No.
It couldn’t be.
Forcing a long breath in through her nose, then out through her mouth, Zoey opened her bedroom door one more time. The handyman faced her now, rubbing a blossoming goose egg on his forehead. He smiled when she met his gaze. “Hi?” he said, his voice a question. Why was his Hi a question?
Nope. Nope, nope, nope.
Zoey closed the door again, backtracking to the living room where Nana sat watching television. She perked up. “Did you meet Harry?”
Zoey sat down on the sofa, angling herself to face Nana instead of the TV. “Nana. Why is Harrison Beckford installing shelves in my bedroom?”
Her brow furrowed. “Who?”
“Harrison freaking Beckford.”
“No, Zoey. Harry is installing shelves. Harry. The handyman.”
“Your handyman is Harrison Beckford?”
She looked at Cassandra and shrugged. “I suppose he could be. He’s always been Harry to me.”
“Who is Harrison Beckford?” Cassandra asked.
How two women could live in the US, in Southern California, and not know who Harrison Beckford was, Zoey had no idea. His home renovation show was based in L.A., and it was all over cable television. The oldest seasons were free on Netflix. Home improvement stores were full of his brand. He had a line of tools, a line of home décor. He was literally everywhere.
And now he was in Zoey’s closet.
Shaking her head, Zoey grabbed the remote from the coffee table and flipped to the home and garden channel that aired Right-On Renovations. She’d put money on reruns being on. Sure enough, it was only a matter of seconds before Harrison’s face filled the screen, explaining the steps he was planning to take to rip yellowing subway tile out of someone’s dated kitchen.
Nana scoffed. “That’s not Harry.”
Zoey looked to Cassandra for confirmation, but she only shrugged. “It is too Harry,” Zoey said. “It’s totally him. How did you even meet him, Nana?”
Nana shifted, peering at the television with squinted eyes. “He grew up around the block. He’s been cutting my grass and doing odd jobs since he was fifteen.”
Zoey froze. “That was Harrison Beckford? The gangly kid with the shaggy hair that always mowed your lawn?”
Nana smiled. “You remember him.”
Cassandra laughed softly. “I thought he looked familiar. You just don’t think you’re seeing people from the TV when they walk in the back door all casual-like.”
Zoey leaned back in her chair. “Have you never asked him about his work? The fact that he’s a nationally known TV star has never come up?”
“Why would it come up? He’s a handyman. That’s his work,” Nana said.
“Technically, she’s right.”
The three women turned to see Harrison standing in the living room entry, a sheepish expression on his face.
“Harry,” Nana said. “What is all this nonsense about you being on TV? Is it true?”
Harrison moved across the small room and leaned over Nana, placing a small kiss on her cheek. “I’ve got to pay the bills somehow, Ms. Emily. To be honest, I thought you knew.”
The man was clearly at ease in Nana’s presence, though of course he would be if he’d been helping her out since high school. He didn’t look that old, but his show had been on the air at least five or six years. He had to be close to thirty.
He turned and looked at Zoey. “Sorry for startling you earlier.”
“It’s my fault,” she said. “I knew you were coming over. I mean, I didn’t know you were coming over. Just that someone, some not-famous someone, was coming.” She swallowed. “Sorry. You probably hate it when people make a big deal out of it.” She took another deep breath. She’d needed a lot of those lately. She stood up and smoothed her hands down the legs of her jeans before extending her hand. “I’m Zoey.”
Harrison’s handshake was firm and warm, and awareness stirred in Zoey’s gut. He really was handsome. “My friends call me Harry.”
“Harry, then.” Was he holding her hand a beat longer than normal?
“Come on,” he said, finally releasing her hand. It was definitely a longer than normal handshake. “Your closet is finished. Want to see it?”
Zoey smiled. “Lead the way.”
She waited for Harry to leave the living room before glancing over her shoulder at Nana and Cassandra who both watched, matching grins on their faces. “Oh my gosh,” Zoey mouthed silently, before following People magazine’s “hottest home renovator to ever hit television” out of the room.
