Hooking a Handyman

by Jacobs, Brenna

  He wasn’t the kind of guy that bought into the idea of soulmates, and it was way too early to use big words like the L word. But instead of just feeling like things could work with Zoey if they were to date, it felt more like they were meant to, like fate was propelling them forward as much as mutual attraction.

  Or maybe it was all in Harry’s head and Zoey would race back to Chicago if she had any idea how serious his thoughts had turned. He ran a hand through his hair, brushing the long-ish parts on top to the side, and gave his head a little shake.

  “Time for a haircut,” his mom said from behind him.

  He turned.

  She leaned against the wall, her arms folded across her chest and a warm smile on her face. “You look nice, Harry. You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  Hannah rounded the corner at a full run and slammed into Harry’s legs, wrapping her arms around his knees. He reached a hand out for the wall, stabilizing himself against the impact. “Whoa, slow down. You’re going to knock me over.”

  “Bye, daddy,” Hannah said. “Have fun on your date.”

  Harry crouched down and looked Hannah in the eye. “Thanks, Han. You help your grandma with Oliver, okay?”

  She nodded. “Tell Zoey I said hi and not to forget Mr. Brown Bear when she comes over tomorrow cause I left him at Ms. Emily’s house and sleeping without him was so terrible.”

  “Got it,” Harry said. “Or I could bring Mr. Brown Bear home with me tonight.”

  He’d debated whether or not to be honest with Hannah about the fact that he was going on a date with Zoey. Hannah had seen him leave on dates before, but the situation was slightly different because Hannah knew Zoey so well. In the end, he’d decided honesty was the easiest route forward. His kids were with Zoey so much, the idea of keeping secrets, especially when Hannah was generally so perceptive, felt like too much work.

  “Oh, do that, Daddy! Then I can sleep with him tonight!”

  Harry gave his daughter one more quick hug. “You’ll be asleep before I get home, but I’ll for sure bring Mr. Brown Bear into your room and tuck him in beside you so you’ll have him in the morning when you wake up.”

  Harry’s stepdad joined them in the entryway, Oliver in his arms. Oliver reached out for his dad and Harry scooped him up, giving him a quick squeeze before passing him back to his grandfather. Was it always so much work to get out of the house?

  He backed toward the door, grabbing his keys off the entryway table. “I’ll see you guys later, okay?” When he was finally settled in the cab of his truck, he took a deep breath, momentarily leaning his forehead against the steering wheel.

  Maybe he was crazy.

  His life certainly was. Who was he to think he could manage dating someone when it took ten minutes of saying goodbye just to leave his kids for three hours?

  Sighing, he cranked the car and drove the short distance to the Japanese restaurant where he’d placed a to-go order. His assistant had offered to pick up the food and bring it by, so he wouldn’t have to pick it up himself. It had been tempting. He didn’t generally mind interacting with fans and the general public when people recognized him, but it took time—time he’d rather be spending with Zoey. But his assistant, Jason, was the worst workaholic; just because he was willing to fill his evenings doing stuff for Harry didn’t mean Harry wanted him to have to do it. Harry’s work/home boundaries when it came to his own family time were nonnegotiable. He wouldn’t infringe on Jason’s evenings because he was too spoiled to pick up his own dinner.

  Harry stepped into the dim interior of the restaurant and made eye contact with the hostess. She gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement, enough to tell Harry she knew who he was, and she’d be with him momentarily. Harry pulled out his phone and leaned against the wall while he waited.

  Moments later, a woman stepped up beside him, slipping her hand over his forearm and pulling her body close. “Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but you’re Harrison Beckford.”

  Harrison very gently tugged his arm away, offering enough of a smile that the woman wouldn’t be offended. Greta, his publicist, had explained to him once that fans didn’t mean to violate boundaries of personal space. They would never do as much to total strangers. But their favorite celebrities didn’t feel like strangers. They felt like friends, like people they hung out with on the weekends. “Your face is on their television every day, Harrison,” she had said. “I’m not saying you have to have dinner with them, and you’re welcome to reestablish boundaries however you see fit. Just do it politely. They’re the reason you have a job, after all.”

