5. Ford
CHAPTER 5
ford
W hen I got back to the kitchen, Peyton was rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher.
“Uh, uh, uh,” I chided. “No dishes for you.” I took a step toward her.
But she grabbed a rag off the counter and held it like a weapon. “Stay back.”
“Flora Mae will get them first thing tomorrow. She’ll be so happy she has something to do.” Flora Mae, my housekeeper, was a sixty-seven-year-old retired school cafeteria worker who came over every day to clean my house, even when it didn’t need cleaning. Lemon’s mom had sent her my way after she’d retired and decided she hated having nothing to do and no one to fuss over.
When I reached over to turn off the water, Peyton whipped me across my chest.
“Ow!” I yelped.
Her gaze dared me to try again. “You don’t get between a woman and a chore she’s determined to finish.”
My teeth clamped, and my jaw jutted. “I’m going to have a welt on my left pec.”
She smirked. “Over your Only She Can Safe Me tattoo?”
I’d had a tattoo mishap years ago. My tattoo artist had misspelled the sentence I’d given her. Whether she’d done it purposely remained to be seen. The fact that we’d broken up a few weeks before led me to believe she had. Needless to say, she was no longer my tattoo artist.
I let out a low, warning growl. “You know I had that fixed.”
Peyton tapped her temple. “The original is forever etched in my mind.”
“Lower the weapon,” I coaxed. “Let’s go sit and chat.”
She pulled it back like a slingshot, a gleam in her eye. “Never.”
But Peyton was four years older than me, and she never saw what a rockstar I was on the Seddledowne Stallions football field. In one swift movement, my muscle memory kicked in. I rushed her, ripped the rag from her hand, and flung her over my shoulder, shotgun wedding style. Then I turned the water off, victorious.
“Put me down, you…you…caveman!” She pounded me on the butt as I jogged to the living room.
I twirled around a few times, making her giggle and groan.
“I’m going to throw up!” she yelled.
Ugh. Me too. I dropped her onto the couch with a thunk. Before she could get up, I knelt in front of her, holding her knees down. Then I leaned forward and looked her in the eye. “You owe me a kiss.”
She shrugged like she was unfazed by this news. “I gave you a kiss.”
“That wasn’t a kiss. That was a dust mite tickling my mouth. Lula gives me better kisses.” I cocked a brow. “Don’t you want to be a woman of your word?”
She crossed her arms, her smile smug. “I promised you a kiss. I never said when I’d give it to you.”
“Are you serious right now?” My chin dropped to my chest while I worked to rein in my disappointment. I forced myself to take a few breaths. Then, staring down at her knees, I uttered the words, “Stop making me beg and marry me already.”
She groaned and then let it morph into fake crying. “Not again.”
I dug into my jeans pocket and pulled out the ring that had been tucked away all evening. I wiggled it in her face. “You know you want this.”
Her lips clamped together but her cheeks were pink because she did want it. Tally wasn’t the person who’d dubbed it the World’s Most Beautiful Ring. That was Peyton.
“I still can’t believe you bought that.” She grumbled as if getting her a two-carat, oval-cut, pink diamond set in a white gold band was the most dastardly thing I’d ever done. Not hardly. Even if I knew it was her dream ring. She turned her head, refusing to look at it. “Put that thing away.”
I twisted it back and forth at the end of her nose.
She yanked it from my hand and curled her fingers around it. “You horrible, horrible man.” She tossed it onto the coffee table behind me like she was dropping it into the Fires of Mordor.
“Such a scoundrel,” I said dryly.
“Marriage is more than matching rings, Ford. Besides.” She scowled. “I already had a beautiful ring and look how that turned out.”
“I’d hardly call that microscopic cubic zirconia Braxton got you beautiful. You know he bought it at the pawn shop.” That was the rumor. Freaking cheap skate. “Either way, I’m offended you’d compare a marriage with me to whatever that ruse was the two of you had going on.”
Her mouth fell open, offended. “It was a real marriage.”
Maybe on paper, but in truth, Peyton had married him because he’d knocked her up. Not because she loved him. And I was skeptical that he’d ever loved her. Lusted? Yes. But not love. I wasn’t sure Braxton was capable.
Once they were married, he’d proceeded to verbally and emotionally abuse her for years. Top that off with the fact that he’d had an ongoing affair spanning their entire marriage. Peyton said that finding out about the affair saved her life. It was the slap in the face she needed to get out. But bringing the affair up now would only hurt her—and Braxton had hurt her enough.
