Zoey forced another deep breath as she herded Marigold into her crate, then scooped Oliver up and carried him out to the car, Hannah following behind. It had only been two weeks. Two weeks hardly counted as enough time for there to be a norm. And Harry worked in show business. Was there any business less reliable than show business?
She drove the short distance to Nana’s house, pausing in the driveway to shoot Harry one more text. I’ve got the kids with me at Nana’s. I hope you’re okay. She didn’t want to be mad at him. Stuff happened. But would it be so hard to respond to a text and let her know he was still alive?
It was almost nine p.m. when Harry finally called.
Zoey answered on the first ring. “Hey,” she said, her tone short. “Are you okay?” She shifted a nearly sleeping Oliver from one hip to the other, his arms hanging limply over her shoulders.
“I’m so sorry, Zoey. There was a meeting, and . . . I’m so sorry. Is everyone okay?”
Zoey breathed through her nose, slow and deep, not realizing how tense she’d been with worry until the worry was gone. Now all she felt was anger. “Everyone’s fine, but I’m holding Oliver and he’s almost sleep. I’ll see you when you get here.”
Harry paused, then sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”
Both the kids were finally asleep on Zoey’s bed when Harry knocked on Nana’s door. She flung the door open, working to keep her anger to a slow simmer, rather than a full-on raging boil.
“Zoey, please let me explain,” Harry said.
She folded her arms across her chest, her lips pressed into a tight line.
“The kids are still okay?” he asked. “How’s Oliver? Did he go to sleep?”
The concern in his eyes went a long way to soften the edges of Zoey’s anger, but she wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily. “He’s fine. They’re both sleeping.”
He collapsed against the door jamb and pressed his thumb and forefinger to his temples. “This day has just been . . . we had a problem with a house, with the owners, really. They weren’t being completely honest about some things and it . . . it doesn’t matter now. We were in this ridiculous meeting with our attorney and their attorney and several network executives. It went so much longer than it was supposed to.”
“A meeting so ridiculous you couldn’t even call and let me know everything was okay? Take two minutes to respond to a text letting me know you weren’t dead somewhere?” Zoey closed her eyes. She sounded like a nagging wife. She wasn’t his wife; if she was, she wouldn’t want to be the nagging kind. “Sorry. That was rude. I don’t mind keeping the kids a few extra hours. I get that stuff happens sometimes. I just wish you’d have let me know. I was starting to imagine the worst.”
“I should have called,” he said. “You’re right about that.”
He was her employer, yes. And Zoey wanted to respect that. But she was also doing him a favor. She hadn’t moved to California to be a nanny. “Please remember that my first priority has to be my grandmother. It isn’t fair to Cassandra, when she’s been working all day, to keep her waiting on me. And Nana can’t be left alone.”
“I get it. I’m sorry.”
“Come on,” Zoey said, motioning over her shoulder. “I’ll help you get the kids in the car.”
They didn’t say much as they buckled in the sleeping kids. Zoey balled up Oliver’s hoodie and wedged it into the corner of his car seat, turning it into a makeshift pillow.
When she turned away from the car, Harry was right behind her, close enough that her arms brushed up against his chest. She stepped back to avoid him, but with the open car door right behind her, there was nowhere for her to go and she stumbled.
Harry reached for her arm, just above the elbow, stabilizing her as she righted herself. “You okay?” he said, the heat of his fingers searing her skin.
She swallowed. Even her anger wasn’t enough to quell the attraction that burned inside her. Why did he have to look so good? “I’m good,” she said. She shifted to the side, out of Harry’s grasp so he could close the door on Oliver’s sleeping form. He turned back to face her, his face was drawn and tired. He took a breath like he wanted to say something, but then hesitated and ended up shaking his head instead. “I should get them home.”
Zoey stood on the porch, her arms wrapped around herself, and watched as he backed his truck out of the driveway. He lifted his hand in a small wave before pulling forward and disappearing down the road.
