Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
F ord
Her sweater is back on, and her purse is in her hand, and I know that she’s leaving. I stay where I am, every part of me wanting to reach for her again, but also knowing that I can’t. I don’t want her to feel cornered. Still, I can’t let her walk out of here without saying something.
“Landyn.”
She looks up, slowly. I know there are things she could say too, but her expression, still guarded, tells me she’s still not ready.
“You don’t have to explain,” I tell her gently. “I just want you to know it’s okay. We’re good.”
She nods, but I see the way her throat works when she swallows. “I didn’t come here planning for that to happen,” she says.
“I didn’t either.”
She lets out the smallest breath of a laugh. “Yeah, well… you didn’t have your sweater on the floor.”
A smile tugs at my mouth and I’m grateful to her for easing the heaviness that has settled around us .
“I didn’t stop because I didn’t want you,” she adds, voice softer now.
My heart bottoms out to my feet. I feel every word.
“I know,” I say, and I mean it, and still, it nearly kills me to say it without pulling her back into me.
But I don’t. Instead, I move toward her slowly, reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
My fingers brush her cheek, and she lets her eyes flutter closed for just a second.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I say, and she nods again. This time when her gaze meets mine there is something close to sadness in it. “Come on,” I murmur. “Let me walk you out.”
We step into the night together, the cold brushing over both of us pulling us back into reality. We walk slowly, like neither of us is ready for the evening to end. I walk beside her, close enough to touch her but fighting the urge to do just that. When we reach her car, Landyn turns to face me.
“Thanks for dinner,” she says quietly.
“Thanks for showing up.”
I step closer and wrap my arms around her.
She leans into it and that’s all I need.
With a sigh, she sinks into me without hesitation, arms sliding around my waist, face against my chest, and when she takes a deep breath, it feels like maybe whatever is weighing on her lightens just a little.
I press a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead without saying anything else then I hold her until she pulls away.
I open her car door, and she slides into the driver’s seat. And then she’s gone, leaving me standing here with my hands in my pockets, watching her taillights disappear into the dark.
I already miss her.
I wait until the sound of her tires on the pavement fades and the silence settles back in like it never left, then I head inside.
The feel of her mouth on mine, the whisper of my name on her lips, still lingers.
I look at the counter where she sat. Her glass is still there, half-full.
The kitchen still smells like the faintest scent of her shampoo.
It’s soft. Familiar. And it makes my chest ache.
I run a hand through my hair and let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
We were close. Closer than we’ve been to anything real in a long damn time.
And then she pulled back. And I let her because whatever’s holding her in place—it’s bigger than me.
But I felt the way her body arched into mine like it was second nature.
The way she looked at me later—like she hated leaving and couldn’t stay all at once.
She wanted me, but I felt it the second it changed—when something else slammed into her hard enough to shatter that moment between us.
I walk to the window and rest my hand on the frame, staring out into the dark. What is she hiding? I know guilt. I know uncertainty. That’s not what pulled her from my arms and sent her running. It was heavier, like she’s guarding something.
Tonight, left me with even more questions about the woman I used to know better than I knew myself. One thing is for certain, though: whatever secret she’s keeping, it can’t stay hidden forever. It’s bubbling closer to the surface, whether she’s ready or not.
“She’s not just here for work,” I say out loud. “She didn’t just come back to Deep Cove for a job.”
I’m at Cove early the next morning, buried in reports.
Bad press keeps snowballing faster than we can contain it.
The kind of press that can make people forget about all the things we’ve done right.
I shove my hands through my hair and close the window on my computer, moving to this week’s schedule. It’s packed.
Board updates, supplier negotiations, a feature piece with Pacific Lifestyle Magazine that Landyn is spearheading, plus a meeting with the bank to secure the last distribution of funds for the factory. Every minute is accounted for. And next week’s no better.
The Greenstream partnership we’ve been working on still isn’t finalized, and this morning I learned that there’s a three-day summit in Whistler starting Friday—a chance to meet with investors and sustainability leaders, and hopefully generate the kind of PR that could go a long way towards salvaging Cove’s reputation.
