Love from Scratch

Chapter One

Ethan James stood motionless, his blue eyes wide and every muscle tensed. Cushion innards covered the floor – stuffing was strewn from one end of his lounge room to the other, tattered pieces of brightly coloured fabric spread all over the room. In the middle of it all stood his little dog, Harry, with a chunk of white fluff stuck to his face.

‘Dude! What happened?’ Harry gazed innocently up at Ethan and wagged his tail. ‘Don’t give me those puppy eyes, they’re not going to work. You’re in big trouble, buddy.’

Any other day Ethan wouldn’t have been too worried that his dog had turned his house into a demolition zone, but today, Ethan was filming an ‘At Home with the Stars’ segment. The Entertainment Now crew had flown in from Los Angeles and they would be arriving in… He checked his phone.

Thirty-four minutes. Fucking great.

He wasn’t even dressed, unless wearing tiny black boxer-briefs was considered dressed.

‘You’re going outside to think about what you’ve done.’ He wagged his finger at Harry for emphasis, then performed an awkward skip-jump manoeuvre to avoid stepping in something wet and soggy and very, very…

‘Gross! At least you puked it up I guess. I don’t have time to take you to the vet!’

Ethan scooped his dog into his arms, marched him down the hall and deposited him on the outside deck, closing the door on the most heartbreaking pair of brown eyes he’d ever seen. Then he tipped his head back and released a prolonged ‘Fuuuuuck’, his cry bouncing off the walls. He had thirty-four minutes to clean up the carnage and make himself movie-star immaculate. Which meant he had fourteen minutes until his publicist arrived. She’d rip him a new one if he wasn’t looking perfect, and pissing off Lena was one of his least favourite things to do. She was salty at the best of times. Pissed off, she was terrifying.

‘Idiot,’ he growled. He’d known squeezing in a visit to Sera that morning was cutting it fine, but he needed her advice. Harry’s recent obsession with furniture destruction was getting out of control, and Ethan was heading north to start work on his next movie in a few days, which meant he wouldn’t see her for months.

He shook Sera from his head, something he did multiple times a day, then sucked in a deep breath and proceeded to tackle the pile of half-digested fluff from his newly polished timber floorboards while hissing ‘Fuck’ repeatedly. It wasn’t exactly the movie star image he was going for, squatting in his underwear while cleaning up dog vomit.

‘That’ll have to do,’ he grumbled, tugging the rug over the wet patch. He stood with a grunt more suited to a man in his fifties than his early thirties, then raced down the hallway to his bedroom, cursing as he whacked the doorjamb with his knee.

Seven minutes until Lena arrived. He could do it.

Ethan tugged on a pair of vintage Levi’s, wiggled into his favourite white Tom Ford V-neck T-shirt, the one that hugged his artfully sculpted biceps, and went to grab the retro Air Jordan high-tops Lena had picked out for him. One of them was missing. He frowned.

‘Ethan?’ Lena’s voice echoed up the hall. ‘I let myself in.’

Shiiiiit.

He skidded across the floor, Risky Business style, and out into the hallway, holding the Air Jordan aloft.

‘You got me two of these, right?’ He flashed her a toothy grin.

She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Why are you sweating, and why aren’t you ready? I just spoke to the producer; they’ll be here in fifteen minutes.’

Ethan raised one finger, turned and dashed out the back door.

‘Harry!’ he hollered when he saw his dog’s butt in the air and his head in a newly dug hole.

Harry looked up with a mud-covered snout. Peeking out of the dirt was a hint of red and black leather.

‘What are you doing to me, dog?’ Ethan marched across the grass, pulled the shoe from the hole and wiped it down on the lawn. Sighing, he scratched the little dog’s head. ‘You’re driving me crazy.’

He burst through the back door. ‘Got it!’ Lena was still in the hallway, her arms still crossed, with a gigantic Dior tote in the crook of her elbow. Her dark hair was pulled back into an immaculate ponytail and she had a dark scowl on her perfectly made-up face.

He flashed her another grin and disappeared into the bedroom.

‘Plenty of time,’ he said, sauntering into the lounge room with eight minutes to spare.

Lena stepped forward and fussed with his hair. ‘Why were you running late? You’re usually better at this stuff. You’re the one client I can rely on.’

‘I went to see Sera.’

She looked skyward with an exaggerated roll of her eyes.