Zoey walked back inside, her spirits dim. She wanted to be there for Harry. He was clearly juggling a lot; but that didn’t mean she could lose sight of what she was juggling. She couldn’t compromise on Nana’s care. It was the whole reason she’d moved home in the first place. Her entire family was counting on her to be there, to be available, to be present in all the ways Nana needed her. She closed and locked the front door, then moved to the living room, settling onto the chair next to Nana’s recliner.
“You okay?” Nana said. She looked tired. Her eyes were heavy, and the droop on one side of her face—a consequence of the stroke—looked more pronounced than usual. Cassandra had said it was normal, a result of her fatigue, but it still worried Zoey.
She shrugged. “He says he got caught up in a meeting. I get that things happen, but he should have texted me.”
Nana nodded. “He should have. But I’m sure there’s an explanation.”
Maybe, but Zoey wasn’t sure she was in the right frame of mind to hear it. She’d just clocked an unexpected twelve-hour day.
“How are you?” Zoey asked. “With the kids here, I haven’t had the chance to ask you about your day. You had physical therapy, right? How did that go?”
“I ate some eggs,” Nana said.
“Hey!” Zoey squeezed Nana’s arm. “That’s great.”
Nana rolled her eyes. “Oliv—” She stuttered over her words. “Oliver can feed himself eggs.”
“It isn’t going to last forever, Nana. I promise.”
She nodded and managed a smile. “I know. But I’m old enough to have earned the right to complain about it anyway.”
Zoey smiled back. “You absolutely have. You can complain to me anytime you want.”
Later, after helping Nana through her evening routine and settling her into bed for the night, Zoey snuggled under her own covers, her laptop open in front of her to binge watch Netflix’s latest romcom. She was a sucker for a good romantic comedy. Had been as long as she could remember. It was bad enough when she’d been in college that her roommates had made fun of her constantly. They’d joked that it was such a weird passion when she was studying to become a serious journalist. Zoey had always argued it was exactly because her major, and later her work, was so serious and professional. She’d gone into journalism because she loved the importance of sharing the news, of crafting stories that informed and educated viewers clearly and concisely. But the truth was, news was often bad news; disasters, political conflict, crime.
What better way to forget the stresses of work than watching a good romance?
An email notification popped up on Zoey’s screen and she paused the opening credits of the movie and clicked over to her inbox. The message was from a colleague, a friend really, whom Zoey had worked with when she’d first started out in Chicago.
Zoey’s eyes caught on the video thumbnail attached to the bottom of the message.
No freaking way.
Zoey forced her eyes to the top of the message and read each word slowly.
Zoey! Retirement is happening. I repeat. IT. IS. HAPPENING. And it’s happening fast. It was all pretty hush-hush, but I guess Regina is actually being forced into retirement? At least, that’s the word on the street. She’s working through the end of the summer, but not full time. They’re pulling in guest anchors for the next couple of months to cover a few days a week. How soon can you get here? I was on last night, Zoe. ME. Sitting in the evening anchor chair. It was totally surreal. I would love this job so ther
e’s a part of me that wants you to stay in California, so I don’t have to compete with you. But seriously. I know how bad you’ve wanted this. At least email them and let them know you didn’t fall off the planet and you want a shot. I’ll keep you posted on developments on the ground. Enjoy CA. -Veronica
Veronica and Zoey had started as interns at the same station. Work had eventually taken them different directions once they’d finished their internships and they hadn’t been super great at keeping in touch. But they still moved in the same circles and were always quick to offer hugs and a quick update whenever they ran into each other. Zoey appreciated that Veronica had even passed on the news about Regina’s retirement. She’d had no obligation to pull Zoey into the loop. Though, Veronica knew Zoey well enough to understand how much it would mean for her to have a chance at this job. Veronica and the other interns had always joked there was ambition, and then there was Zoey-level ambition. They’d all quickly decided if any of them would make anchor before they were thirty, it would be her.
