Tiny House, Big Love, page 1
Tiny House, Big Love
Olivia Dade
Copyright © 2019 by Olivia Dade
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
ISBN: 978-1-945836-06-0
Created with Vellum
About Tiny House, Big Love
On camera. Up close. In denial—but not for much longer…
* * *
After a relationship gone bad, Lucy Finch is leaving everything behind. Her old home, her old job, her old insecurities. Even Sebastián Castillo, her protective but intensely private friend of almost twenty years. Before she moves halfway across the country, though, she has one last request for Seb: She wants him to help her choose a tiny house on cable television. And maybe during the filming process, she can discover once and for all whether his feelings for her are more than platonic…
* * *
Sebastián would rather do anything than appear on HATV. But Lucy needs him, and he can’t say no. Not when she’s about to leave, taking his heart with her. Hiding how he feels with a television crew watching their every move will prove difficult, though—especially when that crew is doing their sneaky best to transform two longtime friends into a couple.
* * *
Tiny spaces. Hidden emotions. The heat generated by decades of desire and denial. A week spent on camera might just turn Lucy and Seb’s relationship from family-friendly to viewer discretion advised…
Praise for Olivia Dade
With richly drawn characters you’ll love to root for, Olivia Dade’s books are a gem of the genre—full of humor, heart, and heat.
Kate Clayborn
[Teach Me] made me cry at my desk at work (a true badge of honor). Dade's slow-burn romance follows ice queen history teacher Rose and her new co-worker, Martin, over the course of a school year, and it made me want to call and thank all the kind teachers I ever had. Rose and Martin are good, complicated, devoted people, and the way they pine for each other is rendered by Dade in all its aching beauty.
BookPage, Starred Review
* * *
[W]hen a work comes along that feels entirely new in all the best ways, I tend to take notice. As I read Olivia Dade’s newest, Teach Me, I felt just that. … I adored Teach Me from top to bottom and I’m sure it’ll be on my best of list come December. Thanks for this one, Ms. Dade.
All About Romance, Desert Isle Keeper review
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Epilogue
Also by Olivia Dade
Preview of Cover Me
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
About Olivia
Acknowledgments
Believing matters. So to all my readers: Thank you for believing in me.
Prologue
Cowan paused the video footage on his monitor—small, as befitted a lowly intern at the Home and Away Television Network—and turned to Irene. “This dude’s definitely a serial killer.”
She glanced up from her tablet, where she’d been answering texts and messages from various HATV staff. “He looks normal enough to me.”
As he’d discovered over the past weeks, her standards for applicants to Tiny House Trackers were simultaneously more and less stringent than this. When they screened submissions, she weeded out anyone she considered boring, even people he considered acceptable options. Accountants, data entry clerks, lawyers: all dismissed with a flick of her wrist.
Potential murderers, however, did not appear to constitute a problem for her.
“He was very insistent that his tiny house have large storage areas with sturdy locks on the outside and no knobs on the inside. Also room on the walls for his meat hooks.” Cowan shuddered. “God help any census taker who stops by during fava bean season.”
She didn’t look convinced. “Maybe he hunts wild boar or sasquatches or something.”
“Sasquatches don’t exist.”
“I’m a city girl.” She shrugged. “All wildlife seems mythical and exotic to me.”
“I don’t think the greater ease of Sasquatch hunting is the reason he wants to live alone in the woods.” He leaned forward, ready to click to the next interview. “As far as I’m concerned, he’s a no.”
Her stylus tapped against the edge of her tablet as she considered the matter. “Not so fast. Featuring him might help goose our ratings. Maybe we could even propose filming a follow-up special, Tiny House of Terror.”
She might have begun her internship with HATV only a few months before him, but that time had clearly jaded her.
“Forget it.” He typed NO into his applicant spreadsheet, letting the rare all-caps refusal express his strong feelings on the matter. “I’m not going to be responsible for any tiny house carnage.”
“Suit yourself.” She turned back to her messages. “But don’t blame me when we end up featuring yet another cash-strapped single with four enormous dogs who wants full-size appliances, a bathtub, and a king bed in less than a hundred square feet for a budget of about twenty bucks.”
He cringed at the mere thought of it.
Right now, the two of them were sitting in a forgotten corner of the HATV studios, occupying a room of approximately that same size. Only a couple of chipped desks, two computers, and stained tan carpeting filled the space. Yet even without a single refrigerator, bathtub, or mattress, the force of Irene’s presence made the room feel tight.
He couldn’t imagine trying to fit an entire household into such a tiny footprint. But that’s what people had been clamoring to do, and they wanted to broadcast their tiny house search via HATV. Which meant interns like he and Irene spent way too many hours sorting through applicants.
With a sigh, he clicked on the next possibility, a thirty-something woman named Lucy Finch. “Better a boring participant than someone who hunts villagers for sport.”
She snorted. “After another month of this, you’ll think differently. Trust me.”
When Lucy Finch filled his monitor, he groaned. “Oh, Jesus. Another latter-day hippie type.”
“Told you,” Irene said.
He began to take stock of the woman. White. Blond hair. Brown eyes. Tortoise-shell frames for her glasses. Long, frizzy curls that tangled with her dangling peace-sign earrings. No makeup. A nose stud and a wide, tentative smile. Some kind of flowy tie-dyed top, and if he wasn’t mistaken…
He looked closer, squinting as she wiggled in the chair to get herself settled.
Yup. No bra. Certain viewers would definitely appreciate that.