  “Hi,” Harrison said to the woman. “How are you?”

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Oh my word. It is you, and you just asked me how I am. I really love your show.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate that.” Harry noted over the woman’s shoulder that the hostess was approaching, two large to-go bags in her hands. She held them up, nodding her head as they made eye contact.

  “Do you think I can get a selfie with you?” the woman asked.

  Harry forced a smile. “Sure. But just one. It looks like my order is ready to go.”

  After smiling into the woman’s phone, keeping his body as far away from hers as possible despite her best efforts, he grabbed his food, tipped the hostess, and hurried toward his truck.

  “A nice dinner at home tonight, mate?” A voice called from across the parking lot. Harry sighed. He really should have taken Jason up on his offer. He turned and saw a photographer capturing shots of him as he unlocked his truck. He’d been targeted by the paparazzi before but picking up dinner to-go on a random Saturday night wasn’t generally something that caught their radar. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone that knew where he’d planned to be tonight. More anxious to get away than to figure out how the photographer had tracked him down, Harry climbed into his truck and revved the engine, ignoring the man’s continued attempts to get a comment from him.

  After pulling the truck into Ms. Emily’s driveway, he pulled out his phone, sending a quick text to Greta before going inside. Any idea why the paparazzi knew where I was grabbing dinner tonight?

  The little dancing dots at the bottom of the text thread immediately started bouncing so he waited for a reply. Where were you?

  Red Ginger in Santa Monica.

  You and every other celebrity who wants to be seen, Greta texted back. You’re asking for it going to Red Ginger.

  Really? When did that happen?

  When Jessica Appleton told Instagram it was her new favorite.

  Harry sighed. Am I supposed to know who that is?

  They’re calling her the next Julia Roberts.

  I’m just bitter she ruined my favorite restaurant.

  Isn’t that why you have Jason? Why are you picking up your own dinner anyway?

  He does too much afterhours already, Harry texted back.

  Then join this century and use Grubhub.

  Harry sighed. Why didn’t he think of Grubhub? Fine. Point taken.

  Were you at least nice to the photographer? Greta asked.

  Once, right after Harry’s divorce, a photographer had gotten right in his face while he’d been out with his children. He’d been in a terrible mood, having just left a meeting with his attorney and had not so kindly pushed—some say shoved—the guy to the side so he could get Hannah into the car safely. His actions had created a small media storm for Greta to handle. The tabloids were full of Angry after his divorce headlines for weeks, citing the incident and doing their best to dig up stories from homeowners and contractors he’d worked with over the years willing to claim he had an anger management issue. It was all fabricated—it was amazing what people were willing to say when a little bit of cash was up for grabs—and Greta had handled things like the professional that she was. But she’d also scolded him and reiterated his responsibility to keep himself under control. It was a difficult balancing act—respecting and appreciating the public that had helped build his
career while also demanding the privacy his family deserved. He was welcome to demand that privacy, but he couldn’t push people in the process.

  I didn’t say a word, Harry texted back. Just ignored him.

  Good job, Greta responded.

  The whole thing made Harry tired. He loved his job. Loved the life it provided for him and his kids. But there was a downside to fame. He wondered if Zoey was the kind of woman who would want to endure it. She’d had a small taste of living her career in the limelight, working as a news anchor. So the scene wasn’t completely foreign to her. He could only hope she would understand, that she’d think he was worth any negative side effects his fame brought. But he was getting ahead of himself. He didn’t doubt the chemistry that flared between him and Zoey; he had enough experience reading women to know that she was feeling the same thing he was. But she was only in town temporarily. He couldn’t start thinking long term before they’d even had their first date.

  He thought about the way her hand had so naturally slipped into his and fire flared in his gut. Maybe he couldn’t think about the future just yet, but he wouldn’t stop himself from looking forward to tonight.

