Into You Series: The Complete Collection

6. Saria

CHAPTER 6

SARIA

H arry is a father.

I glance down to his hand instinctually, making sure I didn’t get involved with a married man by accident, and— whew , ringless. At least I’m not a homewrecker.

I wish I’d known he was a dad. Not that it would have mattered, I suppose, but suddenly it makes a lot more sense why he was so kind after sex. He even got me a blanket. I was too overwhelmed with my billionth orgasm to wonder why it was pink.

I bet it’s this girl’s blanket.

And those framed doodles…that wasn’t Picasso. They’re his daughter’s.

The signs were there, but I was too distracted by the D to care.

I follow the tiny gremlin tow truck woman into Harry’s garage after he opens the bay doors. His daughter continues staring at me the whole time, so I try to whip out my old babysitting skills and carry on a conversation with her.

“What’s that under your arm?” I ask, pointing to the flattened cardboard she’s struggling to lug around. “Want me to help you carry it?”

She giggles, but I get the feeling I could have said Let’s go kill puppies and she might have still had the same reaction. Just a happy kid.

“It’s my robot,” she says.

“Uh-huh. And what do you do with your robot?”

“Wear it. Duh.”

Of course. Silly me.

“Cara, let’s not be rude to the pretty woman.”

I can feel my heart skip at the sound of Harry’s unwarranted compliment. He’s saying a few words to Sandy before she shuffles past me, muttering “Good luck” and hopping back into her truck.

Harry examines the van, sliding off his outer jacket, leaving a gray shirt remaining. It’s hot. So stupidly hot. I can see his muscles flexing every time he lifts his arm to look under something, or when they cross as his thoughts tick into place.

It’s weird to think this man was inside me not even twelve hours ago.

“You can come in,” the little girl says. I hadn’t noticed I was lingering at the threshold of the open doors.

“I was just scared of the robot,” I say.

She laughs. “She’s not a bad robot.”

“Well, in that case…” I say, taking a large step into the shop.

The linoleum is just as pristine as it was last night. I glance up to see the giant window looking over the main area. I can just barely see the edge of what I know is his massive television on one wall, but the rest of his apartment isn’t visible from down here, only the bare ceiling.

Harry glances to me and sighs. “Why am I not surprised?”

“What do you mean?” How do you react to a man you slept with once? I generally veer far, far away from reconnecting with one-night stands, but the universe has the sense of humor of one cold bitch.

“You bought the first van you saw, didn’t you?” he asks.

I laugh and scoff simultaneously, accidentally showing just how much that line offended me while being totally accurate. I did buy the first one I saw, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“I did research,” I say in defense.

Of course, in that exact moment, the van’s bumper pops off and, well, there goes my credibility.

His eyes widen in an ‘Oh really?’ kind of way, and I exhale a large, exasperated breath.

“How could I have known that was held on by duct tape?”

He smiles, and wow, melt my soul into a pool of lust, why don’t ya?

I feel the bottom of my shirt being tugged down, and I look to see his daughter staring up at me. Her eyes are wide—not unlike Harry’s when I initially proposed going home with him last night. It’s this sense of wonder. Must run in the family.

“Pumpkin, that’s rude,” Harry says, putting both hands on his hips. That stance of authority really gets me going and I have to stifle just how quickly I inhale a breath. It doesn’t help that he uses the same nickname for her that my father has for me, like something about that is a personal slight.

“I didn’t tell her my name,” the girl says to him with a slight whine.

“To be fair, I didn’t tell you mine either,” I respond. This gets a full-on dimpled smile from her. “We can be rude together.”

When I glance to Harry, he’s shaking his head with a slow, increasingly widening smile.

“Fine, I’ll do introductions,” he says, waving his already dirty hand between us. How did he get messy so fast? “Cara, this is Saria. Saria, this is Cara.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I say, holding out my hand. She shakes it, her fingers barely clutching even the first two of mine. Then her eyes widen again. I swear, the world must be a constant surprise for her.

“I have to show you something,” she says. “You look just like her.”

“Like who?” I ask.

I’m not sure she heard me because she’s already bolting toward the staircase, backpack swinging behind her as she climbs up the stairs as fast as her little legs can take her, and she rushes into the apartment overlooking the garage.