“Tell us about yourself,” urged Martha, the woman who conducted all the interviews for Tiny House Trackers. “Your name, your job, and why you need a tiny house.”
“I’m Lucy Finch.” The woman was fiddling with something in her palm, rubbing her thumb in circles against it again and again. “I’m a licensed and Board-Certified massage therapist in Marysburg, Virginia. I used to manage our local Massage Mania, but I was just promoted. Now I’m going to help open new locations around the country and train their managers and employees.”
It seemed Ms. Finch possessed a certain amount of professional ambition, which he duly noted in his spreadsheet.
With her free hand, she tucked a hank of curls behind her ear. “I’ll be moving frequently. I decided living in a tiny house that could move with me made more sense than month-by-month rentals or hotel rooms. And I liked the idea of paring my belongings down to the minimum and leaving a smaller carbon footprint.”
“Why did you choose to apply to Tiny House Trackers?” Martha’s warm voice came from behind the camera. “What factors played into your decision?”
The woman winced. “Well, to be honest, it wasn’t really my idea. My friend Allie convinced me.”
A rustling of papers offscreen. “And Allie is your real estate agent?”
“She said she could find me a great tiny house in the area. I’m not quite sure what I want yet, but—”
“A yurt.” Irene was still perusing her tablet. “That type always goes for a yurt.”
“You don’t know that.” He gestured to the monitor. “She might choose a cabin in a forest where she can hug trees whenever she wants. Or a converted train car that she’ll paint with peace symbols and decorate with tie-dyed scarves and posters of Jerry Garcia. There are lots of possibilities.”
“Mark my words. There are yurt people and non-yurt people, and trust me, kid, she’s a yurt person.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’m actually older than you.”
“Maybe in years. Not in wisdom.”
Lucy Finch was still talking. “—room to store my massage table when I’m not using it, in case I see clients on the side. A bathroom big enough for those clients to change. If I have a loft, steps instead of a ladder, so my dog can—”
Blah, blah, blah. Sweet smile and braless state notwithstanding, her story wouldn’t grab viewer attention, not enough for their ratings to draw even with their competitor’s tiny house show, and she didn’t seem like the type to break down or throw a fit on camera. Not good fod
He made a few more notes in the spreadsheet and prepared to reject yet another potential participant. Dammit, Irene had a point when it came to Mr. Silence of the Tiny House Lambs. Maybe they could conduct a poll during the episode about whether the man hunted wildlife or hapless tourists, and even add a few tips in a chyron about how to escape from backwoods cabins of horror.
Martha was wrapping up her questions. “Would you want to include a friend or significant other in your tiny house search?”
Poised to click to the next interview, his hand stilled on the mouse.
With that question, Ms. Finch’s whole demeanor had changed. Her smile spread to her eyes, which crinkled appealingly behind her glasses. Her thumb slowed its circles, then stopped altogether. Her shoulders lowered, and she sat back in her chair.
“If you chose me as a participant, my friend Sebastián Castillo would accompany me.” She laughed, the sound warm and low. “Much to his dismay.”
“He doesn’t want to help you?” Martha’s voice had sharpened, but not with impatience. With interest, as she sensed the same shift Cowan had.
“He likes to keep a low profile. He’d rather break a limb than be on television.” She wrinkled her nose. “I felt terrible about asking him, but I need his support and input. I trust him more than anyone else I know. And when I offered to bother someone else, he said that wasn’t necessary.”
Beside Cowan, Irene had raised her head to watch Ms. Finch. “Huh.”
“How long have you and Sebastián known one another?” Martha asked.
“Since high school. His family moved from California to live closer to relatives in the D.C. area, and we became friends almost immediately. Even after graduation, we stayed in touch through letters and phone calls, and we saw each other whenever he came to visit his parents. When he moved back to Marysburg last year, we became close again.”
She’d set aside the object in her palm, placing it on a nearby table. A rock, he now saw. A worry stone. And as she talked about Sebastián, she gestured with both hands, her face lit with enthusiasm.
“Have you two ever dated?”
“No.” Ms. Finch paused, and her smile turned wistful. “No. Although I always wond—” She cut herself off. “No, we haven’t.”
“Would Mr. Castillo’s spouse object to his assisting you? Or a significant other of some sort?”
Clever Martha. Cutting to the heart of the matter in the guise of professional concern.
“He’s not dating anyone right now.” Ms. Finch bit her lip. “He broke up with his last girlfriend shortly after I moved to Marysburg.”
“I just bet he did.” Irene had shoved her tablet to one side and was drumming her fingers on the desk, as she always did when excited. “Cowan, switch to his interview.”
Lucy Finch’s brows had drawn together. “But I don’t want to give you the wrong impression. Our relationship has never been romantic in any—”
Sebastián Castillo’s face replaced his longtime friend’s on the monitor.
Golden-brown skin. Black hair, short along the sides, longer and a bit choppy on top. Either dark brown or black eyes. Thick brows. Clean-shaven. A crisp button-down shirt, his tie slightly loosened and askew.
Unlike Ms. Finch, he didn’t bother to force a smile. He wasn’t frowning, either, though. Instead, his face revealed nothing. No nervousness. No impatience. No emotion whatsoever. His expression was as smooth as Ms. Finch’s worry stone.
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 I suppose 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.
His fellow early-bird coworkers had gathered around the employer-provided gourmet coffee machine, their version of an old-school water cooler. But he didn’t have any choice in the matter. He couldn’t wait them out, not this morning.
