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.
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.
&
nbsp; 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 after hours 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.
Always You: A Sweet Romantic Comedy (ABCs of Love Collection Books 5-8) Page 56