“I’m just saying. He was, is, and always will be a tool. You never should’ve married him in the first place. And I’d say the same thing about any man who had you and let you go.” I took a breath. “I love you…and I’m pretty sure you love me, even if you won’t admit it.”
Her chin lifted. “Somebody’s confident.”
“More like desperate.” I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, so tired of this conversation. “Tell me you don’t love me then.”
She stared at me, lips pursed, wearing the best poker face I’d ever seen. Either she didn’t love me and she didn’t want to hurt me by saying so, or she did love me and she didn’t want me to know.
The question was why.
“It’s not about love,” she finally said.
That was neither a confession nor a denial, and it was so Peyton. I made a sound that was half groan, half growl. “What’s it about then?”
She shook my shoulders. “Statistics, Ford. Statistics.”
My hands scrubbed through my hair. “I’m beating the statistics. I haven’t touched drugs or alcohol in over five years. I’m doing really well. I’m taking my meds. Going to therapy.”
She never said that was the reason. Hardly brought it up at all. Almost like she was afraid to say the words recovered addict the same way everyone at Hogwarts was afraid to say Voldemort. But I knew it concerned her. It would concern me if our roles were reversed.
“Those aren’t the statistics I’m referring to,” she insisted. “The divorce rate for celebrity musicians is upwards of sixty percent.”
“We won’t divorce,” I said simply.
“Your bandmates sleep around at every tour stop. You used to be like that.”
“I’m not anymore. I’m different now.”
“I know. But what happens in a moment of weakness? I’m getting old. My ovaries are drying up as we speak.”
“We better hurry th?—”
She pressed a finger to my lips. “My skin’s going to start sagging. And my boobs. And my butt. What if some pretty young thing is waiting in your bed after a concert?”
“I’m not?—”
“Or what if I become deformed in a house fire or someone throws acid on my face and my skin melts from my bones? Are you going to still love me then?”
“Good grief, if that happens, we’ll get you plastic surgery. I’m high-key rich, ya know.”
She chewed her bottom lip like these outlandish scenarios should be taken seriously. “What if I lose my leg in a farming accident? Or Cash runs over it with the lawn mower? You can’t plastic surgery a new leg.”
“Dang. Cash isn’t allowed on my mower if he can’t do better than that.” I bit back a snort. “You have to stop watching all those soap operas.” I shook my head. “I don’t care, Peyt. You’re my best friend. Even when you’re an old hag, I’ll still love you. I’ll let myself get fat. Grow a hideous beard. Blacken some teeth. We’ll ‘old hag’ together.” I squeezed her knees, which made her flinch. “And if your leg disappears, I’ll chop off a leg. We’ll be peg legs together.”
She frowned like she didn’t believe a word I’d said. “You like pretty women, Ford. And don’t try to deny it.”
“Everyone likes pretty women. You like pretty women. You’re constantly looking at them on TikTok to learn their secrets.” I traced the top of her thigh. “You don’t need their secrets, by the way. You’re already the prettiest.”
“Sure, you say that now. But once men get the pretty woman they’re chasing, they lose interest. Look at Ryan Phillippe. He wasn’t half as good-looking as Reese, and he cheated on her. Reese. With-er-spoon ,” she said like it was unthinkable.
“Yes. I’ve met her. Delightful woman. Side note: she looks perfectly happy without Ryan.”
Peyton held up a finger. “Jesse James cheated on Sandra Bullock.” Another finger. “Hugh Grant cheated on Elizabeth Hurley.” Finger number three. “Ben Affleck on Jennifer Garner. Jay Z on Beyonce.” Fingers, fingers everywhere.
I grabbed her hand. “Peyt. I won’t cheat on you. Those men were idiots. We won’t be like them. We’ll be Faith Hill and Tim McGraw. Or Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell.” I looked her right in the eyes. “I’ve had my share of wild flings. None of them compared to just sitting here with you. No one makes me laugh like you do. No one is as kind, or sassy, or funny. Or hot. Even missing a leg.”
“But what if you lose interest? What if you don’t think I’m funny in ten years? Or what if you get bored? You know you’re easily bored.”
“No. You’re easily bored. Besides, I could never get bored of you. I’ve known you for how long and I haven’t gotten bored yet?” Even if I did, I’d put in the work to make things fun again. I had plenty of examples of solid, thriving relationships to model ours after. “The newness hasn’t worn off for Lemon and Silas, or Holden and Christy. Or anyone in my family. We’re very good at marriages. Even my parents. They’re practically crypt keepers, and they still laugh together all the time.” My forehead dropped to her knees. “ Please . I want to grow old with you. You’re my best friend.”
