Never Fall for Your Back-Up Guy by Kate O’Keeffe

Chapter 15

Isay goodbye to a customer as Scarlett comes through the door, looking especially bright and breezy in a bright orange shift dress and matching heels.

“You look nice. Special occasion?” I ask as I slide the purchase receipt into the folder on the desk.

“I just felt like wearing it today, that’s all. Did that customer want any design work?”

I shake my head. “She bought a throw and a couple of pill boxes. Apparently, she collects them, and she was over the moon that we had some in stock. She said she’d tell all her pill box collector friends about us.”

“Oh, goody. That means we’ll make about four pounds fifty this week.” She slumps her shoulders and pushes out a breath.

“I know, it’s depressing. If only there was a way we could destroy Karina’s new shop in some freak accident or something. Then we could get back to actually turning a profit, like we used to.”

“What are you suggesting? We hire a car and drive it through the window? Because no one would ever know it was us with all the CCTV cameras filming your every move in this city.”

“There is that.” I wipe some dust from a shelf and then turn back to her. “You know, I could ask Kennedy if she could feature our designs in her magazine. She’s a features writer at Claudette. Maybe she could write an article on what it’s like to be a start-up interior designer in London?” I feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect.

“Sure. I guess.” She sits down at the computer.

“You guess? It could be a really great idea.” My twinge builds into a fully-fledged feeling as I begin to pace the shop. “Claudette is a national magazine. National. It could do amazing things for us. Get our shop featured, and we’ll be made. I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before.” I glance at Stevie. She’s safely tucked up in her pen, sleeping off a frenzied energy burst from earlier in the day.

“I know Claudette. I wasn’t born yesterday, you know. But you might be getting ahead of yourself there, babe.” She peers at the screen. “You haven’t even asked her.”

“Semantics,” I reply with a grin. “I’ve got a feeling about this. Leave it with me. Okay?”

She lifts her eyes to mine briefly. “Let me know how it goes,” she replies with a lot less enthusiasm than I’m feeling.

“I bet it’ll work.”

“Yup.” She doesn’t lift her eyes from the screen.

“I’m going to call her now.” I breeze past Scarlett to collect my phone from my handbag. “This game is all about networks. We need to use them to our advantage.”

“I suppose it’s worth a shot.”

“It is,” I insist.

I’ll show Scarlett. She might be on the brink of giving up, but I’m not. This business means the world to me.

I pull up Kennedy’s details and press call. A couple of rings later, she answers.

“Hey, Zee.”

“Can I ask you a big favour?”

“Shoot.”

“Is there any way you could get ScarZar in Claudette? It wouldn’t have to be a big feature or anything, just something to help get our name out there. That big, new design store on the high street is killing our business. ”

"I don’t know, Zee. It’s not my usual area.”

“Could you at least float the idea past your boss? We’ve done a bunch of gorgeous redesigns that you could photograph, plus Stevie would look so cute in those photos.”

“Let me see what I can do for you.”

Hope pings about in my like a pinball. “Thank you so, so much. I owe you one.” I say goodbye and hang up. I turn to Scarlett. “The wheels are in motion.”

“Zara, don’t you think every small interiors shop in the greater London area has thought of doing that already? You’re dreaming.”

“I’m not dreaming. Not everyone has Kennedy as a close and personal friend, you know, and not everyone has a cute-as-a-button shop dog, either.”

“Well, I’m going out.” She sails past me towards the door.

“But you just got here.”

“I’ve got an appointment with that couple who want some design work done on their place up in Hampstead. Remember?”

I wrack my brain for who she’s talking about and come up with no one. “But I’ve got to go to Asher’s place to meet the delivery guys. He’s getting his new living room furniture today.”

“Who’s going to be here at the shop?”

We both turn and look at Stevie in her pen. The idea of Stevie running the shop while we’re both out at appointments brings a smile to my face.

“Shame Stevie can’t do it. I mean, how cute would that be?”

