“You’re such a fucking smart-ass.”
Smiling, she leans on the counter, and for a brief second, because I’m a man, my eyes float down to her cleavage and then back up. Her eyes fire up, and hell, the air grows thick as we both stare each other down. I’ve done some pretty idiotic things in my lifetime, but not calling Nora after the night we spent together, that’s at the top of the list. Which only means one thing—I should ask her out. Make up for past mistakes. I take a deep breath, gathering my courage . . .
The door opens behind me, breaking the palpable attraction between us. Slowly, I tear my eyes off Nora and glance over my shoulder toward the new customer. My spine goes rigid.
“Dealia,” I say breathlessly while putting some distance between Nora and me. “What, uh . . . what are you doing here?”
My equally confused ex-wife takes in the scene and nervously grips her take-out bag. “I thought I would bring my best friend lunch.” Her bewildered eyes scan me up and down. “What are you doing here, Cooper?”
Ah hell.
Not calling Nora back was a huge mistake, but even bigger than that? Sleeping with my ex-wife’s best friend.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
FORD
Knock. Knock. Knock.
I ignore the beating my door is taking as I try to differentiate between two fonts. One has a thicker W, the other is more streamlined, modern, devoid of any sort of whimsical feeling. Why the hell is this so hard? Fonts shouldn’t take up this much headspace, and yet here I am, spending an hour agonizing between the two.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
And that incessant racket isn’t helping.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
“Jesus,” I mutter before getting up from the two-person table in my room and heading over to the door, where the relentless pounding continues.
Muscles tense, irritation at an all-time high, I fling the door open to see my sister on the other side, a crazed look in her eyes and her clothes in disarray. “Palmer, what the hell are you doing?”
She pushes past me and invites herself into the sitting area, invading my space without a single word. She huffs, she paces, she looks around. “Where’s Larkin?”
“Out for a run.” I close the door behind me. “Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“Can this wait? I’m kind of busy.”
She scans the room again. “Busy doing what?” She looks me over, her eyes skimming me from head to toe, taking in what I know is my disheveled hair and rumpled appearance. Her hand clamps over her mouth, some sort of realization taking over the stern look she was wearing when she stormed in here. “Oh my God, did I . . . you know . . . disturb your private time?”
“What? No,” I nearly shout. “No. I’m working.”
“Are you sure?” She glances over at my bed, the disorderly sheets and rumpled floral comforter. “Because I know you, and I know you like your bed made every day. Which leads me to believe . . .”
“Jesus, Palmer, no. I was not doing . . . that. I didn’t have time this morning to make my bed. I barely got any sleep last night thanks to you.”
She lightens up. “Aw, were you worried about me, Ford?”
“Yes,” I answer honestly while heading back to the table to take a seat. I’m worried because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Palmer like that. Like . . . something more than just losing her childhood home sent her into a tailspin. “Do you normally drink like that?”
“No. Yesterday was a special occasion. It’s not every day your parents decide to kick you in the crotch with their abhorrent news.”
“Is that why you’re here? To talk about them selling the house?” I ask, trying to read through the tough facade she seems to wear whenever she’s around the family. From the way her eyes don’t connect with mine, I just know there’s something deeper, something she’s not telling me.
She shakes her head. “I’m currently riding the denial train on the whole house thing until it’s absolutely necessary to accept what’s happening. They don’t even have a sign on the front lawn. I’ll believe it once I see it—until then, I’m not going to bother letting it take up space in my mind.”
“Probably a smart move, given your inability to compartmentalize,” I say, my gaze drifting back to the damned fonts.
“I’m not going to lash out at you for that comment.” She takes a seat across from me and lifts my chin up, forcing me to look at her. “I need you to focus on me.” She snaps her finger in front of my face. “Focus, Ford. Right here, you and me.”