The back of my neck itches at the mere mention of talking about my feelings. And she can tell. She’s teasing me, and she knows it.
“A dream come true,” I quip, deciding not to let her get under my skin. Even as she opens the box.
“Right?” she gushes as she lifts the manual and flips it toward me, pointing at the line drawing of the love seat with an excited grin. “And look. Itswings.”
I almost laugh.Almost.I can’t help myself. There’s something about Julia that puts me at ease even though I don’t want to be. When I look at her, my brain tells medo not trustwhen every other part of me seems so ready to let my guard down. “Why would I need it to swing?”
“I thought it might be my little way of helping soothe your bad moods. You know, like rocking a small child.”
My bad moods?I look her over, eyes slipping from her face, down over her bare legs and back up.
“I’m not in a bad mood. And if I wanted you to soothe me, I wouldn’t ask you to push me on a swing.”
My lips tip up in a slow smirk, and her eyes widen for a beat. But the innuendo doesn’t fluster her in the way I hoped. Instead, she just huffs out an amused laugh and crouches down to reach for the screwdriver. “Save it for the cameras, Bush.”
Immune.
She directs her attention back to the instructions, turning the booklet as though she’s held it upside down.
It makes me wonder why she’s here doing this by herself. Surely there are other people on the payroll who should be building these parts of the set. But if I’ve learned anything about Julia in these early days, it’s that she’s eager to prove herself to Richard and the rest of the crew—and if that means going above and beyond her job description, then so be it. And to her credit, she’s been extremely productive. The bunkhouse and surrounding yard have come together over the past week.
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 TOROMANCERANCH!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 nextmonth. 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 onmyshoulders.
