Chapter 2: Homecomings and Unexpected Sparks

We had a week off before filming, so I went home.

The second I pulled into the driveway, the scent of fresh-cut grass and barbecue drifted through the air. It felt like summer in the Midwest, even though it was only spring.

“Grandma!” I ran into my grandmother’s arms, her face lighting up with a huge smile.

She squeezed me tight, her perfume—Chanel No. 5, always—lingering on my jacket. Her laugh was warm, like home.

“You little rascal, how long’s it been since you came to see Grandma?” She tapped my forehead.

She had that look—half stern, half soft. The kind of look that made you want to confess everything, just to see her smile.

“It hasn’t been that long—just ten days or so.”

I grinned, knowing she’d pretend to be offended.

“Ten days, huh? Heartless kid.”

She pinched my cheek, but her eyes sparkled. My mom and sister-in-law laughed nearby, shaking their heads at our usual routine.

They stood at the kitchen counter, prepping for dinner. My mom tossed me a wink, mouthing, “You’re in trouble now.”

When my family heard I was home, my dad and all three brothers came back for dinner.

It was a full house—voices echoing, kids running through the halls, someone always yelling for the dog to get off the couch.

My mom scolded my oldest brother, “You’re always out and about, never home. If it weren’t for your sister coming back, we’d never see you.”

He shrugged, flashing his trademark crooked grin. “Work’s been nuts, Mom. You know how it is.”

He grinned. “Well, Brooke’s the family favorite, after all.”

He nudged me, and I stuck my tongue out at him. My brothers always loved teasing me about being Grandma’s little princess.

“Aunt Brooke, come play in the backyard with me tomorrow!” my seven-year-old nephew, Sammy, tugged at me. “Nobody else will play with me!”

He looked up at me with those big puppy eyes, clutching his favorite stuffed dinosaur. I ruffled his hair.

“Of course, Auntie will play with you all day!”

He cheered, running off to brag to the other kids. I felt a swell of pride—I’d always been the cool aunt.

Sammy’s “backyard” was an amusement park my family built on the hill behind our house, just for me. Yeah, I know, spoiled much? When I was little, I loved carousels and trains, but Grandma thought public parks were too crowded and unsafe, so she built one at home.

It was the stuff of small-town legend. All the neighborhood kids wanted to come over. My brothers used to joke that I was the original influencer.

It even had a name: “Brooke’s Wonderland.”

There was a wooden sign at the entrance, painted in rainbow colors. Every birthday, Grandma added a new ride or a fresh coat of paint.

When it was finished, it made the local news. People called me the happiest kid ever.

The old newspaper clipping is still framed in our hallway—me in overalls, grinning on the carousel, front teeth missing.

“Your contract’s up in three months, right? Not renewing?” After dinner, my oldest brother asked while making coffee.

He leaned against the counter, swirling his mug, watching me over the rim.

“Yeah, I’d rather write novels.”

I shrugged, hoping he’d understand. He always did.

He nodded. “About that Madison at your agency—are you sure you want to let her off the hook? Want me to handle it?”

He said it so casually, like “handle it” meant changing a flat tire. I laughed, knowing he was half-serious.

“It’s fine, I’m leaving anyway. And I don’t care about the stuff she stole.”

He raised an eyebrow, but let it go. He knew I hated drama.

He chuckled. “Still so nice. All right, I’ll respect your wishes.”

He ruffled my hair, just like when we were kids. “You’re too good for this world, sis.”

My second brother chimed in. “What’s this about taking action? Brooke finally toughened up and wants to fight back? How about I just buy your agency?”

He was always the joker, but with enough money to back it up. I rolled my eyes.

I laughed. “You talk about buying a company like it’s a value meal at McDonald’s.”

He smirked, tossing a coffee pod into the Keurig. “What? I like burgers.”

“Easier than that,” he said, dead serious.

He winked at me, and I shook my head, grinning. My brothers were ridiculous, but I loved them for it.

“Thanks, guys. If I ever need you, I’ll let you know!”

I meant it. My family always had my back, no matter what.

A week later, I flew out for the show.

The airport was a blur of rolling suitcases and Starbucks cups. Zoe texted me a dozen times, making sure I packed snacks and a neck pillow.

The crew hadn’t told us the filming location in advance. After landing, I got in a car they sent. Three hours later, we arrived.

I stared out the window, watching the city fade into rolling hills and, eventually, rows of sprawling mansions. The houses looked like something out of Architectural Digest.

As we passed mansion after mansion, I grew more confused. The car finally stopped in front of a three-story luxury house.

It had a circular driveway, manicured hedges, and a fountain out front. I checked the address twice, sure there was a mistake.

When I got out, the other three female celebs had arrived, too. They all looked familiar, but I couldn’t name them. See? Anyone with any real fame wouldn’t do this show.