Sera had helped Ethan face his lifelong fear of dogs as he prepared for his big break in the movie Sit, Stay, Love. Somewhat inconveniently, Ethan fell for Sera – just as she realised she was in love with her best friend, Toby. It was like something from a Hallmark movie. Add a Christmas tree farm and a bit of snow and you’d have yourself a hit. For Ethan, the most surprising thing about the whole experience had been how much it had hurt. Even more surprising was how much it still hurt.

‘I wanted her advice on Harry,’ he said.

‘Sure you did.’ Lena rolled her eyes again.

‘I’m serious. He’s been acting up lately. Speaking of which, ah, I need to talk to you about one of those cushions the stylist loaned me.’ He smiled his million-watt movie star smile, showing off his killer dimples to full effect.

‘Tell me later. And don’t smile at me like that. I’m immune.’

He chuckled. ‘Anyway, I’ve decided to take Harry with me when I start filming.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’

‘Ethan.’

‘Lena.’

She sighed so loudly he had to bite back a grin.

‘If he’s acting up, you should leave him at home,’ she said. ‘You don’t need the extra stress. Sera will look after Harry.’

‘If he’s acting up I should take him with me. Sera says he’s suffering from separation anxiety. The little guy doesn’t know if he’s coming or going because he doesn’t know if I’m coming or going. I’ve spent so long going back and forth between Sydney and LA, I haven’t been giving him enough attention, and I’m not going to fuck up the first dog I’ve ever owned. Besides, he calms my nerves, and if I’ve got to handle three dogs in this movie,’ – he held up three fingers and grimaced – ‘a little nerve calming is required.’ He rolled his broad shoulders, trying to shake off the anxiety. After Sit, Stay, Love became the smash hit of the year, Ethan had been signed on for the sequel. Sit, Stay, Love II: Barks Will Fly was a bigger movie with a bigger budget, more pressure and more dogs. ‘So, I’ve been thinking I should get a dog minder to help while I’m working. I spoke to the production office up north, apparently it all has to go through them for insurance reasons or something.’

‘Okay, okay, stop talking.’ Lena’s eyes flickered upwards again, her lash extensions fluttering. ‘Leave it with me, you just concentrate on you.’ She adjusted the shoulders of his T-shirt before aggressively wiping down his chest and muttering, ‘So much dog hair.’

He winced as she continued to slap at him.

‘Did you check out that action movie project?’ he asked.

‘I did. They’re looking for a big-name star. Bigger than you.’

‘Geeze, don’t sugar coat it.’ She arched a brow and he laughed. ‘Can you just get me in with the producers, get me a chance to read for them? The script is amazing, and I know I’m perfect for it. Nancy wants to sign me to that rom-com set in England with the cows. I know the book was a bestseller, but I don’t want to get typecast as the rom-com animal guy.’

‘Nancy is an excellent agent, Ethan. She can spot a hit. But I’ll talk to her, okay? Let me see what I can find out.’

‘When are you going to agree to become my manager? You practically do it anyway.’

‘I’m your publicist. You need a management company… like the one you fired.’

‘No, I need you and—’ He was interrupted by a loud rapping on the front door.

Ethan squared his shoulders, standing tall and stretching out his tanned, toned six-three frame.

‘We’ll continue this later,’ he said, suddenly all business. ‘You get the door, I’ll go get Harry. Then I’ll make my entrance.’

Yet another rejection greeted Hazel Conor as she checked her emails with bleary eyes. She filed it with the eleven others in the folder she’d titled KEEP ON TRYING. It was getting harder and harder to listen to that advice.

She kicked at her bedding, her long legs thrashing, blaming her mood on the humidity and not her frustration at having been unemployed for six weeks. Six weeks of dropping off her CV at every restaurant and cafe in a 20 kilometre radius. Six weeks of introducing herself to chefs, managers, owners, anyone who would meet with her. Six weeks of awkwardly attempting to network, which did not come naturally to her, and still coming up with nothing. Everyone agreed her references and experience were excellent, but they were all fully staffed for the summer. She couldn’t have lost her job at a worse time.

Hazel dug the TV remote from her tangle of sheets, mulling over her options again as she half-watched two back-to-back episodes of Spaghetti and Noodles. The idea of going home bounced around her head for the gazillionth time, and for the gazillion and oneth time, her rolling stomach gave it a big nope. She couldn’t face going home. Not yet. Something would come up. Switching off the food channel, she stared at the ceiling. She might go for a run, that would burn off her shitty mood.

She swung her legs off the mattress, stepping straight into a pile of regurgitated cat biscuits. Hazel stared down at the squelchy blob oozing between her toes.

