8. Ford
CHAPTER 8
ford
S tanding on my front porch, the bullfrogs croaked down by the lake. Lula’s tail beat against my knee.
Flora Mae’s pudgy hand patted my cheek. “You eat those shrimp and grits I made, you hear me?” Her voice was stern.
I rubbed my stomach. “But I’m trying to watch my waistline,” I teased.
Her expression turned severe. “You’ve lost weight this week. I can see it. And you look tired.” She wagged a finger. “You tell that woman to piss or get off the pot.”
Nope. If I threw that idiom at Peyton, she’d give me the peace sign and leave me eating her dust.
Flora’s eyes narrowed. “You need a wife. Need to make some babies. It would be a tragedy not to pass on that handsome face or that voice or those guitar-picking genes. No more of this just friends nonsense.”
I scrubbed the back of my hair, feeling like I was six and my grandma had caught me stealing a slice of chocolate pie before dinner. “Yes ma’am.”
“I’m not kidding, young man. You give that young lady an ultimatum or she’ll never choose.”
I nodded. But I’d never do it. My best friend wasn’t the kind of woman you ordered around.
Right then, Peyton’s dilapidated truck came rolling into view.
“We’ve summoned the devil,” Flora grumbled.
Lula took off for Peyton’s vehicle, barking and wagging her tail. That dog loved Cash almost as much as she loved me.
Flora Mae shot daggers out of her eyes.
“You head on home now, Miss Flora, before it gets dark.”
She gave me a terrifying side eye before hurrying down the steps.
Peyton got out of the truck, alone. Huh. Weird. It was Friday. Peyton always had Cash on Fridays.
“Have a nice evening, Miss Flora,” Peyton called, scratching Lula on the head. “Sorry, sweet girl,” she said to my pup. “He’s not here.”
Flora grumbled something unintelligible and then I swear I saw her give Peyton the middle finger. Thankfully, Peyton didn’t see. She was still loving on Lula.
“Such a nice lady,” Peyton said as she came up the sidewalk, watching Miss Flora drive away. She had on jeans today. The skinny kind women wear that hug their every curve. And a steel-blue hoodie that made her eyes pop. It looked so soft it took all my restraint not to hug her and find out. “Hey,” she said, her eyes bright. “Lula looks good. You got the ring back okay?”
“Yeah.” Immediately following the ring incident, Anna had given Lula a shot that made her puke. Yesterday, I’d taken the ring to a jeweler who’d checked it out, declared it perfect, and shined it up good as new. I slid my hands into the pockets of my shorts. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.” I smiled but my heart wasn’t in it. It hadn’t been in anything since Lula swallowed the ring and my hopes had been annihilated. “Where’s Cash?”
“With Braxton.”
I scowled. “Since when does he get Cash on a Friday?”
She sat on the top step and patted the spot next to her. I sat down.
She looked over at me, her eyes so sad. “Since I lost my job and my house, and the judge basically awarded Braxton custody.”
I’d heard about the job. The whole town had. But I hadn’t heard about the rest.
“What? How can the judge do that? You’re an amazing mother.” I turned to look at her. She had dark circles under her eyes. Cash was her entire world. “What do you mean, you lost your house?”
She turned, her knees leaning against mine. “Don’t be mad at me for not telling you, okay? I know how you are and I?—”
“You know how I am?” I shuddered. “What is that supposed to mean?”
She pulled my hand into hers. That small amount of contact lit up my insides like I was thirteen, kissing a girl for the first time.
“It means,” she said carefully. “You like to fix things for people. Even when they don’t want you to.”
“I’m generous. Most people would call it a good quality. What happened to your house, Peyton?” I felt my temper flaring. If I could fix this for her, I would, but it sounded like it was too late for that.
“It’s in foreclosure and Braxton is taking over the payments. It’s done.” She held up her hands like she was over it, but I knew better. She loved that house. Loved the wrap-around porch. Loved the pale purple exterior, the black trimmed windows, and the huge pantry.
My jaw pulsed. “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Because you would’ve hopped in your Jeep and driven straight to the bank to pay it off.”
“Dang right I would’ve,” I growled. “I can’t believe Braxton let you lose it.” I punched my thigh. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sick enough for the both of us.” There was a catch in her words that told me she was holding back tears. Her lips twisted and she picked at the fray on the bottom of her jeans.
I hated to ask my next question but I had to know. “Did your parents try to help? They owe you so much money.” She didn’t make enough in the first place. But she’d been funneling them money for years.
Her face fell and I wished I hadn’t asked. “No. I’ll never see that money again. I never do. Don’t be mad at them,” she pled.
Oh, I was mad at them. I had been for a very long time. Selfish…immature… My molars ground together.
She traced over my ring finger knuckle on my left hand. “I’ve never wanted to use you for your money. I hope you know that.” Something about the way she said it sounded serious.