This is important. It’s our chance to prove to our clients and shareholders that the company’s values are more than just words on paper.
That we have the vision and the drive to position ourselves as a global leader in this sphere.
It’s critical, and it’s something that Landyn needs to be a part of.
I reach for my phone and type out the message without overthinking it.
Me: Block off next Friday through Sunday. We’re going to Whistler for the Sustainability Summit. I want you there for the panels and meetings. Clear your schedule if you need to.
I return to the consumer reports that Jesse sent me this morning, but I’m distracted, checking my phone every few minutes to see if she’s replied.
Twenty minutes later, I give up my weak attempts to get any work done.
I leave my office, glancing at Landyn’s empty desk as I pass it.
I head to the workspace where she and Jesse usually meet in the morning.
When I don’t find her there, I scan the floor, hoping to catch sight of her. Nothing.
I drag a hand through my hair in frustration, all too aware of the fact that instead of dealing with the dozens of emails needing responses from me, I’m wandering around the place like a lovesick teenager.
Until I see her.
She’s in the lunchroom, her back to me, pouring coffee into a branded Cove mug.
She’s dressed more casually than she usually is at the office—jeans, a fitted black sweater, ankle boots—but it’s a gut punch.
Effortless. Beautiful. The sun shining through the window catches the natural highlights in her hair, which is pulled back off her face.
When she turns and sees me standing just outside the doorway, her eyes widen just a fraction, and she smiles.
“You following me, Winters?”
“Maybe.” I smirk.
The air shifts between us. Thickens.
I close the distance slowly, not crowding her, but enough that she feels it. The space narrows. My pulse kicks harder.
“You got my message?” I ask, keeping my tone casual even though I feel anything but when I’m around her.
Her fingers curl around the mug. “Whistler. Three days.”
Every nerve in my body fires up being this close to her again.
I keep telling myself to take it slow, play it cool, but she makes it impossible.
She’s magnetic, every glance or smile pulling me in, daring me to forget all the reasons I should hold back.
My heart’s hammering in my chest, and I’m not sure if it’s from the memory of kissing her yesterday or from how badly I want to do it now.
“Two nights,” I add, watching her carefully. “You’ll be there? ”
She gives a small shrug. “You’re not really giving me a choice.”
“You’re the only one who can handle it. This—” I gesture loosely, meaning Cove, the scandal, all of it, “—this needs you.”
It’s true, and she knows it. For a moment, she looks away, out the window, like she’s weighing what this really means. Three days away with me. When her gaze returns, it’s sharp. Unflinching.
“Will anyone else be joining us?” she asks cooly.
“Jesse is trying to be there for some of it.”She nods as if she’s appraising me. “And what do you think about it, Lan? About us being away for the weekend?”
“I think you need me there,” she says, meeting my gaze. “For Cove.”
My mouth curves, but the look in my eyes is serious. I exhale slowly, stepping in closer, bracing my hands on either side of the counter she’s leaning against. I’m close enough to feel the warmth of her but not touching. Not quite. Not yet.
“What are you really thinking, Ford?”
“I’m thinking,” I say, voice low, “that I want to kiss you right now, but I don’t know what the rules are anymore.”
Her breath catches. Just barely. But I see it. “You’ve never cared much for rules,” she says, trying for coy, but her voice betrays her.
“I haven’t,” I admit. “But I’ve never been this worried about messing things up, either.”
She’s quiet for a moment. Eyes searching mine. “What are you afraid of ruining?” she asks, softer now.
I don’t hesitate. “Us.”
Maybe I shouldn’t have said it. But it’s the truth. It’s how I feel .
For a breathless moment, she just stands there, staring up at me, but she doesn’t walk away.
I reach out, slow but sure, and brush my fingers along her forearm. It’s feather light, barely there, but I feel her shiver under my touch. Her eyes close for a heartbeat and when they open, they’re softer. Warmer. I don’t kiss her. Not here.
“See you in the boardroom, Sinclair,” I say, voice low, pushing off the counter.
That’s enough for now.