We exchanged awkward hellos, each of us sizing up the competition. Everyone was dressed down, probably hoping to blend in.

I looked around—was this really the countryside?

I half expected a tractor to roll by, but all I saw were luxury SUVs and gardeners trimming rose bushes.

I couldn’t help but ask the director, and the other girls nodded in agreement.

We huddled together, whispering. The director, a guy who looked barely out of film school, just shrugged.

“This is the country,” the young director said flatly. “All the towns around here look like this. I grew up here.”

He said it like he’d never seen a farmhouse in his life. We tried not to laugh.

People say rural Ohio and Pennsylvania have some serious old money, with even the most modest families sitting on fortunes. I guess it’s true.

I’d heard stories—old steel money, big farmland estates, families with more history than the town itself. It felt like we’d stumbled into a different world.

The girls relaxed and even looked happy.

We started joking about which mansion would have the best pool. The tension melted away a bit.

The female guests were all picked up by the show, but the male guests had to get there themselves, with cameras following them the whole way.

We watched the monitors in the foyer, waiting for the guys to arrive. It felt like the opening of The Bachelor, only with less glitter.

After almost an hour, the four men arrived, one by one. Three drove, but the last showed up on a John Deere tractor.

The engine sputtered, and everyone turned to stare. The director’s face was priceless.

Talk about an entrance.

One of the girls whispered, “Is this for real?” I tried not to laugh.

The director had us pick the guy we felt an instant spark with, by standing behind him.

It was like speed dating meets musical chairs. The guys lined up, looking as nervous as we felt.

The four men stood in a row. One woman went first and stood behind the guy who’d driven a Range Rover.

He flashed her a confident smile, clearly used to attention.

The other two didn’t want to compete, so they picked the remaining guys.

Nobody wanted to look desperate on day one. I couldn’t blame them.

That left the tractor guy standing alone.

He looked a little lost, but held his ground. I felt a pang of sympathy.

I looked him over—he was actually pretty handsome. Just his face alone, he’d beat most current heartthrobs in the business. He was tall and lean, probably at least 6’1”. If he were in showbiz, he’d be a total catch.

He had that “boy next door meets model” vibe. Sun-bleached hair, sharp jawline. The kind of guy you’d see on a Levi’s billboard. Not that I was looking, but…

But these girls weren’t fools—looks aren’t enough these days. The other three guys wore designer suits or high-end casual wear. Only this one wore a white tank top, loose shorts, and flip-flops. And his clothes weren’t even new—there were yellow stains on his shirt.

He looked like he’d just come from mowing the lawn, not a reality show. I kind of admired his confidence. Honestly, respect.

He was probably the only real small-town guy here. His whole outfit couldn’t have cost more than twenty bucks.

He didn’t seem to care. That alone made him stand out.

The girls weren’t dumb—it made sense they didn’t pick him.

They were playing it safe, hedging their bets on the guys who looked like they belonged in a magazine.

But the guy didn’t look hurt at all. He held his chin up, gazing into the distance.

He looked like he was waiting for a bus, not a soulmate. I admired that. Guy had nerves of steel, or maybe he just didn’t care.

I felt a pang of sympathy. He must’ve been embarrassed but was trying to hide it, acting chill to cover his disappointment.

I remembered what it felt like to be the odd one out. I couldn’t let him stand there alone.

I had to help him out.

So, I walked over and stood behind him.

The other girls glanced at me, surprised. The crew perked up, sensing drama.

He glanced back at me, raising his eyebrows in surprise that anyone had picked him.

He grinned, a little lopsided. I could tell he hadn’t expected anyone to choose him.

Not wanting him to think I pitied him, I gave him a sincere wink.

I wanted him to know I was in on the joke, not just rescuing him.

“I’m a sucker for good looks.”

I said it loud enough for the cameras, hoping to ease the tension. A few of the crew snorted.

I wanted him to believe I picked him because I liked him.

He looked at me, eyes crinkling with amusement.

“Good taste,” he replied, playing along.

He winked back, and the ice was broken. The director looked relieved.

The show put all eight of us in the big house to live together for ten days. Based on our initial picks, we were paired up to do tasks and build connections. On the tenth day, we’d pick again and reshuffle.

The house was massive—open kitchen, movie room, pool in the backyard. We each got our own bedroom, but most of the time was spent in common spaces, tripping over camera cables.

On the first day, we drew lots for chores. My partner—the guy introduced himself as Carter Reed—and I got lunch duty.

He stuck out his hand, grinning. “Carter Reed. Hope you like sandwiches.”

In the kitchen, after washing the veggies, Carter stared at the gas stove.

He looked at it like it was a spaceship. I tried not to laugh.

After a while, he asked, “What’s this?”

He pointed at the knobs, eyebrows furrowed.

“A gas stove.”

