Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8)

by Brenna Jacobs

  “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 message, 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.

  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 asleep. 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 there’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.