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

Chapter 23

Dear Dad

It’s been four days since I saw Asher and I’ve started to get the message. He doesn’t want me, and you know what? I’m okay with that. Well, not ‘okay’ exactly, more like I’m trying to learn to accept it. And I’ll get there. I’m determined to. You raised a tenacious daughter. I was okay before him, and I’ll be okay after him. As they say, it’s better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all.

Onwards and upwards, as you used to say.

Love you. Miss you.

Your Za-Za xoxo

“Stevie, stay.”I use my firm, I am in control, so don’t go getting any ideas voice and hold my hand up in the gesture Dog Diva Denise taught me and Stevie watches me closely. I step tentatively back, my hand still held up in the air.

“Will she move?” Kennedy asks out of the corner of her mouth as I reach her side. “This photographer is super expensive, so we really need to get the shots.”

“She’s actually pretty well behaved these days. That crazy dog lady at puppy school sure sorted her out.”

Thinking of puppy school brings Asher front and centre in my mind, and I quickly push thoughts of him away. Instead, I concentrate on the photoshoot. Looking at Stevie, I beam with pride. She’s being such a good girl, lying on the faux fur blanket at the end of the king-sized bed that utterly dwarfs her diminutive size, her ears pricked as she gazes back at me.

“Oh, she’s doing such a great job,” Kennedy declares.

“I cannot thank you enough for this.” I turn to face her. “It’s hard to believe that only a short time ago Scarlett left and I thought my business would go under, and now I’m going to be featured in Claudette. If someone had told me all of this back then, I would not have believed them.”

Kennedy grins at me. “Zara Huntington-Ross, owner of Za-Za Interior Design.”

“It’s got a certain ring to it. Doesn’t it?”

“Totally. Who calls you ‘Za-Za?’ We all call you ‘Zee.’”

“My dad.”

In a kind of way, I’ve taken a leaf out of Emma, my sister-in-law’s book. She named her activewear business after her dad, Timothy. I’m not about to call my business “Sebastian” because not only is it my dad’s name, but it’s my brother’s name, too, and he’s had more than enough attention thanks to the reality TV shows he starred in, Dating Mr. Darcy and Saving Pemberley.

No. This business is about me and me alone. So, I’m changing the name to Za-Za. Sure, it sounds a little like ScarZar, but it comes from such a different place.

It comes from love.

“Well, I think it’s perfect and you know what? Scarlett is going to be as neon green with envy as a highlighter pen when she sees this article and all these gorgeous shots.”

“Thank goodness I signed the paperwork to take her out of the business yesterday.”

“That girl moves fast.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I reply with a laugh. “Asher was right. Being rid of Scarlett is the best thing to happen to me. I can start afresh, and really make a go of my new solo business. All I can say is I could kiss that client of yours who cancelled their feature in your next issue. Without them, we would not be doing this today.”

“It’s all worked out, and this is going to do incredible things for Za-Za.”

Hope surges through me. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I’m right.”

The photographer—a French guy called Pierre who is actually wearing a black beret on a jaunty angle, feeding into every stereotype I have about not only artists but French artists at that—snaps frame after frame of Stevie and the bedroom, and I beam with pride. Stevie looks so adorably cute in the bedroom I redecorated for a client back in winter, who kindly agreed to allow us to photograph it today. If I do say so myself.

This is the penultimate stop on a full day of photographic sessions, and Stevie has been a total champion right throughout.

That puppy deserves a big, juicy bone.

First, we photographed a kitchen-slash-diner in Knightsbridge that I redesigned in the Hamptons style last year, then a country style living room with French doors that open up to a pretty garden in Maida Vale, and now this shabby chic bedroom. The final stop today is Asher’s flat to take shots of a contemporary, masculine space.

I know, I know. Totally dumb move. And really, if Kennedy hadn’t pleaded with me and promised to set it up with Asher herself, there’s no way I would have agreed to it. But she insisted pictures of his living room would round out the magazine spread, and when she told me that Asher was out of town—probably on a romantic minibreak with Kristen in Paris, but I don’t want to think about that in case it’s true—I was sold on the idea.

And besides, it gives me the chance to deliver the surfboard display shelves I had made for him without having to see him in person.