“Of course, I do.” She wouldn’t even accept gifts. Even ones she needed. Like new shoes or a better coat. “How can I help you get Cash back?”
“Well, it’s funny you should ask.” She pushed up and stood right in front of me as she gazed out over the fields. I wanted to pull her hips closer and rest my forehead against her back. Instead, I curled my hands around my knees, waiting. She turned to face me. Her eyes locked with mine and she looked terrified as she slowly lowered in front of me on both knees. “Oh, sorry, wait.” She adjusted, propping one knee up. Then she took my hand. “Ford Sutton Dupree.” She gave me a shaky smile and blew her breath out in an O. “Will you marry me?”
Did she just propose? I stared at her, shocked.
She proposed .
But it was all wrong. The stiffness of her shoulders, the clenching of her fists, the way her lips were pressed too tight— none of it said excited. Overjoyed. Exuberant. All the things you should feel when you ask someone to marry you.
Wait. Peyton just proposed to me .
I snorted. “Definitely not.” I shot to my feet, feeling…I didn’t even know. “You can’t propose to me. I’m supposed to propose to you. This isn’t the way it’s done. This isn’t the story we want to tell our kids.” My hands tugged at my hair as I wore a line in one of the planks. Peyton wanted to marry me? Like for real?
“What’s the big deal? You’ve already proposed to me a bunch of times.”
A noise escaped my throat—half laugh, half disbelief. “You’re not pulling my leg? You want to get married?
Peyton wants to marry me. Finally!
The relief was like a Mack truck being lifted off my shoulders.
She was still on one knee, waiting for my answer. I slid back into my spot on the stairs, took her face—my favorite face in the world—into my hands, and kissed her. My thumbs curved over her porcelain cheeks. My lips brushed hers—soft as rose petals—over and over. “Yes. Let’s do it. I love you, baby. Yes!” I laughed and kissed her again.
But her lips weren’t moving. She was stiff and cold as if she’d turned into an ice sculpture.
I leaned back and looked into her eyes. They were full of shame. My hands fell away and my stomach turned sour. I scrubbed a hand over my face. “You don’t actually want to be married to me. At all. Getting Cash back is your whole reason for doing this.”
“I can’t live without him.” Her words whooshed out, desperate. "He’s my boy. And Holden says getting married is the fastest way to fix this. And Judge Hadley loves you.”
“Holden told you to marry me?” What the? Who cares? She’s offering marriage. Take it. “This would be a real marriage, though, right? Like we’d kiss, and hug, and sleep in the same bed, and make love.” So much making love. My fingers practically crossed, hoping.
Her shoulders hunched and she shook her head. “No.” But then she nodded. “I don’t know.”
What little excitement I had left deflated. “You don’t want that? With me?” Why didn’t this woman want me? Was I repulsive? No. There was no way. I was way better looking than Braxton. I got offers of marriage weekly, sometimes daily. I’d had multiple stalkers, millions of adoring fans. There were memes about me. Some of my eyes. Or my smile. And other various body parts.
Because you’re famous. They see the fame. The money. She sees the real you.
The darkness tried to creep in and I kicked it out. I could self-deprecate later. Right now, I needed to figure out exactly what was happening.
“Ford, I need to get my boy back.” Her eyes were huge and pleading. “It won’t be forever. No more than five years. Until Cash graduates, tops.” Her hands twisted in front of her. “I’ll sign a prenup. I don’t want any of your money. I just want my son with me.”
But I wanted her to want my money. My home. Everything that came with being a wife for real.
“You want to divorce in five years?” The words didn’t even sound like they’d come from me. They were hollow and far away. Was I having an out-of-body experience?
She pulled my hand to her heart. “Look at it this way. You might hate being married to me. I’ll sass you and I’ll probably nag. I’ll fuss when you leave your socks lying around. And if you don’t put your nail clippings in the trash, I’ll hide them in your morning coffee. You’ll be happy to see me go once Cash gets that diploma.”
I wouldn’t. I already knew that. Even if she fed me nail clippings. If I married her, I’d only fall harder. So when she left in five years…I would be done for. No, I could not afford to fall one speck deeper than I already had. As it was, I felt like I was hanging on by the skin of my teeth.
The Mack truck was back. Except now there were two. Having the chance to make a life with her at the tip of my fingers and knowing I had to let go… It was like purposely cutting my parachute. But at least this way I’d fall from a survivable height. After five years of living with her, laughing with her, loving her from afar, it would be a totally different story. I’d go certifiably insane. Either that or my heart would crack irreparably.
I propped my hands on my hips and blew out my breath. “You’re my best friend and I love you. But I know my limitations. I’m really sorry, Peyt. I’m not going to marry someone who doesn’t want to be married to me for real….” I shook my head, resolute. “That sounds like torture.”