Chapter 2
Harry walked toward the bedroom, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Zoey was following him. Zoey was . . . not what he had expected. Ms. Emily had shown him a photo of her big city news anchor granddaughter—some sort of promotional shot with her news team—and she’d looked professional and . . . stiff? Was that the right word? Or just, helmet-haired and blazered? She’d been attractive in the photo, sure, but she almost didn’t seem like a real person.
This woman seemed so casual. So unaffected. She was beautiful, but not in that L.A. try-hard way, with the tall heels and hours’ worth of makeup and teeny tiny dresses. With his semi-celebrity status, he got that a lot. So much trying. So many women that looked like they’d walked right out of a fashion magazine but didn’t have a goal or a dream in their heads aside from looking great. He imagined his stereotyping probably did a disservice to the women he was so quick to categorize; he liked to believe everyone had a little bit of depth to them. But why did it feel like everyone was so afraid of showing it?
Dating was exhausting. Dating with his schedule in a city like L.A.? Pretty much impossible.
Harry stopped outside the tiny closet in Ms. Emily’s front bedroom. He’d filled half of the bottom section with shelves that would accommodate shoes, jeans, whatever Zoey decided to stack. On the other half he’d installed a second hanging rack. He opened the doors fully and grabbed his level off the top shelf before backing out of the way.
“I know it’s tough when you don’t have a lot of space to work with, but hopefully the shelves will help,” he said.
Zoey studied the closet. “This is perfect. Truly.”
“Awesome.” Harry turned behind him and gathered up a few more tools that he’d used in the installation and dropped them into his tool bag.
“I remember you cutting Nana’s grass when I was a kid. I mean, not you, specifically. I just remember a skinny kid with a lot of hair. I’m assuming that was you? Have you really been helping out my grandma since then?” Zoey asked.
Harry hooked his thumbs over his jean pockets. “My hair was ridiculous in high school so I’m sure you’re remembering me. I didn’t come as much while I was in college, but yeah. Ms. Emily has always been good to me.”
Zoey raised her eyebrows, a confused look on her face. “Really?”
Harry shrugged. “High school was—” He paused. He couldn’t really explain without getting too personal. “Let’s just say that when things were tough, Ms. Emily kept me busy. She kept calling me, giving me random odd jobs to do around the house. It was stuff she didn’t actually need. I repainted walls that were already painted, reinforced fences that didn’t need reinforcing. But she knew I needed the work. Ultimately, all the things I did for her helped me decide what I wanted to do career-wise. Helping her out now is the least I can do.”
Zoey sank back onto the bed. “How has no one ever covered this part of your history in a human-interest story? This is television gold.”
Harry slung his tool bag onto his shoulder with a chuckle. “Ms. Emily warned me you work in the news.”
Zoey immediately smiled. “I’m in between jobs right now so I promise your story is safe with me. Honestly, I’m not actually surprised about Nana’s role in all this. Taking care of a teenage kid she thought needed some extra love sounds exactly like something she would do. But the fact that you’re still around, that even with all you must have going on, you sti
ll come to her house to do something as random as installing shelves? It says a lot about your character. I mean, you could hire someone else to take care of her odd jobs. I’m sure you have the resources.”
“That isn’t what it’s about though.” Harry leaned against the wall and crossed his feet at the ankle, his arms folded across his chest. “If I hired someone else, or if she did, I wouldn’t get to see her. Ms. Emily feels like family. Even when she doesn’t have anything for me to do around the house, I still come and see her every couple of weeks.”
Zoey shook her head, a baffled look on her face. “Are you even being for real right now?”
Harry cocked his head in question.
Zoey motioned to him with her hand. “You look like this. You do what you do. And you visit an elderly widow every couple of weeks? You cannot be for real.”
Harry grinned. He liked flirty Zoey.