‘KEVIN!’ she hollered with her foot in the air, as if she believed the cat would actually respond, or care. ‘Oh my god.’ She groaned and hopped down the hall to the bathroom muttering ‘Ew, ew, ew.’

She rinsed her foot in the shower, grumbling under her breath. Then, with a resigned sigh, she headed back to her bedroom to clean up the mess. Hazel was on her hands and knees wearing hot pink rubber gloves, scrubbing the rug while questioning her life choices, when her phone rang.

‘Fuck fuck shit.’ She’d left it in the kitchen.

She stumbled to her feet and hurried from the room, one hand still wrapped around a wad of paper towel filled with half-digested cat kibble, and hit speaker. ‘Hello,’ she answered, her voice strained and breathy.

‘Is this Hazel Conor?’ a woman asked.

‘It is,’ she said, then screamed ‘KEVIN!’

She dashed forward to grab the cat before he could cough up more of his breakfast, but he skilfully manoeuvred his sleek black body and ducked out of her grasp, depositing a soggy pile on the lounge room rug, managing to target the only patch of white on the brightly patterned rug. Hazel was positive he’d done it on purpose. He was just that kind of cat.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath that did nothing to calm her, before returning to the phone. ‘I’m so sorry about that. Yes, this is Hazel.’ Her eyebrows lifted at the sound of the woman’s impatient huff.

‘This is Lena Rose,’ the woman said. ‘I represent a client who will be commencing a project on the Sunshine Coast shortly. We’re looking for someone to assist with dog minding while he’s in the area. You’re a professional pet minder, correct?’

Hazel scrunched up her face. Professional was a stretch. She’d fallen into walking and minding dogs when her neighbour, Doris, had to fly to Melbourne at the last minute and Hazel had offered to mind her pug. Knowing Hazel was in a bit of a bind, Doris had sung her praises to friends, family, her hairdresser, the person who did her nails – anyone who’d listen. Next thing Hazel knew, she had an online profile on a popular pet minder site and a small list of semi-regular clients.

‘That’s correct,’ she said, hoping the woman didn’t hear the hesitation in her voice.

‘My client is looking for someone who can commit to three months and be available at various hours across the day depending on his schedule,’ Lena said. ‘You would be required to pick up and drop off the dog, and take care of him in your own home. Would that be something you could accommodate?’

Hazel dropped onto a kitchen stool, the clump of soggy paper towel forgotten in her hand.

Three months? Could she commit to three months? It would be nice to have a regular income again, but she hadn’t packed up her life and moved north to become a pet minder. She slumped. She’d done it for a really great sous chef job. One that had ended two weeks after it had begun, when the restaurant owner shocked everyone by permanently closing the place down.

She glanced around her tiny house. At the cute living space with its compact sofas and tropical patterned cushions, and the sunshine pouring through the wide windows that led to a small, jasmine-entwined deck. She’d fallen in love with the place the instant she’d seen it, and hastily signed a six-month lease, paying three months’ rent up front. If she took this job it would see her through most of her lease. It would also see her through the summer. Maybe by then another chef’s position would open up. Maybe this was exactly what she needed – a chance to breathe and regroup. Her gaze flicked to Kevin, now perched on his cat tree, grooming himself. There was one possible hitch.

‘How is the dog with cats?’ she asked. The way things had been going for her lately, the dog probably hated cats.

‘I understand he’s fine with cats,’ Lena said.

Hazel’s tensed shoulders softened. ‘In that case, I could be open to three months.’

‘Great. Let’s set up an interview. Do you know the actor Ethan James?’

Hazel blinked. Ethan James? Her sister was going to freak. Violet had been really into Ethan James ever since she saw that movie he made with the dog. Hazel hadn’t seen the movie, and she didn’t really get what her sister saw in Ethan James, either. He was too perfect and primped and glossy. Plus, he was a celebrity. Her nose wrinkled. Did she really want to spend three months working for someone like that?

She shifted her weight on the stool as Lena explained that Ethan was about to start production on his new movie and needed someone who would be exclusive, flexible and discreet and was willing to sign a non-disclosure agreement. She ended her spiel by adding, ‘The salary will reflect these conditions.’

Hazel snapped to attention. That had a nice ring to it. Maybe working for a movie star wouldn’t be so bad after all.

‘Ms Rose,’ she said, trying to sound professional while still nursing a paper towel full of Kevin’s regurgitated breakfast in her hot-pink rubber-glove-covered hand. ‘I believe you’ll find I’m exactly the person Mr James is looking for.’