Scarlett, on the other hand, doesn’t quite share my amusement. “Come on, Zara. You need to get serious. We can’t run a business if you don’t look in the shared calendar to see what’s happening each day.”

“But—”

“No buts,” she replies, sounding exactly like my mother. “I’ll see you this afternoon.” She breezes out the door and disappears from view.

I pull out my phone and check our shared calendar. I was certain she didn’t have any meetings in there when I checked it this morning, let alone one that’s going to take several hours. But still, there is it in bold blue: Scarlett in Hampstead.

How could I have missed that?

An hour and only two dismal customers later, neither of whom wanted anything but small items from the shop, I hang a hand-written sign on the door that tells people I’ll be back by two thirty and climb into an Uber. I place a vase and plant carefully in the seat well on one side of the car and hop in the other and place Stevie on my lap. I notice the driver peering suspiciously in the rear-view mirror at me.

“She’ll stay on my lap and she’s totally toilet trained.” I cross my fingers under my skirt. I don’t usually get Ubers because of the cost, favouring instead the cheap and usually efficient Tube. But today I’ve got a few things to deliver to Asher’s place, so I’m putting the cost of the ride on the shop’s credit card.

As we move slowly along London’s busy streets, I scroll through my messages. Spotting one that reads Call me! from Kennedy. I dial her number and hold my breath in anticipation.

“Zara,” she says.

“Have you got us a slot in your magazine?” I ask without preamble.

“You know I’d love to say yes to that, but I asked my boss and she said no. Sorry.”

My heart sinks. Being featured in Claudette would be a game changer for ScarZar. “I understand. Thanks for asking.”

“I do have some other news, though. I spoke to Kyla. My friend in San Diego who knows Asher’s wife? She told me the whole story.”

“You asked her?”

“I thought we should get the full picture rather than filling in the blanks. I figured that would be fair to Asher.”

“I suppose it is.”

“I don’t have to tell you if you don’t want to know.”

My chest tightens. “I wish I’d never found that photo.”

“But you did, babe.”

I let out a heavy breath. “Okay, tell me about it.”

“She cheated on him with his best friend.”

I suck in air. “No! Oh, that’s terrible!” I picture the photo of the happy couple. “The poor guy.”

“I know, right? Kyla said he was blindsided by it. Never suspected a thing. Apparently, they’d been together for a few years, and he was totally in love with her. When it happened, he fell to pieces and the next thing everyone knew, he’d moved to London.”

I stare out the window, my heart breaking in two for Asher. He was in love with a woman and she tore his heart out of his chest and stomped on it. Tears prick my eyes as an uncomfortable feeling claims my belly.

“Zara? Are you there?”

I sniff and Stevie looks up at me in alarm. I give her a reassuring pat on the head. “I’m on my way to his flat now. I’ve got a delivery happening. I’ve got to go.”

“Sorry to tell you this. I figured we might be able to help him or something? I don’t know.”

“You and me both.”

“Talk soon?”

“Talk soon.” I hang up the phone and stare straight ahead of me, lost in thought, feelings churning like butter inside.

Asher had his heart broken by his cheating wife.

He was so hurt, he ran away.

I blow out a breath.

I shouldn’t know any of this.

All too soon, the Uber comes to a stop outside Asher’s building. I thank the driver and climb out with my plant and vase with Stevie’s lead hooked over my wrist. Using my key to unlock the front door, I climb the stairs. At Asher’s door, I place the plant and vase down on the floor and let myself into the flat. The place is deadly quiet and just as empty as usual. I’ll give Asher one thing though: he might live in a totally bland bachelor pad cliché, but he’s tidy. Nothing is out of place.

I take Stevie to Asher’s bedroom, and I avoid looking at the walk-in wardrobe. I don’t need to be tempted to look at the album. I tell Stevie to stay and then close the door.

Asher told me he’d move the current furniture out of the living room and true to his word, the place is now empty but for the oversized bloke-y TV on the wall and the surfboards in the corner.