I tried to sound helpful, not patronizing.

“I know, but how do you use it?”

He looked genuinely confused, not faking it for the cameras.

I was stunned. Aren’t gas stoves everywhere by now, even in the country? How remote is his home that he’s never seen one?

I glanced at the camera crew—they were loving this.

I pointed out the microwave, coffee maker, and dishwasher. “Do you know how to use these?” Was this guy for real?

He looked at each one like I’d just pointed out alien technology. He shook his head.

I kept my tone gentle. “So how do you cook at home?”

I didn’t want to embarrass him, but I was genuinely curious.

“Uh—”

He hesitated, glancing at the camera. I could tell he was about to say something he’d regret.

“Do you use a wood stove?” I cut in, trying to show I understood. “My relatives have one, and the cornbread crust from it is amazing.”

I tried to make it sound like no big deal. Carter looked relieved.

“Wood stove?” Carter’s eyes widened, then he relaxed. “Oh, right. We use a stove at home. The cornbread crust is great—I like it too.”

He grinned, finally loosening up. I could tell he was grateful I didn’t press.

I thought I saw the hint of a smile.

He tucked a stray hair behind his ear, eyes twinkling. The tension eased.

“Here, I’ll show you how to use everything.” I patiently explained each appliance.

I walked him through the buttons and dials, cracking a few jokes to keep things light. He caught on quickly.

Honestly, I’d never cooked before college either. After signing with the agency and living alone, I picked up a few simple dishes.

I told him about my first attempt at scrambled eggs—burned to a crisp. He laughed, and the mood lightened.

He was sharp and learned fast. Together, we managed to cook a few things and finished our task.

We high-fived when we finished. The kitchen smelled like garlic and olive oil.

That afternoon was free time for dates.

Some of the other couples went for a swim or lounged by the pool. I noticed Carter hadn’t unpacked anything—no duffel, no backpack, nothing.

Suddenly, I realized I hadn’t seen Carter with any luggage. The rest of us each had at least one big suitcase. He’d come empty-handed.

He shrugged when I asked, looking sheepish. “Didn’t think I’d need much.”

“I heard there’s a market in town. Want to check it out?” I suggested.

He perked up, nodding. “Sure, sounds fun.”

We walked about ten minutes to the local farmers’ market. It was lively, with stalls for veggies, snacks, and clothes.

The air smelled like kettle corn and fresh tomatoes. Carter looked around, wide-eyed, like a kid at a carnival.

It’s not that I didn’t want to take him to a real clothing store—there just wasn’t one in town. The nearest was in the next city, and we weren’t allowed to leave.

I explained the rules, and he just shrugged. “I’m easy.”

But looking at the clothes for sale, I was surprised. Who’d have thought, in a town where every family owns a mansion worth millions, people still wore simple, cheap clothes?

The racks were full of faded tees and cutoff shorts. I guess old money doesn’t always mean flashy style.

Thinking back, everyone I’d seen in the town dressed down—men in tank tops and shorts. Turns out, even wealthy small-town folks keep it simple.

Comfort over style, especially in the summer heat. It made sense.

I wiped sweat from my brow, glad I’d worn sneakers instead of sandals.

I sometimes bought cheap tees on Amazon myself.

No shame in a good bargain. I picked up a couple for myself, too.

Since I picked you for your looks, I want to give you two sets of clothes as a welcome gift. Please don’t say no.

I tried to play it cool.

The poor guy really only had one outfit—he’d have to wash it at night and wear it again the next day. No wonder there were stains.

I tried not to make a big deal out of it, but I could tell he was grateful.

Carter paused, eyebrow raised. “You want to buy me clothes?”

He looked at me, half amused, half embarrassed.

He glanced at the stalls and coughed. “Okay.”

He grinned, accepting my offer. I picked out a couple of tees and shorts that looked sturdy enough to survive a few washes.

I picked out two sets—cheap, but decent quality.

I held them up, making a joke about his “new look.” He laughed, and the tension melted away.

Back at the house, I reminded him, “Wash the new clothes before wearing them.”

He nodded, promising to do it right after dinner. I caught him reading the care label like it was a secret code.

The next day, Carter wore the clothes I’d bought. I had to admit—with his figure, he could make anything look good. Simple white tee and black shorts, but he looked like a model.

Even the other girls noticed, whispering behind their hands. Carter just shrugged, unfazed.

As soon as he saw me, he walked over, frowning. “I want some juice, but I’ve never used a juicer. Can you show me?”

He held up a bag of oranges, looking sheepish. I grinned, happy to help.

We went downstairs, and I patiently explained the buttons.

He leaned in close, asking questions. I could smell his shampoo—something fresh and clean. My heart skipped a beat.

He caught my eye and grinned, clearly enjoying the moment. I blushed, turning away to hide my smile.