It’s awkward for a moment with the silence ringing between us. There’s an echo in the space as I walk slowly toward him. Do I hug him? Kiss his cheek? Let him continue doing his job? By the way he’s looking at me with both hands on his hips, I can tell Harry is wondering the same thing.

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” I say.

He chuckles. “Well, I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Never underestimate my power to wiggle into people’s lives.”

Harry laughs at that and then it feels like the tension clears, a breath of fresh air as he pulls open the sliding door to the van, displaying the interior.

It’s a mess, that’s for sure, but it does have the essentials already: a kitchenette, a mount for a mattress with storage underneath, and a small mess of electrical wiring wound up into a rat’s nest in the corner.

Okay, so it’s sort of got the essentials. I’ve watched enough van conversion videos to know it’s still got a ways to go. Plus, it doesn’t look like there are any covered walls—just exposed white metal.

“You’ll need insulation,” Harry observes at the same time I do.

“I’ll probably bypass that,” I say. “I’m going with the minimal amount of reno. It’s already got most of the stuff. I don’t really want to tear it apart.” I want to get on the road as soon as possible, and if that means sacrificing a few elements, I’m alright with it. Plus, I see people without insulation all the time.

He chuckles. “When are you taking this van out?”

“In a couple months if it’s ready by then.” I sigh. “Trying to cut out before my ex’s wedding in January.”

The admission makes my stomach practically heave. I hadn’t said it out loud yet—not even to Jessi—but I have no intentions of attending Noah’s wedding. I don’t think I could stomach it.

“The Peace Corps ex is getting married?” he asks.

“Did I not mention that?” I say, wincing.

“I get why you want a cover-up boyfriend,” he says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I wave my hand in front of my face. “I mean, it’s not fine. But it is.”

He shuffles a boot against the ground and nods back toward the exposed interior. “Well, you’re gonna need insulation if you’ll be traveling in December.”

My phone buzzes in my pocket and I take it out, absentmindedly replying, “I’ve got blankets.”

I faintly see Harry roll his eyes with the smile still on his face. I don’t think he means it with any sort of cruelty. From what little I do know about this man, I don’t think he could do anything out of cruelty.

“We live in the South,” I say. “It’s not like I’m going to freeze.”

“Says the girl who’s probably never slept in a car.”

I laugh, ignoring his jab and looking down at my phone. At that moment, any sense of happiness I might be feeling flies right out those bay doors.

I don’t know why Heather felt the need to add Jessi and me back to a group text with Noah, but it sits in my message conversation inbox like a cursed thread from hell.

Heather: I’m trying to get everyone back together! How’s Saturday?

What a piece of work.

Jessi: I’ll bring some board games!

Good old Jessi. Thank god she’s not tied up in this disaster. Noah was always more like a brother to her, so she’s always been my hopeless romantic support blanket. I can already see that I have a separate text thread from her waiting for me—likely with a meme saying, ‘You can do this!’ attached to a puppy or baby sloth—but I don’t look at it because just below her name in the text thread is his .

Just seeing his name makes my heart flutter, but it’s not the great type of excitement that sends you reeling into romcom fantasies. These are not butterflies; they’re hornets, stinging their way into my hopeless soul.

Noah: I’ll bring the good stories!

He’s in my head again. Winning white smile, hands in chino pockets, perfectly styled dirty blond hair.

My fingers hover over the screen. I start to type something out, but another text comes through before I can send it.

Noah: I’ll bring Charlotte too!

Stabby stabby right into my heart once more.

His fiancée’s name is Charlotte? Fucking Charlotte? God, she couldn’t be more elegant and perfect if she tried.

When I look up from my phone, feeling a slight sting behind my eyes, I see Harry staring back at me. That same look of concern from last night with the deep V.

“Stop looking at me like that,” I say.

He shakes his head, clearing his face of the expression. “Like what?”

“Like I’m hopeless or something.”

“I’m not looking at you like that,” he says. “Why would I possibly do that?”

I exhale with a small shrug, “Because I have a broken van and I’m still in love with my ex?”

Harry slowly nods in understanding then tilts his head side to side as if considering his words carefully. When he squints one eye closed in a fashion that looks like his next comment is trying not to offend me, I can’t help but smile.

“Okay, so maybe I looked at you like that, but you’re not hopeless. You’re just going through a weird time.”

I let the sentence settle in me. What he doesn’t understand is that I’m not going through a weird time. This is just my life that Noah owns.

