10. Peyton
CHAPTER 10
peyton
L ast night, Ford left me distraught on his porch. After a half hour of waiting, hoping Holden had talked some sense into him, I headed home to doom spiral some more. I thought I’d finally done it. After years of being friends, I’d hurt Ford so much that he’d never speak to me again. So not only had I lost my job, my house, and Cash, I’d lost my best friend too.
But then Ford texted this afternoon, saying he was picking me up at 8:30 and to wear something nice. When I’d texted back to ask him where we were going and if this meant he’d marry me, he’d left me on read. Now, riding shotgun in his Jeep with him at the wheel, he was quiet and thoughtful. Two things Ford never was.
“You’re going to need Botox if you don’t stop scowling,” I said, trying to break the silence.
“Then I’ll get Botox.” He scowled some more.
“Must be nice,” I muttered, glancing out the window. “Are we going back to your place?” Why’d he have me dress up if we were doing the same thing we always did?
“Yup.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me to drive?”
“Because your truck is already on its dying breath.” A line cut across his brow. “Wish you would let me buy you that Ford Bronco. Robin’s Egg blue. Actual Bluetooth that hooks up to your speakers without plugging in an aux cord. You know you want it.”
“I want a lot of things. You’re not buying me a car. That’s a ridiculous amount of money.” I dropped my head back against the headrest. “You should’ve let me drive. Now you’ll have to take me home and it’s already late.”
“You can stay out past 8:30 now that you don’t have a job to get up and go to. You should sleep in tomorrow.” He chuckled and a gentle warmth spread through my chest. I loved his laugh. “Sit back and relax. Let me worry about the details for once.”
“What details?”
“ Peyton .” He grabbed my hand from my lap, slid his palm against mine, and intertwined our fingers. My pulse started typing out the Morse code for can’t breathe . “UConnect,” Ford said to his Jeep, in his soft tenor. “Play One Direction.”
I turned to study him, suspicious. “What are you up to?” Ford never listened to anything but country.
He flipped the blinker. “Just trying to help you unwind.”
“Unwind? I haven’t worked in three days. All I’ve been doing is unwinding.”
He laughed out a single ha . “So you’re telling me your stomach isn’t in knots about how you’re going to pay your bills? Or the fact that you have to move? I bet you already packed your entire bedroom.”
I chewed my lip. “And the pantry.” Now, if I only knew where I was moving my things to. I really didn’t want to freeload off of Holden and Christy. But without a job and no money, I couldn’t be choosy. I needed to chill and be grateful I had options. It was more than some people had.
“What Makes You Beautiful” bellowed through the speakers. It was a smart move to play one of my favorite boy bands. I couldn’t resist this song, even if I had heard it a thousand times. Before I knew it, my mouth was moving and I was singing along.
He smiled and sang along too. Something was definitely up.
Once we were through the gate at the end of his driveway, the back of my neck prickled and I sat up straight. “You put up lights?”
Two hundred redbud trees in full bloom lined Ford’s driveway. They were already breathtaking. Like you were driving through a canopy of pure springtime. But tonight they were something else entirely. The sun had set forty-five minutes ago. Someone had wrapped tiny Christmas lights around every tree, creating a sparkling wonderland.
“Yes, ma’am.” He flashed his cocky grin. “Just getting ready for Christmas.”
“Christmas? It’s April. No way you did this all by yourself.”
“I may have had a little help.” His tone sounded slightly mischievous.
I glanced over at him, really looking at him for the first time tonight. His arm was outstretched, his hand gripping the top of the steering wheel. I may or may not have appreciated the slant of his strong jaw. His straight nose. The perfect purse of his lips. And…I just realized he had a faint faux hawk mullet. Again.
I hadn’t seen that style on him since Anna was an undergrad. When I was still married to Braxton. Ford was the only man on the planet who could pull that haircut off without me hating it. Then again, he could probably shave his head and he’d still be handsome.
“You got a haircut today?” I looked down at his outfit. “Are those new slacks? And,” I leaned over, looking at his top half. “Are you wearing a button-down under that expensive-looking fitted quilted hoodie?” My nose scrunched. “A quilted hoodie? What preppy, Ivy League trust fund recipient’s closet did you raid?” Ford was a jeans, cowboy boots, T-shirt wearing fool. If it required an iron, he didn’t touch it with a ten-foot pole. Dry clean only? Ha. It was survival of the fittest in his washer and dryer. Yes, he liked expensive clothes, but not at the expense of his comfort.
The only time I’d ever seen him dressed up was at various Dupree family weddings and the AMAs. Not gonna lie—the man looked slick in a suit. Fine—I’d lie to him. He didn’t need his head getting any bigger. But I wouldn’t lie to myself. I couldn’t. My stomach tremored, remembering.
He tugged on the collar of the navy blue hoodie that looked like it cost more than my entire outfit. “Do I look bad?”
