She could totally get used to this.
The only words that could possibly be sweeter were I’m sorry. Sorry for all the jokes and jabs. Sorry for snagging that fellowship out from under her. Sorry for somehow weaseling his way to get this gig—some connection through Dr. Crawley, no doubt.
And maybe even a sorry for that night in the library. For leading her on. There was no doubt in her mind that he’d wanted to kiss her. If they’d been given thirty more seconds, his lips would have been on hers. One hundred percent.
How they’d managed to be locked on Addison Crawley’s only a few days later was beyond her. And dammit . . . it had hurt.
Corrie was surprised by how much it had hurt, seeing as until that night she never would have considered having any interest in Ford Matthews. Well, okay, not, like, serious interest, at least. The man was damn fine, and she had a libido. Even despite how much she hated him now, she couldn’t deny the way her body reacted to him. But that was sexual interest. Dating interest? Relationship interest? Not over her dead body.
But something had changed that night. That night she’d viewed Ford as more than her nemesis. And the next morning she’d pictured what it might have been like to have Ford waking up next to her and sitting at her kitchen counter while she made him breakfast. Or maybe he would have made her breakfast. And then perhaps he’d have pulled her into his arms, with her in his T-shirt that barely covered her ass, and he’d have kissed her. And the bacon would have burned because they’d been so engrossed in each other that they hadn’t even noticed the smoke until the smoke detector went off.
Yeah . . . he needed to apologize for allowing her to picture those things—pretty things, when she didn’t believe in pretty things—and then throwing it all in her face by replacing that vision with one of him doing all those same things with Addison Fucking Crawley.
“Corrie, you all right?”
The question snapped Corrie out of her rage, loosening her grip on the small, worn map Ford had handed her earlier. Wow. That memory changed her mood fast. Her gaze shot to Ethan, who stood in front of her with a worried look on his face.
Corrie allowed her body to relax before she spoke. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just worried I left the oven on,” she said, forcing a joke. She hadn’t realized how much her past with Ford still affected her. She hadn’t thought about Ford in years. Two days ago, he couldn’t have been any farther from her mind. Honestly, it pissed her off that she was allowing him to get under her skin like this. Pissed her off that she had any feelings about him after all this time. Why couldn’t she let it roll off her?
“Please. Like you ever use the oven,” Ethan said, curling up his lip. “You’re thinking about Ford, aren’t you?”
Corrie blinked several times. Was it . . . Was it that obvious?
“What? God, no, Ethan. Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, trying her best to keep her voice calm and even.
“So you’re not thinking something’s up with him? Because I sure am.”
Corrie cocked her head and squinted at Ethan. Hmm. This got interesting. “What do you mean?”
Ethan shrugged. “I don’t know . . . something’s . . . something’s not right. I mean, we both know how he is, but lately . . . something’s especially off. Ever since we started this dig. But that call just now? The way his demeanor shifted? Well, we both know he’s not like that.”
Since the dig started? That meant Ford’s being off had begun before she arrived.
Meaning that she wasn’t the cause. Or, wasn’t the only cause.
Corrie scanned the site, spotting Ford talking to some of the crew members and demonstrating how to refill the holes throughout the site. Yeah, there was definitely a rigidity to him, more so than normal. It could have been the stress of the dig and not finding anything. And having to find and move to a new location certainly wasn’t un-stressful. But yeah . . . there was something weird about that phone call. She might have been carrying on with Ethan, but she had been watching Ford out of the corner of her eye and noticed the way he rubbed his forehead. He’d looked relieved, yet worried. Maybe the investor was frustrated at the lack of progress. Maybe he was telling the investor that he’d brought someone else to help. Maybe the investor, and not Ford, had been the one who wanted her there and that person was telling Ford that he had to keep Corrie on.
Or maybe . . . maybe it had something to do with his mom.
Did Ethan know about her?
“When was the last time you saw Ford?” Corrie asked. “Before this dig, I mean.”
“Jeez,” he said, lifting his hand to his forehead as if needing to think back. “Maybe two years ago when we were in Peru? Right after his dad passed away. I really only get to see him when we go on digs together, but we haven’t been on a dig since Peru. We were there when it happened.”
Oh. Wow. There was a lot to unpack there.
“Has he ever talked to you about it?”
“No, never. I mean, we’ve hardly spoken these last few years, at least not anything more than a couple of texts here and there. He didn’t want me to come to the funeral. And he passed on my numerous offers to visit. I even tried reaching out to Addison to see if he was okay, but she never responded to my messages.”
A vomitous rumble swirled in Corrie’s stomach.
“To be honest,” Ethan continued, “I was a little shocked when he called me to join him on this dig. But when I arrived, he acted like we hadn’t gone two years without talking. Like he was the same old Ford. Except . . . except now he’s more reserved. He rarely talks about his personal life anymore. It’s not like we’re strangers, but what the hell has he been doing outside of all this?” he said, motioning his hands around their surroundings at the dig.
Interesting. Ethan didn’t know about Ford’s mother. Well, it wasn’t her place to enlighten him.
Ethan finally let his shoulders relax, as if psychoanalyzing Ford was the most exhausting task of the day despite having to move thousands of pounds of dirt in the muggy ninety-plus-degree jungle. Which, frankly, wasn’t all that surprising. Corrie, too, was exhausted trying to compartmentalize everything Ethan had said. Corrie had been trying to solve the Ford puzzle for a decade.
“You’re asking me as if I would know?” Corrie asked somewhat jokingly. “This may come as a shock to you, Ethan, but Ford and I haven’t exactly kept in touch, either. Maybe you should ask someone who’s been around him these last two years.”
“Well, according to Sunny, as fascinating as he is in the classroom, out of the classroom he’s about as interesting as a box of rocks. She said he doesn’t even have photos in his office. Or mention any weekend plans. She’s also pretty sure he hasn’t had sex in forever. I tried to explain that maybe that’s because he’s got a girlfriend, but Sunny seems to think they’re on the outs.”
Corrie’s brow quirked up at the mention of Ford’s sex life. What the hell had happened with Addison?
Not that she could blame Ford for trying to maintain some boundaries. Sure, she wasn’t super private when it came to her students. Unlike him, she had gobs of photos decorating the walls in her office. Photos from digs. Photos with her friends. Photos with her family. And she wasn’t afraid to share details of her personal life. She didn’t divulge TMI, but she’d talk about her weekend plans and her favorite shows. They knew when her niece celebrated her quincea?era and when her brother got remarried. And when she’d had to miss a month midquarter when her mother passed away, they’d known about that, too. A group of postgrads had even sent a beautiful flower arrangement for the funeral.