Unfortunately, my broken van is my own fault, but whatever. It can be fixed. If only I can survive this Saturday with Noah and the lovely Charlotte .

Harry grabs a baseball cap off a metal side table and pulls it on, immediately twisting it around so that the bill faces backward. This makes me feel a little better. Or at least it distracts me well enough because, okay, seriously, does he know that’s man-candy material? Harry may as well be on a freaking male pin-up calendar. Jesus. March Mechanic or May-chanic or something ridiculous like that.

My phone buzzes again, but I slap my pocket in protest.

Harry looks up from his crouching position, lifting an eyebrow.

“I don’t want to answer it,” I say, crossing my arms.

He smiles, slow and sweet. “You tell ’em.”

My phone buzzes again and I let out a long, drawn-out exhalation before relenting.

Heather: Saria can bring her new boyfriend!

Noah: Saria has a boyfriend?

Stab me in the soul and leave me on the side of the road, please. I will take this van with me to the edge of a bridge and let the sea bury me with it. I will do anything to reverse time and not see that text from Noah.

What does it mean? Is he surprised? Jealous? Upset?

I clear my throat, trying to soothe my mind, but nothing is working. I might need to go on a run or something later. Anything to get that stupid text out of my head.

I look up, and Harry’s eyebrows are pulled inward again. The bastard.

“You’re looking at me like that again,” I say.

His eyes flit to the phone in my palm then back up to me. The implied question is clear. I don’t intend to answer it, though.

“Fun fact,” I say, pocketing my phone for good this time. “My friends think we’re dating.”

Harry chuckles. “Do they, now?”

“We were pretty convincing,” I say, smiling.

He smiles back, leaning against the van, crossing his large arms. It’s those damn laugh lines, the almost sly look of them, like he’s thinking a thousand other things that I wish I could hear. But I can’t, and he’s not budging from his confident position.

There’s something innately intimidating about him when he just stands there like that. He wouldn’t hurt a fly, but it’s the bulkiness of him. I remember how he pushed me up against the wall last night. Hard. Domineering. So, so hot. Mazel tov to the lady who ends up marrying him. I’m happy that I’m a woman and capable of simply admiring him. How any man can see him and not feel inferior is beyond me.

And then it hits me: yes . Noah would totally shit his pants if he saw Harry.

“You could totally continue pretending to be my boyfriend,” I blurt out, and his eyebrows rise, as reliable as ever. It’s like every word out of my mouth stuns him until he shakes it off. I seem to have that effect on people.

He laughs a little, uncrossing his arms and walking to the front of the van, popping the hood and grabbing a cloth from the side table that held his hat.

“And why would I do that?” he asks, lifting the hood up and bending in half to lean his elbows on the front. God, look at that denim-clad ass.

“To make me not endure a game night on Saturday alone with Charlotte .”

“The fiancée?” he asks, not commenting on the way her name sarcastically oozed out of my mouth.

“Come on, one more time?”

“I did it one time,” he says, still not turning around to look at me. “That’s all I got in me. I mean, not that you weren’t…uh…” He scratches behind his head. I smile at his embarrassment. “You were fantastic. Do you work out?”

“I run.”

“You can tell.”

He’s shuffling through the front of Frankie, and I’d almost feel bad were I not a little jealous she’s getting all his attention.

She’s just a van, Saria.

The loft door swings open and Cara rushes down. She’s now in a light blue princess dress that looks like it was taken straight out of a gift shop in a theme park.

Harry looks up to see her and does that same rolling-eye smile thing he does. Good, so now I definitely know it’s not a cruel thing. It’s an amused thing. Is he amused by me?

Cara stops right in front of me, arms straight by her sides as if presenting herself, a doll hanging limply in her hand.

“That’s a beautiful dress,” I say.

She instantly shoves the doll toward me. It’s that blonde ice princess that’s been blowing up in the children’s princess movie world. You can’t miss her in any department store, or really any store at all. I went to an ice cream shop that had her as a featured flavor, which, yes, at the time, did seem weird. But she was there.

“I told you you’re a princess,” Cara says.

I look over the doll. I guess I could see it. Silver blonde hair, upturned nose…I bear some sort of resemblance, but I’m definitely not princess quality.

I look over to Harry, who has a sweet smile on his face, biting the inside of his cheek before turning back around to the car.

