Chapter 7
FORD
Staring into my mug of coffee as I lean against the open sliding door to outside, I might appear calm, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous. Throwing my shirt on hasn’t been a priority this morning either.
I haven’t seen Brielle since last night when she walked out of my bedroom after giving me a tease of getting her warm in my bed.
She doesn’t even know that’s what she was doing, or if she did, then she played it steady.
Needless to say, I didn’t get back to sleep easily, especially as the smell of her hair remained on the pillow.
Damn papaya.
It’s almost nine. We are due to see Margo in an hour. It won’t take long to drive to her home. Margo runs a routine, and by ten she wants morning tea in her garden, or the conservatory when the weather is too cold.
I tap my finger on the mug handle, and I decide that I’m not in much of a mood for caffeine.
I walk out onto the patio and set the cup on a table, heading straight for the edge of the tiles to look out and study the middle of the lake.
Old man Pete is swimming. He does it without fail as long as there’s no ice.
Geez, I hope I’m capable of that when I’m his age.
The pattering of heels grabs my attention, and I twist my body to glance over my shoulder.
Fuck me, Brielle is stunning. Her hair is down in waves framing her face, and her shoes are open-toed to show the pale blue polish that matches her fingernails.
She had to choose a baby-pink near-white dress?
It’s exquisite, with short sleeves, yet it flows out at the waist to above her knees.
I never had a fifties-housewife fantasy in my head, but my mind is spinning.
The sunlight shines on her as she stands still by the sliding door. “Really? No shirt? I should have known. Anyway, we should be going soon; I want to stop and pick up some fresh flowers for Margo.”
I smirk, kind of proud of my unintentional shirt move, before I scrub a hand across my jawline, taking a breath to prepare myself for the obstacle of the next few hours—keeping my body in check.
I slide my hand into my dark jeans pocket. I’ll throw on a white buttoned-down t-shirt. Margo likes effort.
“Yeah, sure. Don’t you want some breakfast?”
Elle giggles. “You know she is going to have an array of tea sandwiches and cake that we can’t say no to, right?”
I grin to myself. “That she will.” I walk in Brielle’s direction, and when I notice her adjust her earring, I’m blinded by the light of a diamond on her finger.
A victorious smirk comes over me, and I clear my throat to play this cool. “Nice ring.”
She holds her hand up to examine it. “Not bad. Some guy lost his mind and decided to spend God knows what on this so I can wear it for a few hours.” She gives me a pointed look. “Only a few hours,” she warns.
I chuckle under my breath as I slowly stride to her. “Whatever you say.”
She points her finger at me. “No tricks, Ford.”
“I wouldn’t dare,” I lie.
Brielle pouts a sound before pivoting to head in the direction of the garage.
Step by step.
That’s how I will get her.
After driving into town in silence, I parked on Main Street so we could run into the florist. An overpriced bouquet of purple blooms later, we are walking down the sidewalk, and I’m carrying the flowers that I’m sure will soon make me sneeze.
Brielle touches my elbow to grab my attention. “There’s Piper.”
My eyes follow her line of sight, and I indeed see Piper holding baby Gracie as she closes the car door. Piper is married to Hudson, so she’s my neighbor too.
“Hey, Piper,” I call out.
She immediately looks up and smiles. “Hey, Ford.” She looks confused when she notices who is at my side. “Hey, Brielle, I didn’t know you would be here in Lake Spark this week, with Connor still at camp.”
Brielle gives me the side-eye. “Well, it seems everyone knew Connor would still be at camp except me.”
I can only give my temporary fake fiancée an innocent look.
“Oh.” Piper looks between us. “Will you two stop at April and Spencer’s later? He popped the big question last night, so we all, of course, need the play-by-play.”
“We’ll try,” I say.
Gracie fusses, and Piper bounces the near toddler against her hip. “This one has been keeping us busy. No rest for the wicked, right? I’m hoping the drugstore has something for her skin.”
“What’s wrong?” Brielle asks, concerned, and reaches out for Gracie’s little finger.
“She has a little eczema, and nothing seems to work.”
“Try pure chamomile oil. There is also this oat oil for the bath. It’s supposed to be for Chickenpox, but it works wonders in general. Connor had the same problem at Gracie’s age, kept me up for hours some nights because he was itchy,” Brielle explains as Gracie grips her fingers.
Piper seems grateful for the advice. “I will go grab those items right now.”
They’re both chatting about something, but I zone out. Mostly because guilt hits me. I missed a lot when Connor was a baby, and Brielle took the brunt of it all. The sleepless nights, teething, every fever and cold. Her mom helped, but I should have been there.