Her fingers threaded through my hair, massaging my scalp. “You’re my best friend, too,” she said softly. “And I want it to stay that way. I’m not cut out for celebrity life, Ford.”
I lifted my head to look at her. “That’s not true. You rocked the AMAs.” She’d been my “platonic” date. Her word, not mine. “You charmed everyone. Ronny Don is still asking if you’ll consider a modeling career.”
“You know I’m not tall enough.”
She wasn’t. Not by a long shot. “You’d be a great celebrity wife. You’re kind of vain. Deservedly so,” I said quickly before she could become offended. “You used to win beauty pageants. Besides, we can stay here in our hermit hole and only go out when absolutely necessary if that’s what you want.”
She shook my shoulders. “Just…find someone like you. Someone famous who wants that kind of life.”
“No. No. I tried that, remember?”
That’s why I’d started dating Georgia. Peyton had set us up at the AMAs. She’d joked all evening that she was going to pick out my future wife. When she’d spotted Georgia, she’d spent all evening matchmaking, trying to make me look irresistible. And I’d done it just to make her happy.
My relationship with Georgia had been a heartbreaking disaster that had cost me months in the worst kind of limelight. You can’t date one woman when you’re in love with another. You’re just asking for trouble.
My fingers curled into fists against her legs. “You’re not sending me away again. I don’t want to be with anyone else. I’m not going to be with anyone else.” I turned and picked up the ring. Then I held it out like an offering. “Take it.” She opened her mouth to protest. “For a week. Wear it when no one’s looking. Or when they are. I don’t care.” I threw my hands up. “Just think it over. Like really think it over. Stop finding reasons why it won’t work and think about why it could.” I thrust the ring out for her to take. “Ask God for a sign if you need to.” Peyton went to church every single Sunday, rain or shine. “Whatever you have to do to know this is meant to be. I already know it is.” I knew it with everything inside of me.
“Will you pray with me?” she asked. I blanched at the idea. She was constantly trying to convince me to get “right with the Lord,” as she called it. This was a test. I knew that.
So I squared my shoulders. “Yes. Yes, I will.”
She stared at me for a few seconds, shocked. Then she shoved me back so she could drop to her knees in front of me.
“Now?” My voice cracked worse than Cash’s had a half hour before.
She leaned around me and dropped the ring into the candy dish. “For safe keeping.” She smiled. Then she scooted closer so that our knees were touching. She bowed her head. So I bowed mine.
After a few silent seconds, I peeked an eye open to find her watching me.
“You say it,” she whispered.
“I-I don’t know how to pray,” I sputtered.
“Yes, you do. You were raised by Jenny and Bo Dupree.”
“I don’t know how to pray anymore ,” I amended.
“It’s like riding a bicycle.” She waved her hand in a lazy circle. “Just begin and it will all come back to you.”
“Fine.” I let out a bitter chuckle, no clue how to do this. I’d hardly prayed in the last decade. Not out loud anyway. But then I had an idea. “Dear Lord,” I said in my best Southern Baptist preacher accent. “Some folks search their whole lives through. For what I found that night, When I met her in that bar and she turned my wrong path right.”
“Are you kidding me right now?” she said, annoyed. “This isn’t a prayer. It’s one of your dumb hit singles.”
I pried an eye open and grinned. “I thought you didn’t listen to my music. Bust-ed.”
“I don’t. But Cash does.” She tried to freeze me with her icy blue eyes. “The devil is saving you a seat, you know that, right?”
“I’ve known that,” I whispered. “Shhh. I’m not done.” I bowed my head again, fighting back a smile. “So if You're listening up above, to this prayer I'm contemplatin’, I'm asking if You could see clear, To keep my world from separatin.’” I broke into song, belting the lyrics. “From this girl who changed everything, who got my heart straight racing. Who makes me want to be a better man, the one and only Peyton.” The last line was actually, ‘The one that keeps me waiting.’
She pounded her fists against my chest. “This. This right here is why I won’t marry you.”
My arms shot out, pulling her into a tight hug. “Dear God,” I said quickly and seriously. “Please, help Peyton to know that it’s okay to marry me,” I said in a hush. She settled against my chest and my breath caught in my throat. I swallowed and pressed on. “That I’ll love her even if acid gets thrown in her face and she becomes hideous to look at.”
She groaned but her forehead dropped against my shoulder. Which made my insides feel like they were melting. She never relaxed at my touch. Never let me hold her like this.
“Please, help her to feel calm and confident in my love.” It sounded like something my dad would say, so I was going with it. “And maybe give her a sign. Something that will help her know that You approve. Because I love this woman so much.” I rushed the words. “And I want to spend the rest of my days showing her.”