Arriving at his building an hour or so later, I’m feeling a little less like it was a good idea. I do my best not to look at the spot on the footpath where he’d told me to leave on that fateful night. The spot where our blossoming love was stabbed brutally through the heart. Instead, I paste on a smile as I tuck Stevie under my arm and direct the delivery men to take the shelving unit up the stairs to his flat.

“You’ve got this, babe,” Kennedy says as we enter the building together.

“You’re positive Asher’s not here?”

“I wouldn’t put you through this if he were. I know how much you love him, and I know hurt you were by it all. Let’s get up there, get the shots, and then leave. Deal?”

“Deal.” I bite down on my lip as I take each step with an increasingly heavy heart. When I reach Asher’s floor, I pause and take a breath before I step into his flat. When I do so, I’m instantly hit by memories. Although he’s only lived here for a short time, there are a few. Watching the baseball game together, wandering through the flat as we worked through design ideas, measuring up the wardrobe and finding the photograph that day.

My emotions swirl.

This is hard.

“Where d‘you want this?” one of the delivery men asks me as they stand holding the shelving unit at the door.

“See the surfboards over against that wall? Over there, please.”

“Right you are.”

They place the unit against the wall and remove the protective plastic, I thank them as they leave. As Kennedy, Pierre, and his assistant fuss over the living room space, I put Stevie down on the floor, her lead around my wrist, and run my hand over the beautiful hand-crafted wood. It’s beautifully crafted, with simple, stylised waves, evocative of the beach he so loves. Asher will absolutely love this unit, and it will display his surfboards perfectly.

When I ordered it for him, we were the best of friends, and I wanted to do something personal for him as part of his flat redesign. It was meant to be a kind of thank you for giving me his business when I needed it the most. Now that I stand here looking at it, our friendship on hold, our fledgling love story on the rocks, remorse rumbles through me.

If only I’d told him I’d found the photograph.

If only his ex-wife hadn’t turned up.

If only…

I blow out a puff of air. I want nothing more than to go to him, to tell him I love him and that I’m sorry for not being up front with him about finding that photograph. I want him to open up and tell me about his marriage and what happened, to really share it with me and offer me the chance to be there for him, to listen, to support him.

And why not? Why can’t I do all these things? We were friends before we became lovers. The best of friends. Our friendship counts for so much.

It’s time I pulled up my big girl panties.

I need to see him.

I slip my phone out of my back pocket and bring up his name in my contacts. Before I have the chance to chicken out, I press the “call” button and lift the phone to my ear. My heart thrashes in my chest as I wait for him to reply.

The call goes straight to voicemail.

As I listen to his smooth, deep, familiar American voice telling me to leave a message, I close my eyes and steel myself to speak. The beep sounds and I don’t hesitate.

“Hi. It’s me,” I begin, my voice trembling. “I-I want to see you. Can we meet somewhere? I want to talk to you about all this. It all feels so wrong and…and I miss you, Asher. I really, really miss you.” I let out a ragged breath before I add, “So…call me. Please.”

I end the call and stare out of his window at the slow moving clouds above the rows of chimneys.

What will he do when he gets the message? He said he loves me but he has history with Kristen. Deep history. Can our love compete with that?

A voice punctuates my thoughts. “Hey, Zee. Can you come over here and help?”

I snap myself out of my reverie to see Kennedy looking at me.

“Sure.” I lead Stevie over to the sofa where I spot Asher’s brown Padres cap with the intertwined “S D” lettering placed on the coffee table. He must have been watching a game last night. I pick it up and run my fingers over the rim. It was the moment after that game we watched together when I knew for certain that I had feelings for him.

That I wanted so much more from him than just friendship.

That I loved him.

“I want to keep zat,” Pierre says, eyeing the cap in my hands. “It will go wis zee masculine bachelor vibe, no?”

“No, err, I mean, yes. Let’s keep it. I’ll find a spot for it.” I place it over on the sofa and Stevie jumps up and instantly begins to sniff it. My heart gives a sad little squeeze. I pat her and say under my breath, “You miss him, too. Don’t you?”

Stevie doesn’t reply, mainly because she’s a dog, but also because she’s still intent on sniffing that cap, breathing in every last morsel of Asher.