“I genuinely can’t believe that Nana has been your friend all this time,” she continued, “and her family never knew. That she never knew who you were before now.”
“Actually, I’d argue the opposite. She knows exactly who I am. Which is why I love hanging out with her so much. I’m much happier as Harry, around friends, than I am as Harrison Beckford on television.”
Zoey studied him for a long minute. “Fair enough.”
“How long are you in town for?” Harry asked.
The light in Zoey’s eyes dimmed. “A few months, I guess.” She gave her head a little shake. “Sorry. I made that sound awful. I’m so happy to be here with Nana. She’s one of the most important people in my life. I’m just still reeling from losing my job.”
“In Chicago, right? You were a morning news anchor?”
Zoey’s eyes widened, and Harry grinned.
“Sorry. Ms. Emily has been talking you up the past few weeks. Though, I admit, you aren’t what I expected.”
Zoey narrowed her eyes, a hint of a blush filling her cheeks. “How so?”
Harry motioned to his head. “She showed me a picture. You were wearing this navy blazer and your hair—”
“No,” Zoey said, cutting him off. “Was it a promotional photo? From Channel 11?”
Harry nodded. “That’s the one.”
Zoey groaned. “Oh, why, Nana? That photo was taken when I first got the job. I think I was trying to dress the part, maybe? Make myself look older? I swear that picture is going to haunt me to my grave. Is that seriously the only photo she showed you?”
Harry grinned. “Zoey, there are photos of you all over Ms. Emily’s house. Plus, I googled you.” He shrugged playfully. “Really I just wanted to tease you.”
“I’m seriously at a disadvantage here,” Zoey said good-naturedly. “How come I didn’t get advance lead time to consult with Google?”
Harry frowned, but quickly wiped the expression from his face. Google hadn’t always been good to him. The tabloids had been vicious in their coverage of his semi-recent divorce. “Maybe don’t consult Google when it comes to me. Or, if you do, try not to believe everything you read.”
For the second time since they’d started talking, Zoey studied him, really studied him, like she was weighing everything he said with careful consideration. Was it just that she was a journalist? Logically, that was probably it. But Harry’s optimistic side hoped it might be because she was starting to like him a little bit.
“What else did she tell you about me?” Zoey finally asked, her gaze trained on him.
In truth, Zoey was almost all Ms. Emily had talked about the past few weeks. She’d been at a disadvantage, since her speech was still slow and had taken a lot more effort than usual. But she’d still managed to give her granddaughter a pretty glowing recommendation. “She said you hate olives,” Harry said, his tone serious.
“She did? That’s random.”
“She didn’t actually say that. But you look like a sane, reasonable person which means you must hate olives.”
Zoey smiled. “Olives are revolting in all forms, especially on pizza,” she said. “What did Nana actually tell you?”
“She told me you are as smart as you are beautiful. Which the olives obviously confirm. And that you like children.”
“All true things,” Zoey said with a grin.
“Did she tell you anything about me?” Harry asked, feeling bold.
Zoey chuckled. “I don’t know if you want to know.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“She told me I shouldn’t hold it against you that you don’t have a fancy job, that you do honest work and there’s nothing wrong with working with your hands.”
Harry laughed. “Wow. What an endorsement.”
“Oh, she sang your praises, too. Said she was sure I would think you’re perfect.”
The fact that Ms. Emily had said so many nice things about him without knowing anything about his fame or his wealth made him happy. Zoey had clearly known who he was when they’d met, but he liked that she’d first learned of him, learned that her grandmother thought he was great, before she realized who he actually was. He never knew which way meeting new people was going to go these days. Half the people he met only wanted to ask him for renovation advice and talk about the possibility of being on his show. The other half generally cared a lot more about his money than they did his actual personality. Finding people that he could be real with? His celebrity made it tough.
But Zoey seemed pretty real. And she was beautiful. And her grandmother’s recommendation said a lot about her character in Harry’s mind. He imagined the words he might say if he were to ask her out. Was it too soon? Would it be too awkward? Would she be around long enough for it to even be worth it?
