Wild Love (Rose Hill, #1)(84)

It’s my favorite time of the year.

“So where’s Ford?”

“I’m right here, doll,” Senior teases as he flips the bacon.

“No, the moody one,” I volley back with a wink.

Gemma scoffs. “Oh, trust me. You spend forty years with that one and you’ll realize he’s no better.”

He turns around and grins at her. “You’d be bored without me, and you know it.” His wife tries to stifle her smile and goes back to flipping through Cora’s sketchpad.

Cora watches the interaction with a look of wonder on her face, and I think of how deflated Ford sounded last night at the prospect of her leaving. I desperately want her reunited with her mom. I desperately want her to be deliriously happy and well cared for.

But I hope she still comes around. Because Ford won’t be the only one who’s gutted when she’s gone.

I stand here, staring, realizing no one has answered my question.

Finally, Gemma takes note of my hovering and, with a roll of her eyes, says, “He’s at the office. We’re going to take Cora to school today, so he decided to get an early start. Cora, why don’t you go get dressed?”

I swallow, trying not to be annoyed by the fact he had me over and got the hell out of Dodge first thing in the morning. Leaving me to hang out with his parents.

My head bobs in a soft nod and I hold my cup in a toast. “Thanks. Have fun at drop-off.”

I turn to leave and stifle a laugh when I hear Cora mutter something about how all the perv dads will be disappointed. She sounds very satisfied, and it makes me smile.

But only for a beat, because then I’m shoving my feet into my Birks and stepping out into the crisp morning air. I take a deep whiff. Pine. Mineral. And I swear I can almost smell the roses.

The dew on the grass wets my toes as I make my way across the property toward the barn. I can hear music blasting, and I don’t know the song, but it sounds angry and frantic enough to be something emo-teen Ford would listen to.

When I step in, I come to a screeching halt. I don’t know what I was expecting to see, but it wasn’t this.

The muscles in Ford’s back flex and ripple as one toned shoulder moves up and down the wall with a roller in hand. His bare feet stand on a white cotton drop sheet, his jeans rolled up just enough to show the line of the tendons in his ankles.

He’s tossed his shirt over the back of his desk chair. Socks stuffed into the boots that sit by one of the wheels. Desk perfectly tidy. All proof of our clash yesterday erased. Unless you count the missing desktop.

It’s not like I expected him to leave the office messy, but something about how easily he made everything right again irritates me. Like nothing happened.

I take a few steps farther in and prop my ass against the edge of his desk, sipping my tea while I watch him work. He’s so tall that he doesn’t need a ladder to meet the lines where Scotty had already cut in. His hair is messy, and now that I’m looking closely, I notice streaks of auburn at the front from time spent in the sun.

It did that when he was younger too. Would be a deep chocolate brown at the roots and gradually trend lighter and slightly redder as the summer wore on.

But his build is all different now. I can’t help but appreciate the way he’s filled out. The way he went from all limbs to all… this.

I savor my tea and follow his motions with my eyes, each stroke matching the beat of the music. It’s like my own personal striptease. A manly one, where he fixes shit.

And when I tire of him not paying attention to me, I knock the little metal cup that holds all his identical blue, felt-tipped pens onto the floor.

He starts and spins, clearly startled by the sound. A thin line of paint follows his arc as it sprays across the floor.

“Rosie.” He scowls. “What the fuck?”

I smile. “Good morning, boss.”

He lets out a beleaguered sigh, eyes tracing the paint splatter, but he says nothing about it.

“Thanks for the tea,” I shout over the music, walking over to the record player to drop the volume to a more reasonable level.

Ford keeps a close eye on me as I do it, then grumbles, “You’re welcome,” before turning back to the wall.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Painting.”

I snort. “Oh my god, really?”

“I’m starting to agree with Cora about the perv dads. If I can’t find someone who isn’t a perv painter, I’ll just do it myself.”

“Very manly. You talk a big, tough game for a guy who slunk out this morning before I even woke up.”

He continues giving me his back, like a dog I’ve pissed off or something.

“I’d have gone again if you’d been there. Almost just did the job myself,” I add, layering a teasing tone into my voice. “You chicken, Junior?”

His free shoulder rises and falls in a shrug. “I don’t know where we stand with everyone knowing or being public. Or whatever. West is completely in the dark. And then they showed up and I… I’m trying to respect your wishes to keep things professional.”

I roll my eyes and drop my head back before making my way closer to him. “Ford, you’ve been riding my ass for years. You fucked my brains out last night.” I smirk as I say the words, knowing they’ll get under his skin, and I’m rewarded with a sour scowl from over his shoulder. “You really gonna get all respectful on me now?”