I inspect the new grey, panelled wall I had installed yesterday. It looks sleek and modern, and I know Asher will love it.

The front door buzzer sounds, and I press the intercom button. “Hello?”

“We’ve got a delivery down ‘ere for Asher McMillan. Where do ya want it?”

“Fantastic. Third floor, please. Flat number seven.”

I hear the guy grumble about having to lug the furniture up three flights of stairs before I hang up. I wander over to the large living room window and look out across the rooftops and trees as I wait. Being here in Asher’s flat feels strange. The last time I was here was the day I discovered that my friend has a difficult past. I push out a breath as I watch a small flock of birds fly by in a v-formation.

I hear someone out in the corridor, so I walk over to the front door and pull it open. Asher is standing in the doorway, a key in his hand. Wearing a navy suit and a white, open neck shirt that shows off his creamy olive skin, he looks professional and confident—and handsome, too, I’ll admit. You know, for a guy who’s had his heart broken in two by some wife he’s hidden from us for years, that is.

The shock of seeing him hits me in the chest and my churning emotions from earlier swoop back in. “Wh-what are you doing here?” I ask breathlessly, clutching onto the door.

He glances from my face to my white knuckles and back again. “You need to work on your greetings, Zee. Try this on for size: ‘Hey, Asher. You’ve come home to help out today. You are a truly amazing human being, and I am so grateful for all that you do.’” His lips lift in amusement, and I loosen up a notch or ten.

This is Asher. He’s my friend. He’s fun and easy going and I love hanging out with him. So what if he’s not been one hundred percent honest with me and my friends? He’s been hurt. The least I can do is be his friend.

“A truly amazing human being, huh? Someone thinks pretty highly of themselves.”

He glances back at my hand, still holding onto the door. “Are you gonna let me into my own flat, or do I need to wait for the formal written invitation?”

I pull my hand from the door and step back for him to walk inside. “Your royal highness,” I say with a mock bow.

He grins at me. “That’s better. Keep it up.”

“Did you see the guys are about to deliver your new living room furniture? I thought you were going to be them just now.”

“I was hoping I’d get back here before they arrived. Perfect timing.” He pulls off his jacket and places his keys on the kitchen bench. “I’m gonna go hang this up so I can help them. BRB.”

He disappears from the room. I can hear the delivery guys down the stairs giving one another instructions as they make their way up. “You guys okay?” I call out.

“We’d be be’er if you lived on the ground floor, love,” one of them calls back.

“Sorry about that. See you up here in a second.”

“Yeah. A second. That’s all this’ll take,” is his sarcastic reply.

“I see I’ve got a bedroom visitor,” Asher says as he walks back into the room. He’s got the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up, exposing his strong, muscular forearms, ready for some physical labour.

“I hope it’s okay that Stevie’s in there?” I ask.

“It’s fine. She seemed pretty chill, sniffing her way around the room.”

“Dogs do that.”

“You don’t say?” I lean over the top of the staircase and see the delivery men on the floor immediately below. “They’re almost here.”

Some huffing and groaning, and an unpleasant waft of a combination of sweat and cigarette smoke later, the delivery men place a plastic-wrapped three-seater sofa on the bare living room floor and return to their truck to bring up the matching chairs.

“Let’s unwrap this baby,” Asher says. “It feels like Christmas and my birthday all rolled into one.”

We set about peeling the plastic off the sofa, and by the time we’re finished the delivery men have brought up a chair each and we’ve got more to unwrap.

Within about ten minutes flat, the entire living room is transformed with the sofa and chairs, a large floor rug we’ve rolled out and put into position, a coffee table, and the vase and plant I brought up with me.

Asher tips the delivery guys and then we both stand and stare at the transformed room before us.

“It needs scatter cushions and maybe some shelving over there,” I say, pointing at a blank, white wall, “but other than that, it’s amazing.”

“No mafia horse’s head.”

“Do you really want of those?”

He shrugs. “I liked it.”

“I’ll get you one, then.”