“So you’re in between jobs now, I guess?”
Zoey nodded. “The station where I anchored the morning news went bankrupt and we all lost our jobs.”
“Ouch. But there are other news stations in Chicago, right?”
“For sure, but it’s a competitive industry. I’m doing my best to stay connected even though I’m gone for a few months. I’d love to do evening news somewhere—the schedule is so much better—but those jobs are even more competitive.”
“I’m sure it’s hard to step away, particularly when you could be networking, jobhunting.”
“Oh, I’m still networking. And jobhunting. Every day. Maybe multiple times a day. I might not be in Chicago in person, but I’m trying to at least stay on top of what’s happening at the biggest stations.”
“Sounds like you’re making quite a sacrifice to be here.”
She quickly shook her head. “No. Nana’s worth it. Besides, everyone else in the family has a job. The fact that I’m just looking for one makes me the obvious choice to be live-in caregiver. They’ve got jobs, pets, babies, obligations.” She lifted her hands into a shrug. “I’m just me.”
“Don’t make light of it. You moved halfway across the country. I’m sure Ms. Emily appreciates you being here. How is she, anyway?” Harry asked. “It seems like her speech is a little better today.”
“You probably know more than I do about that,” Zoey said. “I only got here yesterday. Her spirits seem good, and Cassandra told me she’s cooperating with her physical therapy, but she’s not very good at resting. She hates relying on other people.”
“Yeah, that sounds like her.”
“Harry?” Ms. Emily’s voice called out from the living room.
Harry smiled. “Speaking of.” He held out his hand, motioning toward the doorway. “After you.”
He followed Zoey back to the living room where Ms. Emily shooed Cassandra out of her chair and motioned for Harry to come sit beside her. When he lowered himself into the chair, she reached out and took his hand. “Have you found anyone to watch your children yet?”
Harry’s eyes flew to Zoey. He usually didn’t mention the kids until the end of the first date. Though, if she did Google him, she’d learn all about them anyway.
“Um, no. I’m still working on it. I’ve been taking them to
my sister’s house.”
Ms. Emily raised her eyebrows. “Charlotte has four kids of her own. That’s an awful lot to ask of her, isn’t it?”
Harry’s jaw tightened. Ms. Emily was right, something his sister reminded him of on a daily basis. But he couldn’t just hire the first willing person with a driver’s license to watch his kids. He’d been working with an agency, but the last two people they’d sent over hadn’t worked out and he hesitated to risk it a third time. It’s possible he was overthinking it, setting an unrealistic standard. But being a single dad was tough. He lived in constant fear that he was screwing his children up. “You sound like Charlotte,” Harry finally said. “She’s always reminding me how hard it is. I’m working on it though. I promise.”
Ms. Emily looked across the room at Zoey. “While you work on it . . .” The w’s in Ms. Emily’s words were particularly slurred and she paused, closing her eyes and lifting a hand to her jaw, as if she could stabilize her speech from the outside. She opened her eyes, determination in her gaze. “Zoey could always pitch in and help out.”
Suddenly Harry realized what was happening. Ms. Emily was too good to leave he and Zoey getting together to chance. She was going to shove them together.
“Nana, I can’t—”
Ms. Emily cut off Zoey’s words but continued to address Harry. “You only need someone to watch them during the day.” Another swallow, another touch to her jaw. “And Zoey is experienced. She’s been a nanny before.”
Harry raised an eyebrow. That was useful information. But then, just because Zoey had been a nanny before didn’t mean she’d want to be a nanny now. She had a career in something else. The nannying was likely something that had happened a long time ago.
Charlotte really would love a break from having two extra kids every day though. And Zoey was in between jobs.
“It was a part-time thing,” Zoey said. “While I was in college. Afternoons after school, and then some during the summer. That hardly qualifies me. Besides, I’m only here temporarily.”
Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8) Page 52