He took his phone from his pocket and pulled up the text thread she’d started that afternoon, when she’d programmed herself into his contacts. She’d sent a single text to herself with nothing but his name, Harry Beckford. The fact that she’d called him Harry instead of Harrison made him unreasonably happy. She’d chosen to think of him as friend Harry. Dad Harry. Handyman Harry. Not TV-star Harrison.
Could he text her and ask if she liked to surf? Was there a way to bring it up in a way that made it seem pertinent to her working with the kids?
He tossed the phone onto the cushion beside him. Probably not.
The phone suddenly dinged with an incoming text and he scrambled to grab it, somehow hoping that Zoey was reading his mind and voluntarily texting him the answer to his question.
The text didn’t mention surfing, but it was from Zoey.
Look how pretty! the text read. It was followed by a photo of her closet, fully organized, shoes lined up in neat rows, clothes stacked in the canvas storage bins he’d left for the lower shelves.
It looks amazing, he texted back. You didn’t waste any time putting the space to good use.
I have a lot of shoes, she texted back. They needed a home. Plus, organization makes me ridiculously happy.
You and Hannah will get along great. Her ponies live in color-coordinated bins. He cringed after he hit send, thinking the best way to woo a woman probably wasn’t to keep talking about his kids. But then, somehow, he felt like Zoey wasn’t the kind of woman who would care.
I knew she was my kind of girl. Thanks again for your help today. And for the job. The dots at the bottom of his screen kept blinking so he waited to see what she’d text next.
I’m really glad we met.
His pulse picked up and he rolled his eyes, annoyed that he had so little control over his emotions. He wasn’t a fourteen-year-old boy texting his first crush.
Zoey’s text could be totally benign. She was glad because she needed a job that was flexible, and she liked kids. That could be all it meant. But the way she’d looked at him today . . .
He keyed out a response. I’m glad we met too.
He reread the text before sending. Was that enough? Should he say more? He added, I’ve been looking forward to meeting you for a long time.
No. That was probably too forward. He deleted the second sentence, sending the text with only the original line. It was true. As soon as Ms. Emily had shown him Zoey’s picture and started talking about her granddaughter and all the reasons she thought he’d like her, he’d wanted to meet her. But if he came on too strong, he might mess things up for the kids. He wanted Zoey to be a great thing for him, but he was positive she would be a great thing for his kids, regardless. He couldn’t risk screwing that up before it had even begun.
Chapter 5
Zoey pulled Harry’s SUV into his driveway a little before eight in the morning. She still hadn’t grown used to driving such a fancy car. When Harry had taken her out to the garage on her first day to turn over the keys, she’d almost hit the floor. She’d heard SUV and thought Ford Explorer, not fully tricked out Porsche Cayenne. The car was easily worth more than a hundred grand.
“Wow,” Zoey had said, as she’d stared at the car. “This is the kid car?”
Harry had shrugged but looked chagrined. “It’s the only kind of Porsche that makes sense in my life right now.”
Two weeks of driving the Porsche and Zoey was convinced it made sense for her life, too. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be happy behind the wheel of a normal car again. The garage door automatically eased open as she approached, and a silly thrill raced up Zoey’s spine. Even that simple convenience—an auto-sensing garage door—still felt exciting.
She pulled out her phone and checked her email one last time before going inside. She tried not to get it out too much when she was with the kids. Harry was paying her generously—she’d asked for double what she would have made fact-checking and he hadn’t even hesitated before agreeing to the amount—and she wanted to be as engaged as possible. But she was growing tense for the lack of information coming in from Chicago stations. She’d emailed every producer she knew letting them know she was looking for a new position; she’d updated her LinkedIn profile; she’d done everything she could think to do and still, her inbox was dry.
With a sigh, Zoey dropped her phone into her purse, wishing she’d inherited her father’s patience. A therapist by profession, he was all about steady contemplation and giving life the chance to “settle.” That’s what he would call this jobless period of her life. The chance to reset. To settle in and evaluate her goals. There was probably wisdom in such council for some people, but Zoey didn’t need to evaluate anything. She knew her goal. She always had. She would be an evening anchor in Chicago if it was the last thing she did.
Unless no one ever emailed her.
Zoey grabbed the trash left over from the six-dollar latte she’d grabbed on her way home the night before and tossed it into the trash can inside the garage. She locked the SUV behind her, a wave of guilt washing over her as she did. There were worse ways to spend time in between jobs.
Zoey used the number pad by the door to let herself into the house. Harry had insisted the keyless entry was easier than him having to run to the door every morning just to let her in.
Zoey headed toward the kitchen. “Hello?” she called out. The house was unusually quiet.
The kitchen and living room were both empty. Alarm filled Zoey’s chest when the kids’ bedrooms were empty as well, but then she found the entire family—even Marigold—sound asleep in the master bedroom. Harry was in the middle of his king-sized bed, a kid tucked in on either side of him. A mostly empty bowl of popcorn and several discarded juice boxes littered the floor.
Zoey glanced at her watch. She’d put money on Harry needing to be at work pretty soon. She approached the bed, not wanting to disturb the peaceful scene, but feeling obligated to at least make sure Harry wasn’t missing anything important.
