Chapter 3
“Welcome to another episode ofHandymen. I’m Michael Zorn. My brothers and I help families turn their renovation dreams into reality.” Michael walked up the steps to the Beatrice Street house, keeping his eye on the camera. “Today, we’re here with Emily and Trent, a great couple who hope to transform Emily’s grandmother’s former home into the setting for a thriving business. Come on in. Soup’s on.”
“Cut.” Lacey made a slashing gesture at her throat.
“What was wrong with it this time?”
“I’m sorry, Michael. It sounds forced when you say ‘Soup’s on.’”
“That’s because never, in a million years, would I say ‘Soup’s on.’”
From behind his camera, Louie laughed. “Sounds like you should be standing on a porch, clanging a triangle for some hungry cowboys.”
“Who asked you?” said Lacey. “Listen, Michael. I write the script. You stick to reading it, okay?”
“Okay. Want me to do it again?”
“No. Maybe later if we have time. I’ll take what we’ve got to editing for now. I might be able to work some magic. Let’s take it from the meet-and-greet with Emily and Trent inside.”
Michael had already met Emily, of course, and had met the elusive Trent earlier that morning. He hadn’t been impressed.
Trent hadn’t been rude to Michael. In fact, he’d barely said anything to him at all. However, an air of entitlement wafted about him and his upturned nose like fog clinging to a Victorian London lamppost in a cheesy film about Jack the Ripper. Maybe it was Trent’s ever-present smirk. Then again, maybe it was the fact he wore his flashy red jeans a little too tight. Either way, Andrews struck him as the sort of man who seemed to feel life owed him something. As someone who’d had to work hard to get where he was, Michael resented people who expected the universe to magically provide whatever they needed.
His good opinion might have been salvaged if it hadn’t been for the fact Andrews had been condescending to Emily in the presence of others. That one “no-no,” now a cardinal sin in Michael’s book, meant all bets were off.
“It’s so nice of you all to support my fiancée as she works toward fulfilling herlittledream,” Andrews had said that morning.
Little dream?
Michael had ground his teeth, counting to three before responding. “I think Emily’s doing a great thing. She’s promoting a healthy lifestyle, good nutrition, and she’s rescuing her grandmother’s house. We’re all eager to help her build a home for her business.”
Andrews had pretended not to hear him and had looked away but his was not the opinion Michael sought. He’d looked to Emily in that moment instead.
She might like to pretend her fiancé’s comment hadn’t hit home, but the dark circles under her eyes spoke volumes. All the concealer in the world hadn’t disguised them.
In spite of the excitement surrounding the shoot, Emily wasn’t happy. The knowledge made his gut roil.
As he walked inside the house now, followed by the cameraman, he reminded himself not to clench his fists. This shoot had him on edge. As another headache swarmed his frontal lobe, he checked the time. He’d taken his headache pills only an hour ago. Why hadn’t they started working? He knew it was too soon to take anymore, but he was tempted to pop another couple.
Listen to yourself. You sound like an addict. Bracing himself, Michael prepared his next line.
Emily stood inside the living area, next to Trent. Nick and Eli flanked them. Emily looked at Michael and her mouth spread in a wide grin. He fought the sucker punch to his gut. For some reason, her smile deadened the throb in his head. She made him feel good. He wanted to make her smile too. Call him a fool, but he hadn’t seen her look at Trent like that. Granted, he’d only seen them together for part of the morning, but anyone could tell the relationship was strained.
It must be the camera. It made some people nervous.
Maybe it made other people assholes.
He didn’t know how Trent could act like such an idiot with a woman like Emily at his side. Dark circles notwithstanding, Emily looked as adorable today as she did the last time Michael saw her. She wore another figure-hugging pair of jeans. Her slim T-shirt had a decal that said “Acme Trucking.” The logo amused him because she looked nothing like a trucker. Her cropped blonde hair was slicked back away from her forehead, and her green eyes sparkled. Most of the women Michael knew wore their hair long. He liked Emily’s short hair and could imagine himself running his fingers through it, playing with the shaved bits at the nape of her neck.
Whoa. This is not good. Get a hold of yourself. Those pills are making you delusional.
Schooling his features, Michael tried to remember his lines but forgot what Lacey had penned. He improvised. “So, Emily. Tell us about your neck. Excuse me, your business.”
Thanks to her obvious nerves, she didn’t seem to catch his slip of the tongue. “Well, Michael. When I was a little girl, my grandmother taught me how to make her famous minestrone. She and I experimented a lot in the kitchen for many years. I guess you could say I got hooked on cooking a long time ago. Although I didn’t study as a chef, it’s always been a big hobby of mine.”
Was it Michael’s imagination, or did Trent grunt when she said the wordhobby?
“A couple of years ago,” Emily continued, “I decided I wanted to launch my business with an emphasis on healthy eating. I began compiling the recipes I created with my grandmother.”