“Yeah, you do,” I mumble.

“Hey, Zee? Do you want these surfboards put in the rack?” Kennedy asks.

“I’ll help.”

“Don’t worry. We’ve got it. Right, Dwayne?”

Dwayne is Pierre’s assistant, and in his perfectly tailored purple suit and highly shined patent leather shoes he looks like he’d rather do anything other than pick up a surfboard.

“Zara’s stronger than me. Ask her. I’ll take the puppy.” Pierre whisks Stevie’s lead from my wrist and sits down next to her on the sofa.

“Thanks a lot, Dwayne,” Kennedy mutters, throwing him a look.

“What? I’ve just had a mani. Carlos would kill me if I chipped a nail,” Dwayne explains.

“That would obviously be a disaster,” Kennedy quips, but her sarcastic tone is lost on him.

“I know, right?” is his reply.

Kennedy rolls her eyes at me. “Aren’t assistants meant to assist?”

“Clearly surfboards are outside of his job description,” I tell her.

Together, we tilt the boards on their sides and slot each one into the shelving unit. Standing back to get a full view, we agree it looks perfect in a very Southern California, beachy way.

“His heart will melt when he sees this,” Kennedy says. “You know that. Don’t you?”

“I think his heart is otherwise occupied these days.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I guess not.”

She rubs my arm. “I’m so sorry you’re going through this.”

“That makes two of us.”

“Love sucks.”

I blow out a breath of air. “It sure does.”

Pierre calls us over to the living room, and I set about preparing the rest of the room to be photographed. Once again, Stevie does an amazing job lying where she’s told and looking adorable, and before long we’ve got the shot.

“Zat is a wrap!” Pierre announces with a flourish, and just like that, we’re packing up and readying to leave.

That’s when I hear a key in the lock.

With my heart in my mouth, I turn to see the door pushed open, expecting to see Asher standing in the doorway—and wishing I could escape through a window.

Instead, a woman in a dark green, slim-fitting pants suit and horn-rimmed glasses walks into the flat. She’s accompanied by a man in a navy suit, and they smile at me as they walk inside. They’re followed by more people, all similarly dressed in conservative, well-cut suits, and they begin to wander around the flat, looking at the furniture and the paintings, pointing things out to one another, and talking quietly.

“What’s going on?” I ask Kennedy.

“I have no idea,” she replies in such a way that suggests to me that she actually does have an idea.

I arch my eyebrows. “Kennedy?”

“Look, you seemed so heartbroken, Zee, and I know how much you love him.”

“What did you do,” I ask, aghast.

She screws up her face.

“Kennedy?”

“I called him and told him you were here. You seem so heartbroken, Zee, and I know he loves you, even if his ex has turned up and thrown a wife-sized banner in the works.”

“You called Asher?” I breathe, my heart thudding so loudly in my ears I can barely hear my own voice.

“Don’t hate me.”

“But-but you said he was out of town.”

“I meant he wasn’t in the Notting Hill part of town.”

“Town is not Notting Hill. Town is London. All of London.”

She flicks her wrist. “Details,” she replies before her face creases into a smile. “I think he might be about to turn up to see you.”

“You do?” I breathe.

“But who these people are and what they’re doing here, I have no idea. Shall I go ask?”

I open my mouth to reply, but she’s already wandered over to the woman in the green pants suit and begun talking with her.

And that’s when I see him.

Asher.

My belly does all kinds of crazy flips as I watch him scan the room. My desire to flee mounts. I eye the window. We’re too far up.

I shouldn’t be here.

I need to leave.

I glance back at him.

Too late, his eyes land on mine, and a surge of electricity makes my limbs tremble.

The living room now has at least twenty people crowded into it, and I stand rooted to the spot as he makes his way through the assembled group towards me.

Is he going to tell me to leave once more? Is he angry?

I shouldn’t be here.

He comes to a stop and I try not to notice how good he looks. In his navy suit and crisp, white open-neck shirt, his dark, intense brown eyes bore into me. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“H-hi.” I try to swallow down the lump in my throat. Fail.

“I hope you don’t mind me turning up here after your shoot.”

“It’s your flat so, you know.”

“It’s good to see you. I…I brought some people with me.”