Zoey did a quick scroll through her inbox. She’d checked in five hundred times the past few weeks. It wasn’t possible that she’d missed something. But it surprised her that of everyone she knew in the industry, with all the messages she’d sent and efforts she’d made to stay on the radar of the Chicago news scene, Veronica was the only person that had thought to let her know about the opening. There were producers at Channel 4 that she’d worked with in the past, at least one she was sure she’d emailed when she’d first left town. Had no one besides Veronica thought she’d be interested in the position? Sure she was out of town. But she was only in California; not Siberia.
It was probably pointless, but she dashed off a quick email to the station anyway, assuring them her relocation was only temporary and she’d love to be considered. She attached a couple of reporting clips she was most proud of and sent the message. Maybe that would at least get her in for an interview.
Sighing, Zoey clicked back over to her movie.
Forty-five minutes in, the workaholic main character who had lost her job and returned home to reunite with and fall in love with her old high school boyfriend was snuggled under her covers much as Zoey was. The woman scrolled through Facebook on her phone until she heard a tap on her ground floor window. Because of course she did. That’s what happened in romantic comedies. Men threw rocks at windows because that was so much easier than texting.
Movies were dumb.
Zoey watched as the woman opened her window, smiling like a teenager when her love interest told her that he couldn’t go another minute without seeing her face.
“Coulda just pulled up her Instagram profile, buddy,” Zoey said to herself. Except, then she heard a plink on her own window.
Zoey’s pulse raced. She was hearing things. Of course she was hearing things. Because she wasn’t the main character in a romantic comedy.
Plink.
Or maybe she was.
She moved to her front window, pushing the curtains aside just as her phone buzzed with a text.
Harry stood in the front yard, his eyes on the phone in his hand.
She lunged back across the room and grabbed her phone, feeling like her heart might explode out of her chest.
Do you think you can let me in? Your neighbor saw me, and I think he’s calling the police.
Zoey huffed out a laugh, then tiptoed to the front door, not wanting to wake Nana. She pushed the door open and whisper-yelled across the yard. “Harry!”
He looked up and smiled, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides.
She backed into the house and he followed her, closing the front door behind him.
“Hi,” Harry said. “Sorry if I pulled you out of bed.”
Zoey looked down, suddenly realizing how underdressed she was for a late-night chat with Harrison Beckford. Although, he was pretty casual himself. He wore a pair of Adidas joggers and a hoodie and had a baseball cap pushed low on his forehead. Still, the wide neck of her oversized t-shirt had slipped down over one shoulder, and she wasn’t wearing a bra.
She folded her arms across her chest. “Um, hold on. Let me go grab a sweatshirt.” She booked it to her room where she grabbed a hoodie out of her closet and pulled it over her head.
“What were you doing out there?” she said, when she returned to the entryway where Harry still stood. She glanced out the sidelights beside the front door. “The neighbor didn’t really call the police, did he?”
Harry followed her gaze. “I hope not. I guess we’ll know in a minute.” Harry nearly buzzed with energy, his eyes bright and his smile wide.
“You could have just texted, you know,” Zoey said, matching his smile.
“I did, didn’t I? But . . . I don’t know. Tossing rocks at your window felt so much more romantic.”
Zoey stilled and her eyes dropped to the floor. Romantic? He was trying to be romantic?
She looked up through her lashes. “You were going for romance?”
Harry’s eyes closed briefly before he shook his head. “No. I mean, yes. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Can we sit somewhere?”
Zoey nodded, realizing she probably ought to have invited him in already. Though, did propriety apply to midnight visits? She was guessing probably not. “Sure.” She led him into the living room where she turned on a dim lamp in the corner of the room before dropping onto the couch, motioning for him to join her.
“Where are the kids?” Zoey asked.
“At home with my sister. I bribed her to come and stay with them so I could come see you.”
She glanced at the clock on the wall. It really was almost midnight. “That’s a good sister.”
