled irrational annoyance. “He’s also half in love with Lucy Finch, unless I miss my guess.”
“I think the feeling’s mutual.” Her head tilted, and her fingers resumed drumming against the table. “Although Isuppose they could just be really good friends and nothing more.”
“Maybe.” With reluctance, he pointed out the obvious. “She’s about to buy a yurt and move away from him.”
His coworker reached for her tablet and opened a new document. “Maybe that’ll depend on how the tiny house hunt goes.”
He slanted her a warning look. “We can’t sabotage the houses she sees.”
“That’s correct. But my guess is that the options are limited in her corner of Virginia.” Irene’s gamine face, so familiar after weeks of working side by side, stretched into a grin. “And we don’t have to help her real estate agent find better ones. We can also give a heads-up to the crew.”
Any certainty he’d briefly possessed was crumbling into doubt. “I’m not sure we should mess with people’s lives for the sake of good TV.”
“We aren’t doing it for the sake of good TV. It’s more of a humanitarian mission than anything else. A good deed.” A gleaming swath of jet-black hair swung in front of her face, hiding her expression. “Aren’t Boy Scouts like you supposed to like good deeds?”
His head gave a warning twinge, as it often did when Irene got that particular tone.
“I don’t know. It still seems a bit…manipulative, I guess. And I wasn’t a Boy Scout.” He hesitated, then amended, “Not for long, anyway.”
She snickered. “Nailed it.”
“Irene…” He scrubbed his face with both hands.
“Trust me.”
He didn’t. But he also didn’t object when she sent a quick note to their boss.
I think we have our next episode. Suggestions for the crew forthcoming.
ONE
Coffee.Sebastián needed coffee. Preferably in IV form, administered stat.
An entire week loomed ahead of him, full of cameras and microphones and intrusive questions and strangers and too-tight spaces. Full of Lucy and the prospect of her imminent departure.
Not since high school had he confronted such an exciting array of horrors, and he hadn’t missed that tug of dread deep in his gut. It was a familiar but unwelcome companion, dragging him by the hand into shadows.
So yeah, if he didn’t plan to break his promise to his best friend—and he wouldn’t, although he knew she would react to his about-face with her usual easygoing acceptance—he could at least ensure he remained adequately caffeinated, despite his pre-dawn awakening and early arrival at work. Despite the entire day of—God help him—filming that awaited him.
