Page 66 of Mr. Fixer Upper
She shrugged and he nudged her with his bare foot. “Uh-uh, princess. You don’t do anything without a crystal clear plan in your head.”
Paige chewed, debating. “It’s way out of my league, but I’ve always wanted one of those big three-story brownstones. The kind with a fireplace in every room and all these crazy nooks and crannies, sky-high ceilings, space for an incredible kitchen, which would force me to learn to cook. And some kind of backyard space, an oasis with trees and grass and a patio.”
“Big dreams,” Gannon commented.
“What about you? I know this place isn’t your style.”
He lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t given it much thought. With my grandfather’s business tanking, it’s been a frantic couple of years.”
“And now that you’re coming out on the other side?” Paige prodded.
“It’s probably time to start thinking long-term. Something with history, character. Something close to my family and the office because I do not plan to do TV forever.”
“Will you go back to building full-time?” She dug into the sweet and sour chicken.
“Probably.” He paused. “I’d actually like to do custom furniture.”
The way he said it, without meeting her gaze and focusing intently on the cardboard container in his hand, told Paige this was the first time he’d put it into words.
“Want to know what I think?” she asked.
He raised his gaze, arched an eyebrow. “Sure.”
“You’d be insane not to. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re kinda talented.”
“Oh, I’ve noticed,” he said, smirking.
“Good thing your bedroom has pocket doors, otherwise you might not fit that noggin through the opening,” Paige quipped.
“No one likes a field producer with a sense of humor,” Gannon said, pinching her with his chopsticks.
She yelped.
“Bruises are fading,” he commented, reaching for another little packet of soy sauce.
Paige nodded through a mouthful of noodles. “Feeling more normal every day.”
“I saw the footage,” Gannon said, watching her carefully.
“Mmm.” She hadn’t, except for what was in the season teaser, and didn’t care to. Not only did she not want to relive it, she wasn’t part of the show and had no desire to be. She hated knowing that she’d be crossing the line from behind the camera to talent this season.
“You were very brave. Maybe a little stupid, but definitely brave. It’s amazing you weren’t hurt worse.”
She frowned, focusing on the food. “It was the perfect storm—ha—of unforeseen circumstances.”
“Something you dealsowell with,” he smirked.
She rolled her eyes. “I like being organized and planning ahead,” Paige reminded him primly. “It’s smart to know what’s next.”
“And what’s next for you is one more season.”
She nodded, fiddling with her chopsticks. “I’d hoped to pick up a special or something between seasons, you know, pad the bank account. But I’m afraid I’m going to be untouchable after this season. No one’s going to want an on-screen field producer who slept with her talent.”
“Paige, stop being so hard on yourself. Hell, you make it sound like this—” he pointed between them with his chopsticks, “ruined your career.”
“I guess we’ll see,” she said morosely. “I just hate feeling like a puppet.”
“Join the club,” he said, raising his beer. “Now stop pouting. Just because something isn’t going to plan doesn’t mean it’s a disaster.”