  Zoey pulled the door open before Harry had even had the chance to knock. Her hair lay in loose waves on her shoulders and she wore dark jeans and a white flowy shirt. She was dressier than she normally was when she showed up every morning, and he was suddenly glad he’d made a little bit of an extra effort himself. They’d said casual, but he wanted her to know he cared. That he wanted to impress her.

  “Hi,” Zoey said, her eyes bright. “Come on in.”

  Harry stepped into the doorway and paused in front of Zoey. “Hey,” he said, his voice low. She smelled good. Really good. She’d put some kind of gloss on her lips that drew his eye, filling him with a sudden desire to lean in and kiss her right there, while he still held the boxed-up food and hadn’t even closed the front door behind him.

  She motioned toward the kitchen. “Come on. Nana’s already at the table.”

  Harry followed Zoey into the kitchen, noticing the way her jeans accentuated her curves. He acknowledged, not for the first time, how effortless she made it all look. She looked good, but she didn’t look like she was trying to look good. It was the kind of sexy he appreciated. “I got a little bit of everything,” Harry said. “I hope that’s okay.”

  “It smells amazing,” Ms. Emily said.

  Harry watched as Zoey dished up a plate of food for her grandmother, assembling an array of things on her plate that looked easy to spear with a fork. No noodles, or slippery vegetables. “Want to give it a try?” She shifted the plate closer to Ms. Emily and held out a fork.

  Ms. Emily took a deep breath. “No chopsticks for me?”

  Zoey glanced at Harry, her expression slightly panicked, but Nana quickly put them all at ease. “I’m kidding,” she said. “I’m not that ambitious.” She looked at Harry and picked up her fork. “I’m going to make a mess, Harry. I’m just warning you now.”

  Harry smiled. “It’s a shame Oliver isn’t here. He’d probably make a contest out of it.”

  Ms. Emily rolled her eyes. “Ha. He might be the only one that could beat me.”

  Dinner went by fast, punctuated by multiple long looks shared with Zoey across the table and enough laughing to reiterate Harry’s belief that he’d actually met the perfect woman.

  After dessert—some sort of chocolate sushi thing that was maybe the best dessert Harry had ever tried—they moved to the living room and watched recorded episodes of Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy, Zoey sitting next to him on the couch, until Ms. Emily started to fall asleep in her chair.

  Zoey reached out and put a hand on his knee. “I’m going to help Nana get to bed.”

  “Oh.” Harry nodded. “Should I . . . go?” Please say no.

  Zoey shook her head, making him smile. “It’ll only take a half-hour or so. Can you wait for me?”

  Harry grinned. “Absolutely.”

  Before Zoey could help Ms. Emily out of her chair, Harry stood up and leaned down to give the older woman a hug, kissing her softly on the cheek.

  “That better not be the only kissing that happens tonight,” Ms. Emily said with a twinkle in her eye.

  “Nana!” Zoey said, but Harry only laughed.

  “What? You think I don’t see the way you two have been looking at each other? I was worried you might not wait for me to go to bed.”

  Zoey pushed her forehead into her palm. “What am I going to do with you?”

  “It’s like being in high school all over again,” Harry said. “Except maybe worse.” He met Zoey’s eye and she smiled.

  “Definitely worse.”

  Harry settled back onto the couch and pulled out his phone to check on his kids while he waited. His mom assured him everything was fine; the kids were settled, and he was welcome to stay out as long as he wanted. He glanced over and caught sight of Mr. Brown Bear, sitting in the corner of the armchair next to him. He reached over and grabbed it, not wanting to forget it when he finally left, then turned back to his phone, the bear tucked onto his lap.

  “Did you get lonely without me?” Zoey asked, moving back into the room twenty minutes later.

  Harry looked down at the bear and smiled. “I did. This guy’s a poor substitute though. His jokes aren’t funny at all.”