After we say our goodbyes, we walk to my car and get in, the flowers finding a home on the back seat of my Ferrari.
I start the engine but freeze, debating if I should bring this up now, but the thought wrestles in my brain. “You don’t resent me, right?” It falls off my tongue. My gaze leads me to Brielle who looks at me, unsure.
“What do you mean?”
“When Connor was a baby, you had it a hell of a lot harder than I did.”
“Did I?” I can’t read her.
I touch the top of her hands that are folded on her lap. “Don’t pretend. We both know you did.”
She sighs. “It’s all a blur of sleepless nights. It doesn’t matter. You are a great dad,” she assures me.
“That’s not what I’m asking. You can be a great dad but miss moments. I wasn’t there enough for you.”
Her eyes narrow in on me. “What do you want to hear? Yeah, it was tough. But you had hockey and…”
“It’s okay, be honest.”
“I don’t want to say it’s resentment or disappointment. You were building a career that provides for our son. I just… I don’t know…” She rolls her shoulder back. “Let’s just go to Margo’s, we can’t be late.”
“Don’t change the subject.” I hear the edge in my voice.
“Okay, yes. Sometimes I look back and hate how the cards fell, but I also don’t regret it. We have a great boy, and it all worked out in the end.” She avoids my eyes and looks out the window.
I laugh without humor. “I don’t think it worked out.”
“Stop saying that!” She raises her voice which surprises both of us. “I mean, Ford, I have a whole list of things that I wish were different, things I could be mad at you for, but we have to parent together, so I let it go.”
“Tell me the list,” I urge, with my eyes never blinking.
She shakes her head. “No.”
“Yes.”
“Fine. If you want to go down this road, then let me rip the band-aid off.” Her voice is pure frustration. “I hate that it’s my choice that put us in this situation.”
My heart sinks, and I want to immediately comfort her.
I urge her to turn her body in my direction by touching her arm.
“Don’t. I’m promising you that it’s not your fault.
” Her eyes well with water, and now I feel like an ass for getting her into an emotional state.
“I need to hear you say it, that you understand that I don’t believe it’s your fault. Tell me,” I plead.
She nods once. “I do believe you.”
“Go on. What else is on the list? Every little thing.”
Her eyes flutter to keep her tears in. “You weren’t there when Connor had Chickenpox, that was hell. Or when I had to cram for a midterm, but Connor wouldn’t sleep, and my parents were on vacation. I hate that you got him a game console when he was only four.”
“Whoa, it was educational,” I say in an attempt to make her smile.
“It was a nuisance.”
I touch her cheek and rub my thumb along her cheekbone. “What else?”
“How every time Connor and I would visit you at a hockey game, you made it a grand experience for him that he would talk about for weeks. Which is amazing, but I couldn’t escape hearing your name more than usual. And God, that blonde you dated once was a real bitch, way too doll perfect.”
“She didn’t hold a candle to you, and I hated that nerd from your poli-sci class. Could have throttled him.”
“I know. And he didn’t even like pizza, what kind of person is that?” Now she is attempting to lighten the mood.
“I hate that I see you all the time. A great mom, so fucking sexy, and I wish every man knew that I have a claim to you.”
“Caveman,” she one-tones.
I twirl some of her hair around my finger. “I’d commit murder for you.”
“Now you just sound like a true crime in the making.”
A half-smile creeps on my lips. “My only crime is not confronting us sooner.”
“We were occupied.”
“Now we’re not.”
She laughs and licks her lips. “No, now you have me pretending to be your fiancée, and I have a Bar exam to cram for.”
“Our parents will love it,” I joke because they may all kill me. I think over time, Brielle’s parents slowly disliked me more due to my career, and my own father still believes she’s the distraction I don’t need.
Brielle gives me a doubtful look. “I’m sure my father still has a shotgun somewhere.”
We sit in my car in silence, unsure if this is relief or if the pot has been stirred even more.
“Come on, we really can’t be late,” she insists.
I nod and get to work on pulling us out of the parking spot.
We arrive at Margo’s mansion, with her well-manicured plants and long driveway. She has help, but still, this feels a little too much considering she lives here alone.
Getting out of the car, I circle around the front to open the passenger’s side. I offer my hand to Brielle, and she shakes her head, amused. I’m going to be over the top.
She’s holding the flowers in one arm. “I swear to God, do not make me regret this.”
“Come on, it’s for a good cause.”