I didn’t know what else to say, but I didn’t end it because I wasn’t ready to let her go. Instead, I dipped my head under her hair and pressed my nose against her neck, breathing her in. Beautiful, wonderful, good-smelling Peyton.
“Amen,” she whispered.
“Amen,” I echoed, waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t. Her fingers fisted around my T-shirt as if to steady herself. My nose trailed up her throat, along her jaw, and across her cheek until we were forehead to forehead. Her Juicy Fruit-scented breath wafted up my nostrils, and the reaction was explosive. Heat sizzled through my bloodstream until every cell of my body was buzzing. Peyton gave me a high that was better than anything I’d experienced as an addict. I wanted this woman so badly. In every single way. I was going to actually die if I never got to love her.
“Ford,” she breathed, and her fingers hooked around my neck. Was this actually happening?
“Peyton,” I said, my voice a mere tiptoe, my lips a hair’s breadth from hers. My hands cupped her face. I tipped my head, so incredibly ready. One more inhale and?—
“Mooooom!” Cash shouted as he came crashing through the front door.
Peyton jumped back and the air rushed out of my lungs. In two seconds, she was on her feet. She smoothed her hair like we’d taken a scandalous roll in the hay and not like we’d been saying a prayer together. I collapsed against the couch in defeat.
“Mom!” Cash called again. “I forgot I have a history paper that’s due tomo—” He yelped. “Lula!”
Right then, my dog came bounding into the room. She dove over the table, her hind legs skidding across the glass, knocking the candy bowl off the edge right before landing in my lap. Hershey Kisses skittered in every direction across the Brazilian walnut floor.
“Sorry,” Cash said sheepishly from the kitchen, fifty feet away.
Peyton and I looked at each other. “The ring,” we hissed at the same time.
I wouldn’t admit how much that ring cost. Kept lowballing it whenever Peyton asked. But it was a lot more than my Jeep, and these floors were slick like an ice skating rink. I’d busted my butt more than once turning too quickly in a pair of socks. If we found the ring, we needed to be careful not to send it flying again before we had it in our hands. No, not if, when .
I nudged Lula from my lap. Peyton and I crawled across the floor, searching. There were Hershey Kisses everywhere. I grabbed them one by one before Lula could get to them. As I did, I kept my eye out for the ring. But the silver wrappers were the same color as the band, making it hard to see.
Lula snatched a candy from the ground before I could get to it.
“No, Lu!” I scolded, but she chomped it down, wrapper and all. “Cash, can you grab the dog?”
“Coming!” he called as Lula scarfed down another.
But before Cash could grab her, she dodged him, ran over, and licked me all over my face. Chocolate slobber went straight up my right nostril. “Gah! Back off, Lula!” I wiped my face with my sleeve.
“Found it!” Peyton yelled, pointing to the pink diamond lying fifteen feet away.
We scrambled like mad. But Lula must’ve thought it was another chocolate because she took off at breakneck speed. Everything was in slow motion but the dog. Cash running for her. Me practically falling over myself to get there. Peyton’s fingers reaching for the ring right before Lula’s tongue—which was suddenly two feet long—slurped it into her mouth.
“No!” Peyton cried, and at that moment, I knew exactly how much she loved that ring. It was written all over her devastated face.
A swear word shot out of my mouth and for once Peyton didn’t scold me. I tackled my dog to the floor and pried her mouth open.
Without a word, Peyton slid in next to me. She threw her long hair over her shoulder so she could peer into Lula’s mouth. Lula’s lethal weapon of a tail whipped against my thigh like she was the best dog in the world and not the naughtiest. Peyton reached in, moving Lula’s tongue around as her head tilted from side to side, searching.
She glanced up at me, her blue eyes so huge and sad. “I think it’s gone.”
My head fell back in defeat.
Cash stood over us, wide-eyed and clueless. “Chocolate is bad for dogs, right? Should we call Anna?” My niece was a vet and she was right on the other side of the creek at my family’s ranch.
Peyton and I locked eyes. Cash didn’t know about the ring or all the proposals. Peyton lived and breathed—her every decision was made—with his happiness in mind. I wished she loved me half as much as she loved him.
I looked up at her boy. “Yes. That’s exactly what we should do.”
“Cool. I’ll grab your phone. It’s on the counter.”
As he walked away, Peyton met my eye again; her mouth parted slightly like she was completely shook. “The dog ate my ring.” Her face fell. “Sorry, Ford, but I think that’s my sign.”