I crack a small smile. “Just a few of your closest friends?”

“Colleagues and clients, actually. I thought they might like to see the work of London’s most exciting up-and-coming interior designer.”

“You brought them here to see me?” I ask in wonderment.

“Well, you and your work. I figured the new ScarZar, or whatever you’re calling it now—and I hope the name cuts your former business partner right out—could do with some new clients. All of the people in this room are looking for an interior designer.”

Utterly stupefied, I scan the crowd. “All of them?” I croak, my voice irritatingly breathless.

“All of them,” he confirms, and as I flick my eyes back to him he’s smiling, his features soft and loving. “Asher, I don’t know what to say.”

“Why don’t you go talk to them about what you do. I’m gonna go make myself useful.”

“Okay.” I pause before I add, “Thank you for doing this for me. I…I don’t know whether I deserve it.”

“Just go talk to them, ‘kay? We can talk later.”

I nod at him, my mind sprinting from A to Z and everything that lies between. Does this mean he’s forgiven me for not mentioning I knew about his wife? Does it mean we’re back to being friends?

Could it even mean he wants something more from me?

But then I remember Kristen, and come crashing back to Earth with a sickening thud.

He shoots me his Asher grin that leaves me weak at the knees, before he turns on his heel and begins laying things out on the kitchen bench: wine glasses, cheeses, some packets of crisps.

I blink at him. He’s catering to these people now? He planned this?

“Excuse me, miss? Are you Zara?”

Reluctantly, I tear my eyes from Asher and turn to see a balding middle-aged man with bushy eyebrows and a pleasant, open face. He’s holding Stevie in his arms. “Yes, I am. I see you’ve met my dog.”

“She is just as sweet as Asher said she would be,” he says as Stevie does what she always does: tries to lick his earlobes.

I blink at him. Asher told this man abut Stevie?

“Can I talk to you about my flat?” he asks. “I’ve got no idea how to decorate it and I want to make it feel like home now that my divorce has finally come through. I need a fresh start, you know?”

My lips curve into a smile as warmth spreads down my limbs. “Sure, I can help you with that. Can you tell me more about it?”

I spend the next hour and a half talking with prospective clients as Stevie bounces around the place, basking in people’s attention. My eyes keep finding Asher, and he spends his time offering people snacks and topping up their wine glasses, and the feeling in the room is one of positivity, congeniality, and possibility.

By the time the last person leaves, Kennedy, Asher, Stevie and I collapse in the much-admired living room, exhausted.

“Asher, you are a genius bringing all those people here straight after the shoot,” Kennedy declares. “How many new clients did you get, Zee?”

“I’ve got twelve appointments in the next two weeks, plus that guy Sanjay is coming into the shop at midday tomorrow to check out some upholstery to recover his living room suite. Apparently, he wants to redo one of his ‘wings.’”

“Sanjay is seriously loaded,” Asher explains. “Super rich investment banker.”

“The kind of client you want, babe,” Kennedy tells me. “I say we raise our glasses to a totally successful day. A photoshoot for next month’s magazine, and a bunch of new clients for Za-Za.”

“Za-Za?” Asher questions.

“That’s the new name for my business. I’ve cut the Scarlett element.”

He smiles at me. “Good for you. Why Za-Za?”

“It’s what my dad used to call me.”

His eyes lock onto mine. “I love that.”

I smile shyly at him. “Yeah. Me too.”

“Actually, you know what? I’m gonna let you two chill together.” Kennedy rises to her feet.

“It’s fine,” I protest.

“No, no. I just remembered I’ve got a thing I need to get to. It’s super important.” She shoots me an encouraging look before she breezes out of the room. A moment later, she reappears briefly and tells us, “Bye, you two,” and then disappears out of the flat all within about twelve seconds.

Asher and I are left alone in his living room, Stevie snoring lightly on the mat on the floor.

“So,” I begin, not quite sure what to say.

“So,” he echoes.

We fall into an awkward silence before he says, “I love the surfboard rack. Did you have it custom made?”

From my spot on the sofa, I look over at it against the wall. In the soft evening light it’s positively glowing. “I did. It’s got waves on it to remind you of the beach back home.”

