Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(20)
I hit the button to drop the back passenger window and call out, “Want me to come hold the door open for you, Junior?”
The way his head tilts. The way his arms cross. The way his eyes slice to mine from over the top of Cora’s headrest. It all drips with disdain.
And yet, I smile.
Without another word, Ford steps forward and tugs the back door open. When he folds his tall frame into the back seat, I almost feel bad. My Impreza hatchback is practical and fun to drive, but it’s not made for men of his stature to ride comfortably in the back seat.
“Don’t worry, sir. It’s not far. And if you’re feeling peckish, I suspect I’ve left a partially melted Clif Bar in the pocket behind that seat.”
He continues to give me his best bitchy look through the rearview mirror while Cora plays Pokémon GO on her phone, trying to pretend she doesn’t think I’m funny.
Then Ford reaches forward. He pulls out the Clif Bar, which has to be expired, rips it open, and takes a huge bite, all while holding my gaze. His square jaw moves, dark stubble drawing my eyes to his lips for just a beat before they tug back up. “Thank you, Rosalie,” he deadpans. “This is delicious.”
CHAPTER NINE
FORD
Rosie takes a deep breath before raising her hand to knock on the door to her parents’ house. I’m not sure why she’s knocking. Seems more like her to just barge in and announce herself. I reach out to squeeze her shoulder as reassurance, but years of practice kick in, and I force my hand back down while internally reminding myself that I’m her boss—not her boyfriend.
Still, it’s impossible to ignore that something is off with her. I just can’t figure out what. She’s herself, but also skittish. At least my eating a past-it protein bar made her laugh. That was worth it, even if I can’t get the taste of stale oats out of my mouth.
“Rosie, baby!” Greta Belmont shakes her head and blinks a few times, like her eyes might be fooling her. “What are you doing here?” She recovers enough to wrap her daughter in a tight hug.
“Hi, Mama.” Rosie hugs her back. Hard.
“What are you doing here?” Andy says from just behind his wife, a thread of suspicion weaving its way into his tone.
Greta turns around to smack him in the chest, one arm still looped over Rosie’s shoulders. “Give your daughter a better welcome than that when she shows up to surprise us!”
Andy arches a brow at his daughter. The man is all bark, no bite. He’s got a big, soft heart, but he isn’t known for being warm and fuzzy. “How are you, Rosie Posie?” he asks, eyeing her carefully before stepping up to give her a gentle hug. His blue eyes are just like Rosie’s, and his hair is thinning just a little on top.
“I’m good, Dad.” There’s a hitch in Rosie’s voice though. One she covers by clearing her throat and adding another, “I’m good,” before pulling away.
Her mom finally turns, catching sight of the rest of us who got dragged along on this expedition. “And you brought Ford and Cora with you!”
Greta looks happy to see me.
Andy looks confused as to why I’m here.
To be fair, I am too. Maybe it was the way Cora stared at her chipped nails when she announced, “I think Rosie is having a mental breakdown. Also, I’m gonna go to her parents’ house with her. See you later.”
I wasn’t about to let her have a mental breakdown alone. Rosie glances over her shoulder at me, cheeks pinking slightly before she turns back. “Yeah. I meant to just bring Cora, but Ford invited himself.” She brushes her hands down the front of her jeans like she’s wiping dust off her hands. “So here we are!”
“Well, come in. Come in. Let’s have some tea.” Greta hits me with a wink. “Or a beer? I seem to remember you and West getting into those when you were younger.”
Andy regards me carefully. He’s not quite scowling, but there’s nothing welcoming about his expression either. I suspect his spidey senses are tingling too—like he knows there’s something not quite right about his fiercely independent, by-the-book daughter showing up out of the blue.
“Tea is great.”
Greta smiles and slings an arm over Rosie, pressing her daughter tight against her side. “Perfect. Tea is Rosie Posie’s favorite.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as we move indoors. I guess Mrs. Belmont hasn’t seen her daughter sling back a gin and tonic like there’s about to be a worldwide shortage the way I have.
We follow Andy into the living room, and I can’t help but notice Cora taking in her surroundings. The Belmonts’ new home resembles a large concrete box, modern from top to bottom. Except their furniture.
They relocated their old farmhouse pieces straight into their new place. You’d think it would clash with the modern stainless-steel appliances and slate-gray walls, yet there’s a certain eclectic charm to the place. I don’t think it’s intentional, but it’s there all the same.
The furnishings have character. Each cushion on the floral-print velvet couches sags slightly in the middle. The coffee table has a glass slab on top of an ornate wrought iron base. Beneath it, the Persian rug exudes a relaxed vibe, its white base accented with pink and blue and a minty green. Even the bookcases have a sort of vintage-cottage style to them.