“You know, it looks so different from my other stuff.” He runs his hand across the top of the sofa. “I mean, I know this is still leather, but it’s got a totally different vibe.”

I jump on his words. I know I shouldn’t. I know I should let it be and allow him to tell me about his wife in his own time. But he hasn’t told me anything about her. Not even that she exists, let alone how she broke his heart. And dang it, I’m curious. So sue me.

“Does it feel like a fresh start to you?” I lead.

He looks around the room. “It does.”

“Do you think you needed that for any reason in particular? You know, like the old furniture had bad memories or something?”

He regards me through the corner of his eye. “I did spill some chips and dip on the sofa last week, if that’s what you mean?”

“I was meaning more…emotional memories than, you know, food memories.” I watch him closely, but the guy’s not giving anything away.

“Emotional memories?” he questions with a smile lifting the edges of his mouth. “I’m not sure I could have many emotional memories about furniture I inherited from the guy I rented my last flat from.”

"So, you didn’t bring any of it over from the US?”

“Nope. I’m just happy to have the change. You did a great job on this room, Zee. Thanks.”

He’s not biting, so at the risk of blurting something out I oughtn’t, I drop the subject.

“It’s not done yet,” I say.

“Ah, the cushions and shelving.”

“And one other thing I think you’ll like.”

“What?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is this surprise going to cost me a lot of money?”

I give a wave of my hand. “Hardly anything at all.”

“Intriguing.”

“All will be revealed in due course. By which I mean within the next couple of weeks.”

I hear a series of yaps coming from Asher’s bedroom. “I’ll get Stevie.”

“You do that. I’m gonna take a load off. We’ve been standing here looking at the new furniture, but we haven’t tried it out.”

I gesture at the sofa. “Be my guest.”

He flops down in the middle of the sofa and lets out a contented, “Ahhh.”

“Good?” I call out as I walk down the hall and pull the bedroom door open.

Stevie immediately zips past me and takes a flying leap at Asher, almost making it onto the sofa, instead falling backwards onto the ground.

“Are you okay, little pup?” I ask.

But she’s like a rubber band, simply jumping back onto her feet and bouncing on the spot. I pick her up and she squirms in my arms, eager to get on the sofa.

“I don’t think Uncle Asher wants you anywhere near his new furniture,” I say to her.

“It’s fine. As long as she doesn’t try to eat this one.”

“Are you sure? I mean, Dog Diva Denise’s training has worked amazingly, but she’s still a puppy.”

He pats the spot at his side. “Sit. Both of you.”

I plonk myself down next to him and Stevie wriggles to escape my grasp. I let her go and she bounces onto the cushion between us and leaps up onto Asher. “She didn’t want to be on the sofa. She wanted to be on you,” I say with a giggle.

Asher nuzzles her and it makes my heart melt. Just a little.

Okay, a lot.

There’s something about seeing a hot guy holding a cute puppy he clearly adores.

Wait. Hot guy?

I shake my head. Asher might be hot, but to me he’s just Asher. My friend Asher.

But the problem is, now that I know what I know about him, I’m beginning to see him in a different light. He’s no longer just my good-time guy friend who’s got a way with women. He’s been in love, and he’s been hurt—deeply enough to feel the need to run away to another country. It’s shifted something inside of me.

And if I’m honest, it’s awakened something, too.

Something I don’t want to think about.

Something I can’t think about.

“Ah, this is the life.” Utterly oblivious to my internal emotional turbulence, Asher stretches out his arm behind me, resting it on the top of the sofa as he lifts his feet onto the coffee table. “I could lounge here all day.”

His hand brushes my shoulder and I freeze, every muscle in my body suddenly taut with tension.

How can I stop this feeling so weird? Two friends together, enjoying sitting on a new sofa is perfectly natural. But here I am, filled to the brim with a plethora of emotions about the guy at my side. I’m sitting with a ramrod straight back, wishing I could just chill the heck out.

But I can’t.

I can no longer deny that things have changed between us—and I’ve got absolutely no clue what to do about it.