A laugh caught in Zoey’s throat. Harry’s face was covered in make-up. Blue sparkly eye shadow. Bubblegum pink lipstick. Either he’d fallen asleep before Hannah did, or he’d been a really good sport and let her give him a makeover.
Zoey leaned down, gently nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” she said softly, not wanting to wake up the kids.
Harry stirred, his eyes slowly drifting open. He looked at Zoey for a long moment before asking, “What time is it?” his voice groggy with sleep.
“A little past eight,” Zoey said. Harry jolted into a seated position, his eyes wide.
Zoey lifted a finger to her lips, motioning to the kids on either side of the bed.
He repositioned Oliver to create a little more room for himself, then shimmied down to the foot of the bed where he stood up. “I was supposed to be on set half an hour ago.” He ran a hand through his hair, narrowly missing the two pink bows Hannah must have secured the night before.
Zoey bit her lip. Not laughing was getting harder and harder.
Harry picked his phone up off the floor and tried to turn it on. The screen stayed black and he swore.
Zoey stepped forward. “I’ll take this and charge it,” she whispered, wanting the children to sleep as long as they needed to. “And I’ll make you some coffee. You go change.”
His shoulders relaxed and he nodded. “Thanks.”
Five minutes later Harry stumbled into the kitchen holding his work boots, wearing faded jeans and a light blue flannel the same color as the makeup still gracing his eyelids.
Zoey finished filling a travel mug with coffee, tightening the lid before pulling a washcloth out of a drawer beside the sink and running it under the warm water.
“You’ll need this,” she said, setting the coffee on the counter next to him. “But not before you use this.” She handed him the washcloth.
Harry furrowed his brows. “What for?”
Zoey laughed. “You haven’t looked in the m
irror yet this morning, have you?”
“I didn’t have time.” Harry left the kitchen, washcloth in hand, and moved to the entryway where a large mirror hung by the front door.
Zoey followed behind him, not wanting to miss his reaction.
“Wow,” he said, when he saw his reflection. “She did good work.”
“So I guess this was a ‘Daddy’s sleeping’ makeover and not one you submitted to willingly?”
He rubbed at his face, doing more smearing than anything else. “Why is this not working?”
Zoey stepped closer and pulled the washcloth from his hands. “Here. Stand still. And close your eyes.”
Harry followed her instructions, not moving an inch while she rubbed the washcloth over his eyes and lips. His lips . . . she might have lingered there a moment longer than necessary. Had they always looked so kissable?
“We stayed up to watch the new Frozen movie,” Harry said.
Zoey winced. Harry was standing very close to her.
“Oh no,” Harry said, his hand flying to his mouth. “I need to go brush my teeth, huh?”
Zoey smiled sheepishly, hoping that would soften the blow. No one liked being told they had dragon breath. “That would probably be a good idea.” She stepped back. “There. You’re done.”
He nodded, his hand still cupped over his mouth. “Thank you.”
He turned to head back to his room, but Zoey stopped him. “Actually, wait.”
He looked back over his shoulder.
Zoey laughed quietly as she reached up and pulled the bows out of Harry’s hair. One was tangled in and it took a minute to free the clasp. This part of Harry smelled really good and she felt herself lean in, a pulse of heat running through her body. She suddenly wanted to keep her hands in his hair, slide them down to his shoulders . . .
“Did you get it?” Harry asked, startling her out of the moment.
Zoey took a wide step back. “Yep.” She held up the pink bows. “There were two. But I got them.”
Harry shook his head as he made his way to his room. “That girl,” he muttered under his breath.
A few minutes later, Zoey met him at the front door with the coffee she’d fixed him earlier. He looked as though he’d splashed some water on his face and finger combed his hair as well as brushed his teeth.
“Thank you,” he said as he took the mug. “For everything.”
Zoey nodded. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m sorry about the morning breath. I’ll never stop being embarrassed over that one.”
“It happens to everybody,” Zoey said with a shrug.
“The kids should sleep a little while longer. And they’re going to want to watch Frozen again. Oliver had a little bit of a stuffy nose when I tucked him in last night so it might be a good day to just take it easy.”
Zoey nodded. “Sounds perfect.”
Harry moved his keys and his phone from one hand to the other. “They really love you, Zoe.”
Zoey smiled, both at his praise, and at the way he’d shortened her name. “It’s completely mutual. I adore being here.”
“I don’t think they’ve ever been this content to stay with anyone. I know this probably isn’t what you thought you’d be doing when you moved out here, but I want you to know how much I appreciate you.”
“Thanks,” she said, her voice breaking at the end of the word. She cleared her throat and swallowed. Had he been standing so close to her before?
Zoey had fallen into staring at her boss more than once over the past couple of weeks. She couldn’t help it. The guy was next-level good-looking. It probably didn’t help matters that in the evenings, she and Nana had started watching Harry’s first season of Right-On Renovations. So much Harry screen time might be making her slightly obsessed. That she then got to come to his house and see him in person? It definitely helped her obsession along.