  Zoey plopped onto the cushion next to him and propped her elbow up on the back of the couch, her chin resting on her fist. “Maybe he doesn’t like you. He tells me the best stories when you aren’t around.”

  Harry lifted up the bear and frowned. “Whatever happened to family loyalty, huh?”

  Zoey laughed, a sound he would love to hear again and again. “First the kids, now Mr. Brown Bear. You better watch out. I’m going to make everyone in your family convinced they can’t live without me and then where will you be?”

  Harry stilled, leveling her a look that he hoped wasn’t too serious. “Doesn’t sound like such a bad deal if you ask me.”

  She scrunched her nose as if to disagree. “I don’t know, Harry. There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I can think of ten things right off the top of my head that might make you change your mind.”

  The gleam in her eye made Harry think her ten things might make him like her more. “Try me.”

  “What? All ten things on the first date? What kind of a strategist would I be if I gave you all my secrets in one night? I mean, I have to at least get a few more free meals out of this deal.”

  “It’s all about the food with you, isn’t it?”

  She bit her bottom lip and smiled. “You just guessed secret number four.”

  “Lucky for you, I love food too. Cooking it, buying it, especially eating it.”

  “How often do you eat dessert?” Zoey asked as she stood from the couch. She walked across the room and opened a drawer on a small side table.

  “Is this a trick question?” Harry asked. He was all about dessert. But he also had an agent that frequently reminded him how important his physique was to his image on the show.

  “Not a trick question,” Zoey said. “Definitely a test question, though.” She held something behind her back, but Harry couldn’t see what it was.

  “When I’m hitting the gym like I’m supposed to be, or I’m in between seasons, I will always eat dessert. When I’m filming, and I’m not working out regularly, I’m a little more disciplined.”

  Zoey rolled her eyes.

  “That’s not fair!” Harry said playfully. “It’s in my contract.”

  “Seriously?! Dessert restrictions are in your contract?”

  Harry ran a hand through his hair, suddenly wishing he hadn’t brought it up. It was the thing he hated the most about his job. It was never just about remodeling houses. It was about remodeling houses while he was wearing just the right shirt to match the blue of his eyes and accentuate his biceps. “Not dessert. But . . .” He waved his hand down the length of his body.

  “Ohhhh,” Zoey said, almo
st gleeful. She danced back across the room. “So it’s the muscles that are in the contract.” She sat back down on the couch, dropping a deck of cards on the coffee table in front of them before wrapping both arms around his bicep. “I’ve got to admit. I think I support your contract.”

  This time, Harry rolled his eyes before shrugging out of her grip. He caught her hands in his. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? How do you feel about dessert?”

  “Can’t live without it,” Zoey answered, almost immediately. “And since I am genetically fortunate enough to have an incredibly fast metabolism, I don’t ever have to.”

  “That is fortunate.” He looked at the cards and raised his eyebrows. “What are the cards for?”

  “The cards have to do with the first thing on my list.”

  “Wait. Do you actually have a list?”

  She grinned. “No. But if I did, this would definitely be the thing on the top.”

  Harry narrowed his eyes. “You . . . like to gamble?”

  She shook her head.

  “You build card houses in your spare time.”

  She leaned her head against the couch and pretended to snore.

  “Fine. I cave. What’s the thing most likely to scare me away?”

  She opened the cards and pulled out the deck, shuffling them in her hands. “I am extremely competitive.”

  “That’s it? I think that’s a good thing.”

  “No, you don’t understand. Like, when I play Candyland with Hannah, it takes all of my willpower not to pout when she beats me and brag when I beat her. Like, I have to remind myself over and over that I’m an adult and she’s a kid and I know better.”

  “Over Candyland?” Harry said.

  “A game’s a game,” Zoey said. “I mean, I won’t behave badly over it. But I really like to win.”

  Harry looked back to the cards. So far, he’d been right. The stuff she thought might scare him off did make him like her more. “So we’re going to play a game?”