“Secret is out,” I mutter.

“Knew it,” Cara says breathlessly before turning to him. “Daddy, do you have class?”

“Just Monday,” Harry says, muffled by facing the opposite direction. “You’ll be with your aunt. Then it’s just you and me all week.”

“I wanna watch this,” she says. “Today.”

It’s demanding. Sometimes kids get like that, a change in mood like flipping a switch from sweet angel to insane demon. Children are weird but funny.

“Can you ask nicer?” Harry says, twisting and tilting his chin down, expecting an answer.

“Can we please watch this?” Cara asks, shuffling her feet. Hell, I would feel embarrassed too. The voice of paternal authority is no joke.

“Yes, we can,” Harry says. “Go get it set up. I’ll be there in five or so.”

I glance between the running footsteps of Cara and the breathy sigh coming from Harry. Exhaustion and no laugh lines, which, on his face, is honestly a crime to see.

“Does your sister babysit often?” I ask conversationally.

He shrugs, throwing the rag over to the side. It lands in a bucket next to one of the pristine couches. Even the bucket looks freshly washed.

“Yeah,” he says. “She likes it, though. I think.” He shakes his hand, taking off his cap and running his hand through his hair before replacing it. “I don’t know.” His voice trails off—another quirk of his I’ve noticed when he doesn’t like talking about something. He did the same thing last night.

And then, it hits me.

“Oh my god,” I say, “Harry, I can babysit.”

He furrows his eyebrows. “What?”

“I can watch Cara,” I say.

He laughs. “I’m not going to let some stranger watch Cara.”

“I’m not exactly a stranger,” I say with a small shrug. “And I’ll have you know I am certified in, like, three different types of CPR.”

He squints. “ Are there three different types?”

“See? I’m going to be your dream nanny. Seriously, I have references. I had offers from the mayor to babysit her grandson.”

“You’re kidding,” he says, but it’s less disbelief and more born out of sarcasm. He doesn’t believe a single thing coming out of my mouth, but it’s true. I babysat all of middle school and through college. I only stopped a few years ago once I got my receptionist job. I didn’t have the time anymore. Once I was off work, I wanted my own time to belong to me. But now…

“And what’s in it for…”

Then the same realization that hit me hits him as well.

Oh yes. Exactly.

“No, I’m not going to be your fake boyfriend in exchange for babysitting, Saria,” he says. I like how he says my name. Authoritatively. With precision. He doesn’t even mess up the pronunciation, which most people do even after I tell him how to say it.

“What?” I ask. “Why not?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” he says with a small laugh.

“One night,” I insist.

“No.”

“Could be fun!”

“No.”

“But, Harry?—”

“No.”

The way he says that final ‘no’ reminds me of a voice my dad used when I was a kid. That look is familiar too: the straight mouth, wide eyes that only say things like ‘Absolutely not in my household,’ and they’re the ‘absolutely not’ that is never mistaken as a ‘maybe’.

My stomach clenches and I know I took it too far. He’s right; we don’t even know each other, and now I feel stupid and childish for even asking. I want this Groundhog Day of me embarrassing myself to end now, please.

“Okay, okay,” I say, holding up my hands in surrender. “Suit yourself. I’m a stellar fake girlfriend though. Amazing back rubs.” This gets me a smile, and I’m satisfied enough. “So, how long until my van is ready?”

He huffs out some air, walking to the side table and grabbing a tablet. He peels back the case and taps through.

“Your van will take time,” he says. “It’s before ’95.”

I snort. “I wasn’t even born then.”

He shakes his head. “Please don’t say that.”

I wonder if my age makes him uncomfortable. That’s weird because I find him being older pretty hot. Not that it matters, though.

“Anyway, pre-’95 cars…well, they just don’t make a lot of those parts anymore,” he says. “It’s pre-computer integration.” Harry lowers the tablet and sucks in his bottom lip, a sad sort of look. “It’s not going to be cheap.”

“That’s fine,” I say.

“The parts alone…”

“This is my future. I’m fine with it. I have the money.”

All my money, in fact, along with a credit card or two just in case. Determination has always been my strong suit. Where there’s a will, there’s a way, my dad always said, and I took that to heart very young.

Harry smiles, shaking his head again.

Yes, that’s me: the ridiculous girl who empties her savings into a dead vehicle and asks to be in a relationship with a stranger.