Plus, the guy was just. so. charming. He was amazing with his kids, which she’d decided was maybe the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in a man. But he was also amazing with her. In the few minutes they were together before and after work, he asked engaging, personal questions, and looked her right in the eyes while she answered, like he cared about what she had to say. He made her feel seen, but in a way that didn’t feel as if his attention had anything to do with her looks. She wanted him to find her attractive, and she’d caught an appreciative glance from his direction more than once, so she thought he maybe did. But it never felt like that was all he saw when he looked at her.
“I’ll see you later?” Harry said, his voice low.
Zoey nodded. “Yeah. Later.”
She watched through the sidelights of the front door as he moved down the front walk and climbed into his truck.
Zoey took a deep breath, the first she’d managed in minutes. What was happening to her? She was a woman who had built a career in a high-stress environment; it’s why she’d gotten an anchor position so quickly, and while so young. She stayed cool and calm under pressure, she didn’t ruffle easily, and she’d handled the curveballs her producers inevitably threw at her without even breaking a sweat. And yet, all Harrison Beckford had to do was say I’ll see you later and she couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.
It wound up being as easy a day as Harry had predicted. Oliver was sleepy all morning which made him particularly snuggly, and Hannah was content to lounge on the couch and read books to them both, in between repeat viewings of Frozen II. They popped popcorn and had grilled cheese sandwiches and homemade chocolate chip cookies for lunch, and in the afternoon, they all dozed on the couch for close to an hour.
Just before two, Hannah stretched and shifted, knocking a few of the books from the couch onto the floor. “Hey, are we going to Park Play today?”
Zoey kept herself from groaning, but only just. Park Play was a semi-organized weekly play date she’d taken the kids to the week before. They’d had a good time, which was reason enough to go, but Zoey dreaded the hour she’d have to spend sitting around the edges of the park visiting with the other moms. There was actually a place where the moms hung out, and another place where the nannies hung out. But Zoey was Harrison Beckford’s nanny. The moms had latched onto her the second she’d shown up and claimed her as one of their own.
Zoey hadn’t really minded. The moms were nice enough. But their questions had been incessant, and she wasn’t comfortable sharing personal details about Harry’s life. And they’d never asked about her life at all. Nothing about where she was from or what she liked to do had ever entered the conversation. It had been all Harry, all the time.
“Do you want to go?” Zoey asked Hannah. “I’m not sure it’s worth waking Oliver up.”
Hannah looked at her little brother. “He never sleeps during the day.”
“But he was up late last night, and your dad said he had a stuffy nose. He might be fighting a little bit of a bug.”
Hannah pursed her lips to the side and scrunched her brow in a way that immediately brought Harry to mind. She didn’t exactly look like her dad, but that expression was Harry all over. “If we stay here, can we play Uno?”
“Absolutely we can play Uno. As many times as you want.”
Uno was a small price to pay to avoid Park Play. At least for one day.
Four rounds of Uno, one game of Candyland, and three puzzles later, Zoey glanced at her watch then looked out the front windows down the long drive that led to the house. Harry had been a few minutes late before, but he was generally pretty good about letting her know if he wouldn’t be home by four. He knew she had to be home in time for Cassandra to leave. Once, her first week on the job, he’d anticipated being late enough that he’d called his mom and stepdad and they’d shown up, ready to take over so Zoey could get home. For him to just not show up without any word? There wasn’t a precedent for that. Zoey had no idea what to do.
She pulled her phone out of her back pocket, checking one more time for any texts. Biting her lip, she keyed out her own me
ssage, pressing send before she could rethink. Just checking in, she typed. Everything okay?
Hopefully that didn’t sound too pushy. It was 4:15. It would only take her five minutes to drive back to Nana’s. She didn’t need to stress out yet.
When 4:15 turned into 4:45, and then 4:55, she really did start to stress. Mostly because Harry hadn’t even responded to her text. She’d finally tried to call him after forty-five minutes of waiting, but his phone went to voicemail after two rings. His phone wasn’t dead, or it would have gone straight to voicemail without ringing at all; that meant he was probably in some sort of meeting and couldn’t answer. Did he go to meetings on a typical workday? In her head, he was always on a job site somewhere, talking to homeowners and filming his show. Of course he had meetings though. Everyone had meetings. Acknowledging as much did nothing to solve Zoey’s very present dilemma.
She had to be at Nana’s house by five, and Harry was nowhere to be found.
Zoey sent a quick message to Cassandra letting her know she’d be late, her frustration fighting with her fear.
“Hey guys?” she called to the kids. They sat at the kitchen table, playing with Play-Doh. “How would you like to go and see Ms. Emily?”
Hannah instantly jumped up. “Can we take her some of the cookies we made today?”
“I bet she’d love that. Good plan. I’ll put some in a bag if you can help Oliver get his shoes on.”
The kids scurried out of the kitchen, stopping only when Zoey called them back to clean up their mess. That was the normal thing to do. And doing normal things was the only way she could keep herself from worrying. If it was the norm for Harry to be late and noncommunicative, she wouldn’t mind taking the kids to Nana’s every once in a while. Nana loved seeing the kids. But Harry always called. Or just . . . showed up.
Hooking a Handyman Page 4