“No.” My gaze lifted to his face. He’d shaved too. I let myself linger on his eyes. Eyes that looked like they’d been dreamt up by some celestial design committee. If the color wasn’t bad enough, the lashes framing those Michelango-worthy irises were a promise to break the heart of any female in his line of sight. “No, you do not.”
He practically glowed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“Why are you so dressed up if we’re hanging at your house?”
We came over the last bend, and his monstrous, timber-framed mansion came into view. Even after six years, I got overwhelmed every time I looked at it. Seven thousand square feet covered in stately gray stone, black trimmed windows, and cream-colored hardy board siding. The roof was a matte black tin. When it rained, it was better than white noise. Ford had to shake me awake more than once.
“I swear, girl. You have to stop asking so many questions.” His garage door started to lift without being instructed. He pulled hard left so he could back in.
“Such a man.” I snorted.
“Admit it, Peyton. You find reverse parking sexy.”
He put his hand against my headrest and his scent drifted straight up my nostrils. Of course, his aftershave was a biological cheat code. It was crisp, woodsy, and had an underlying warmth that made my traitorous body go into full surrender mode before my brain could even register what was happening. An embarrassing moan warbled in my throat.
Evil man.
I leaned toward my door, trying to shake the trance he’d put me in. “Sexy? Not hardly. It’s ridiculous. Time consuming. Completely inefficient.” I waved my hand at the steering wheel. “Is this some kind of male peacocking ritual? Do guys wake up every morning thinking, 'How can I assert my automotive dominance today?' Because let me tell you, nothing says I’m a capable human like spending three extra minutes backing into a parking spot when you could just, I don't know, drive straight in like a normal person.”
With the Jeep perfectly aligned and tucked into the garage bay, he pushed the off button and the engine died. Then his chin tipped up and he grinned. “Don’t be jealous. I’ll give you lessons if you want.”
I rolled my eyes and reached for the door.
“Nope.” He put a hand on my elbow, holding me in place. “You’re going to let me open your door.” I would’ve argued but his tone was stern, bossy—he sounded like me— and I was curious to see what this was about.
He climbed out and came around the back. When he opened my door, he stood, hands propped on his hips, eyes on the floor. His chest heaved as if he were steeling himself for something terrible.
His gaze lifted to mine and my breath hitched. The man kept shifting from foot to foot like he was nervous. Ford performed in sold-out ballparks. Heck, he’d played for a record-breaking crowd at Texas A&M’s football stadium. There was nothing about me that made him nervous. Whatever had him tied in knots, I had a feeling it was lurking on the other side of the mud room door.
“You’re kind of scaring me?” I said. “Did you bring me over here to help you bury a body?”
He pursed his lips. “Yup. Told you to dress up fancy so we could ‘Goodbye Earl’ the annoying college student who keeps lurking at the end of the driveway, trying to sell me pest control. Because a white flouncy sundress that shows off your legs is the perfect outfit for wrangling a corpse.”
I ran my hands over the skirt of my white eyelet mini ruffle dress. “You likey?” I’d gotten it for thirteen dollars at the second-hand store last time Cash and I were in Honeyville. It even had puffed sleeves. I wouldn’t tell Ford how little I’d paid though. He’d insist on taking me to the mall to buy me an entirely new wardrobe of fully priced clothes.
His eyes smoldered. “I like you in anything. But yes, I like your dress. A lot .”
My cheeks flushed, which made him chuckle. He reached his hands out and I let him place them on my hips, helping me down. Once my feet were on the concrete floor, he didn’t let go. I looked up into his eyes.
“I’m going to need you to trust me,” he said so seriously it hurt a little.
I brushed a curl out of his eye. “Okay.” I smiled. “I trust you.”
His chest deflated with an exhale. “Good. Because whatever happens in here, you need to roll with it.”
I stared at him, waiting for clarification. When none came, I said, “Ooh-kay. That’s not sus.” What was inside? My eyes flew open. “Is your mom in there?”
I was lowkey terrified of that woman. I was pretty sure she despised me. I’d heard her whispering once to Bo, ‘Poor Ford. Peyton’s strung that boy out so long, he's more tangled up than last year's Christmas lights.’ It was one of the reasons I’d shoved him at Georgia.
I knew that’s how it looked but I was trying so hard not to do that. It was Ford who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Then again, he’d given me a solid no last night.
Oh no.
What if he’d brought me over here to break up with me? As friends. Maybe proposing a fake marriage was the final straw and he wanted to share one last meal before lowering the boom.
The thought seized my lungs with a vice grip. I couldn’t live without Ford. I needed his friendship. Especially with everything going on with Cash right now. And my parents hasta la vista-ing to the Vacation Kingdom of the World.
“You ready?” he asked, reaching for my hand.
I nodded and threaded my trembling fingers through his.