Harry scoffed. “She’s getting a bathroom remodel out of it. I think she’s making out fine in this deal.”
Zoey’s eyes went wide. “You’re remodeling her bathroom for this? For coming over here? Seriously, Harry. You could have texted.”
“I’ve owed her a bathroom remodel for months; I just finally agreed to make it happen sooner than later.” He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “Besides, I really did want to see you.”
Warmth pulsed through Zoey at his words. “Why is that?” she said, her voice low.
Harry took a deep breath. “I need to apologize.”
Zoey cocked her head. “You already did.”
“No, I know. I apologized as your employer. And I hope you felt how genuine I was. I shouldn’t have inconvenienced you and made you worry. It wasn’t fair, it was a bad judgement call on my part, and it won’t happen again.”
“I get it, Harry. It’s okay. I know it must be hard keeping all the plates in the air.”
“It is hard. But sometimes I get terrible tunnel vision. I have a hard time stepping out of the immediate moment to recognize how my actions might affect other people. Also, and I’m not trying to make excuses here, but the network is . . . sensitive about stuff when it comes to my kids. They’ve already given me so much room, so much flexibility so that I can be with them as much as I am. I think I already told you they redid the entire production schedule to accommodate me and the kids. I guess it’s made me extra sensitive. I hate to even mention Hannah and Oliver when I’m working because I’ve already asked for and been given so much.”
“That makes sense,” Zoey said.
“The mood in the meeting was already so tense, I was afraid I would make things worse. In my head, I knew the children were safe with you—I’d seen your texts—so I prioritized keeping the peace with the network because that felt more important at the time. But that’s no excuse. That didn’t account for how you felt.”
As far as apologies went, his was pretty good. “Apology accepted,” Zoey said. “I promise. I totally get it.”
“But see, now I want to apologize not as your employer, but . . . as a man. As a man who realized how much he didn’t want you to be mad at him, not because you’re his children’s nanny, but because of how much he likes you.”
Zoey balled
her hands into fists so Harry wouldn’t see them trembling. This was a moment that beat out the movie she’d been watching by a mile.
“Would you like to have dinner with me, Zoey?”
She opened her mouth to respond, but her words were stuck in her mouth. Harrison Beckford had just asked her out on a date. The Harrison Beckford. Women adored him. Men idolized him. Little kids wore tool belts and pretended to be him. But more than that, he was a guy who clearly loved his kids, doted on her Nana like she was royalty, and had a smile that made her knees feel wobbly. Of course she wanted to have dinner with him. But no matter how much she wanted to, she couldn’t go to dinner if it meant leaving Nana. Before the words were out of her mouth, Harry was already addressing her concerns.
“I know you can’t leave Ms. Emily, but I was thinking, maybe I could come here. Pick up some take-out for the three of us? I’ll get my parents to stay with the kids.” His shoulders lifted and fell, as if he’d accomplished no small task in getting the words out. “What do you think?”
Oh, Zoey was so far gone for this guy. Boldly, she reached over and wrapped her fingers overtop of his; he turned his hand, opening his palm so their fingers intertwined. She bit her bottom lip, hardly able to suppress her smile. “I think I’m really, really glad you asked.”
Chapter 6
Harry stood in the entryway of his home and readjusted his collar, wondering if a button-down shirt was too dressy. He was only having dinner at Ms. Emily’s house. It’s not like he was taking Zoey somewhere fancy. But it was still a date, even if an unusual one. If he went too casual, would he make Zoey think he wasn’t serious about it? Like it was just dinner among friends?
If he was certain about anything, it was that he did not want Zoey to be his friend. She charmed him, intrigued him, excited him in ways that he’d never experienced. Which was saying something. He’d been married and wasn’t sure he’d ever felt anything quite like this. Though, even in the few short weeks she’d been working for him, Zoey had done more wife-like things than Samantha ever had. She noticed him, cared about him, cared for him. He felt seen in ways that he never had before.
Hooking a Handyman Page 5