Emily would have to be patient. Once her business took off, once they became financially stable again, she was certain old Trent would resurface.
If he didn’t, she wasn’t sure what she would do.
She scratched her chest to relieve the nervous itch there and looked at the ceiling to focus her thoughts. It would help if she knew Trent was still on board with theHandymenappearance.
“Of course, he is,” she chastised herself. “We both signed on to do the show. He’ll be here when the renovations start. That’s the important part. He knows how much this means to me.”
Although, if he let her down, it wouldn’t be the first time.
Emily ignored the voice of caution inside her, the one that had been putting up red flags ever since she spied the change in Trent. The first time she mentioned the soup business idea, he’d laughed. When she’d questioned him, he apologized but it hadn’t felt sincere. Ever since, he’d shown his derision in countless ways. Joking about her “cute business” to his buddies, all while continuing to live off the money she’d put aside to help her get started. He’d also insisted they postpone the wedding date. She understood that. He wanted to be settled and find work again but married friends had assured her the timing would never be perfect. If they waited for the ideal day and time, they’d be waiting forever.
Some days, she wondered if he wanted to get married at all. Most days, she wondered if she did.
“For better or for worse, right?” Emily found it helpful to remind herself of the vows she would one day take. The words meant a great deal to her. She’d never considered marrying any of her other boyfriends and had known early on she would never utter those vows lightly.
Only surely there was something in the traditional marriage vows that implied the better ought to outweigh the worse.
With a sigh, Emily chose to remain optimistic and concentrate on the positives. Putting Trent’s failings out of her head, she planned what she would say to Michael Zorn.
On a whim, she had written her business plan years ago, sketching it out on a doodle pad. However, she had only recently decided to make it a reality. After taking the plunge and quitting her hellish corporate job, she created a company calledFrom Scratch. Her product? Healthy, organic soups made from her own recipes and some her grandmother taught her. Hoping to cater to busy families who wanted healthy options, she’d package her own spice mixes and even sell fresh soups from her own storefront. The products would have a down-home, rustic appeal. Comfort food that was good for you. Eventually, she hoped to branch out into other ready-to-serve products. She believed people craved a return to good, homemade food, or at least as homemade as possible, and wanted her customers to trust in her products.
Unfortunately, her personal life had taken a nosedive right around the same time she quit her job. Not long afterward, Emily’s grandmother had passed away. A confident, passionate woman, Nonna Olivia was beloved by all who knew her, and in Emily’s eyes, she was a saint. She was also Emily’s greatest champion in the kitchen. She’d left her the house on Beatrice Street with the dying wish her granddaughter renovate it and use it for her soup business. It was the perfect location, in the heart of Toronto’s trendy Little Italy, but the building was as fresh as peeling paint.
Emily had worked her way through her savings after Trent lost his job. Without enough money to renovate the old house on her own, she’d become desperate, searching for ways to keep her dream alive while helping her fiancé stay afloat.
She’d spotted an advertisement for theHandymenshow. It seemed an ideal opportunity to renovate with little cost. The Inspiration Network covered a lot of the big ticket items through the help of sponsors and Emily had enough to cover the rest. To her delight, the producers thought her a great candidate for the show. She couldn’t have been happier. Appearing onHandymenwas the only way Emily would ever be able to getFrom Scratchoff the ground without having to sell her grandmother’s house or her own body.
As a plus, she’d get to meet those dishy Zorn brothers. She’d been glued to their show since its inception. Even though her fascination stemmed primarily from older brother Michael’s dark bedroom eyes and bulging biceps, she admired their work. The Zorn men and their large crew paid attention to detail and craftsmanship. Their show wasn’t the sort where the team flew in for a weekend and glue-gunned a house together. They remained at the house over the course of a few weeks and made sure nothing would fall down once they left.
There was almost nothing Emily enjoyed more than watching the brothers during a “big reveal,” surprising the happy guests with new appliances and fixtures. Her gaze invariably darted toward Michael Zorn during those moments. He always looked so proud, so warm. So goddamn sexy.
She appreciated Trent’s meticulous grooming, but something about Michael Zorn’s scruffy exterior had her sighing. With his hint of a dark beard and unkempt, black curls, he was the picture of raw masculinity. Always dressed in faded jeans, worn Henley shirts, and work boots, Michael wielded a saw as if it were an extension of his arm. Some of Emily’s favorite moments on the show were when Michael leaned over to cut a piece of wood, his back rippling under his shirt.
She had taken his image to bed with her several times, only the Michael in her dreams always looked up from his projects and turned hungry eyes upon her. The dreams always ended the same way. He’d put down his tools, still sweaty from his hard work, and remove his tool belt. He’d stalk toward her in his steel-toed boots…
“Good Lord, Em.” She shook her head. “Lusting after a TV contractor when you have a perfectly good man in your life? When did you sink so low?”
Perhaps it had something to do with the fact Michael Zorn wasn’t just a TV contractor. If you asked the local papers, he was a hero. They’d christened him one some time ago, and Emily agreed with everything in her. She couldn’t help falling a little in love with the man when he’d rescued those children.
While doing repair work for one of his contracting clients, the owner of a home daycare, he’d stumbled into a violent domestic dispute. The owner’s ex-husband, angry about their breakup, had broken into the daycare with a loaded gun. He’d managed to shoot his ex-wife before Zorn tackled him. If the handyman hadn’t taken action when he did, the children in the daycare might also have been killed.
But Michael Zorn had saved the day, as much as he could under the circumstances. The media had been all over him, despite his apparent reluctance to discuss his act of bravery. Emily remembered seeing several pieces of footage on the local news in which reporters tried to ask him for his take on the incident, but they’d all ended swiftly and in the same fashion; Zorn refused to look at the camera, and said, “No comment,” as he darted away from the reporters.
Her cell phone buzzed in her pocket and she whipped it out. “Hello?”
“Emily? This is Michael Zorn.”
She swallowed and realized her throat was parched. She ran her hand through her hair. “Oh. Hello, Michael.” Was it her imagination or was his voice even deeper than it sounded on TV?Now, now, Em. You’re not single. Behave.
“I just wanted to let you know I’m on my way. The traffic is a bit intense at Spadina, but I’m almost there.”
“That’s very considerate of you. Take your time. Thanks.”
The comparisons to Trent sprang to mind without her bidding. She couldn’t remember the last time Trent actually called to tell her he was running late. She swore he liked to keep her on her toes sometimes. Just last week she’d texted him, asking what he was up to and he’d accused her of “keeping tabs on him.”
She barely had time to keep tabs on herself, never mind another person.
She ended her call with Michael and walked into her grandmother’s powder room. The old mirror still hung there. Emily checked her reflection, only to see she’d grown flushed. Not only were her cheeks pink, the top of her chest was covered in red blotches as well. Her short hair stood up from where she’d run her hand through it.
“For crying out loud.” All Michael Zorn had done was call her on the phone, and she looked like a woman who’d been thoroughly debauched.
Pulling a brush out of her handbag, she adjusted her hair, feeling nervous. For some strange reason, the specter of guilt raised its hand, shaking its bony finger at her.
So she liked the sound of the man’s voice. So what? It didn’t mean she was about to run off with him and have his lovechild.
She splashed water on her face until she was content her guilt no longer manifested. Emily then squared her shoulders, returned to the front room, and awaited Michael Zorn’s arrival.