“Where?” he asks as he rises to his feet and strides over to it. “I haven’t had a chance to look closely at it yet.”

I follow him. “There,” I say, pointing at the pattern. “I had the guy carve them in, but I came up with the design.”

He turns to me. “It’s awesome.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

“Like it? I love it.”

I see the intensity lying behind his eyes. In a rush of gratitude, I blurt out, “You did so much for me today and I’m so grateful to you. Thank you. I know things have been weird between us lately, and I totally owe you a huge apology for not having come clean about knowing you were married. It was so dumb of me and I’m so, so sorry. I really hope you can—”

He stops my words with his warm, soft mouth pressed against mine, and my eyes ping open in surprise. He’s kissing me? He’s kissing me! It takes me a moment to fully realise what’s happening, but when I do, I kiss him right back, looping my hands behind his waist as he pulls me closer to him with his strong, muscular arms. As our kiss deepens, my head spins with love, excitement—and confusion. It’s a potent cocktail, and one that has us locked together for a dizzyingly long time.

Eventually, we pull apart and catch our breath.

I’m the first to speak. “Does this mean…?”

“It means I love you, Zee. With all my heart, I love you.”

A delicious heat radiates through my chest. He loves me. Asher loves me! I’m ecstatic. Ecstatic and still confused. “But what about Kristen? She wanted you back, didn’t she? Are you two…?”

“What? No! That was never in the cards.”

“But you sent me away so the two of you could be alone.” I try to keep the hurt from my voice.

“I sent you away because I was hurt, and I needed to find out what she was doing here. I didn’t know she was planning on turning up, and I certainly didn’t invite her. We’re over, Zee. Done. She wanted a different outcome, but I told her no.”

“She wanted you back.”

“It was never gonna happen. Not with her. She’s ancient history to me. I’ve been over her for a long time now, and finally, she’s signed our divorce papers.”

“You’re divorced now?”

“Yup. It’s official.”

“Congratulations?” I say and he lets out a soft laugh.

“It was a long time coming, and I’m happy to have drawn a final line under it. And there’s something else,” he says as he gives me a squeeze, “I’ve fallen in love with this girl, and I’m totally crazy about her.”

“You are?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Cartwheels, jumping for joy, punching the air. I’m doing it all right now in my head. This feels amazing!

“I love you,” I murmur as I bunch his shirt in my fist and pull him to me for another kiss.

Some time, and a whole lot of totally hot snogging on his new bachelor pad sofa later, I contentedly drape my legs across his lap, our fingers laced together. Stevie is still sleeping soundly on the floor, exhausted from all the attention earlier.

“I owe you an apology, Zee,” Asher begins. “I kept what happened with Kristen to myself, when I should have told you about it a long time ago.”

“I get it. You were hurt. You needed time.”

“At first, I did. You’re right. But being here in a new city meant I had time to process things, and I realised I was better off without her. When she left me for my friend Dylan I was hurt badly, so I packed up and left San Diego.”

“That must have been terrible for you.”

“Your best friend sneaking around behind your back with your wife? Yeah,” he replies with a chortle. “But you know what, Zee? In the end, I realised she’d done us both a favour. We weren’t right for each other, no matter how hard I’d tried to make it work.”

“How long were you married?’

“Not even a year. She was my college sweetheart. At the time, a bunch of our friends were getting hitched. It made sense for us to do it, too. It was a mistake.”

“And then you came here to London.”

He gives my hand a squeeze. “The best decision I ever made.”

“Is that so?”

“Definitely. I got to start fresh without the daily reminders of what had happened. No one here knew anything about my life in San Diego. Plus, I met this incredibly gorgeous girl who wormed her way into my heart.”

“Really? What was her name?” I tease.

“Caroline. Or was it Carolyn?” he replies with a cheeky grin, winning a bat on his arm from me.

“You’re hilarious, hubby.”

“You know it. Wifey.” He loads the last word with layers of meaning as his eyes lock with mine, and my belly goes flip-flop.

But I’m getting ahead of myself here. Sure, I can absolutely see us married to one another someday. Perhaps with a batch of kids, a couple of dogs, and that chicken coop in tow. Who knows?

But for now, I’m content just being with Asher. I’m content exploring our love, seeing where it takes us. Together.