46. June
JUNE
“Morning, sleepyhead.” A kiss hits my forehead, and I roll onto my stomach.
“Five more minutes.”
“Sorry, June Bug. It’s time to rise and shine.”
Rise and shine? It can’t be past seven in the morning. “My alarm hasn’t gone off yet,” I grumble into my pillow. And also, why are we having this conversation?
“Because I turned it off,” Ford announces. “It’s ten a.m.”
I jolt up. “What?” I fumble with my phone on the nightstand and check the time. “I was supposed to be at work two hours ago!”
“Calm your perfect tits.” He blocks me from running around the room like a chicken with my head cut off and sits down on the edge of the bed. “I took care of it.”
“Took care of it?” I repeat. “What’s there to take care of? Ford, I need to go—”
“Give me two minutes.”
“Two minutes?”
“You’re already late, and I already told you I took care of it, so what’s two minutes?” he argues.
My eyes thin, but I will my body to relax.
Besides, I am already late. Two minutes won’t make a difference in the big scheme of things, anyway.
I’ll just…come up with a lie. Maybe I crashed my car.
Maybe I was swept to the hospital which is why I didn’t make it to my shift.
That kind of thing. Easy peasy, lemon squeazy.
Kind of.
I really hope I don’t lose my job.
When Ford stays quiet, I mutter, “You have a hundred seconds.”
His mouth curves up. “So, I’ve been thinking.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah.” He drags his fingers along my bare skin, from my shoulder, down the outside of my arm, then along the inside of my wrist before playing with my fingers like he did last night.
Actually, like a dozen other times before.
I’m pretty sure it’s a quirky tick of his, but I’m not complaining.
Tingles spread outward from his innocent touch while I try to focus on our conversation instead of how good it feels and how easily it relaxes me.
It’s like it has a direct line to my anxiety, and with a few sweeps of his fingertips, I’m disarmed completely.
“We never got that date,” Ford informs me.
My brows furrow. “What date?”
“The one I paid for,” he explains. “From the auction.”
My stomach folds at the memory alone. Seriously, being sick sucks. But being sick and having a hot guy like Ford take care of you? Not so sucky. I do feel bad I ruined our activity, though. “Oh, yeah.” I grimace. “I guess I owe you, huh?”
“Yeah, I mean, faking sick to get out of a date?” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Not cool, Bug.”
I roll my eyes. “And however will I make it up to you?”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something.” He winks. “But in the meantime, I came up with an alternative.”
An alternative? Color me intrigued. There’s something seriously sexy about a guy who’s willing to plan out a surprise for someone he cares about, and being on the receiving end of said surprise when the man to create it is Ford?
Swoon.
“And?” I prod, unable to help myself.
Ford stands, opens the bi-fold doors to the closet, and reveals a duffle bag. It’s not just any duffle bag. It’s my duffle bag. And it isn’t a pancake, either. Nope. That thing is chock-full. Of what, I’m not sure, but it definitely isn’t empty.
Pushing to my feet, I march closer to inspect it. “What the heck?”
“I had Violet pack your bag.”
“Why?” I look over my shoulder at him. Thanks to his puffed-out chest and wide stance, the man looks so proud of himself he might very well reach over and pat himself on the back. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Ford,” I push.
“It’s a surprise.”
“I’m not sure I like surprises,” I muse, no matter how false the statement is. Now, I don’t usually like surprises, but if they come from the man I’m most definitely falling for? Yeah, I’m not complaining. However, if he continues keeping me in the dark, we might have a problem.
“Bet you like them more than Hawke,” he replies. “Hawke hates surprises.”
“I’m thinking he might be on to something. What about my work?”
“Lexie already called in for you.”
Wait, what?
I scratch my hairline, convinced I’m still dreaming. “Lexie?” I ask.
“Her June impression was better than Vi’s,” Ford explains. “Honestly, it was a little scary. It’s a good thing she isn’t an evil villain."
Evil villain? Lexie? Yeah, that tracks.
“Guess it depends on how you look at it since you’re basically kidnapping me,” I remind him.
“You think I’d let you fake sick to get out of this twice?” Scoffing, he picks up the full duffle bag and tosses it over his shoulder. “Come on, June. You should know better.”
“So you had me fake sick?” I ask.
“Yeah.”
“And my boss was okay with it?”
“None the wiser,” he confirms before drawing an X over his chest. “Cross my heart, and hope to die.”
Well, okay then. Guess he’s got everything figured out. I’d be annoyed, if I wasn’t so curious. It’s like he’s really thought of everything. “Can you at least tell me how long we’ll be gone?”
“Well, since I didn’t know how much sick time you have, and it felt like Lexie would ruin your credibility at work if she asked this morning, we played it safe and only asked for the day. We’ll be home by Sunday evening.”
My eyes pop. “Sunday? As in, the whole weekend?”
“Unless I’m kicked out before then, yes.”
What in the world is this man talking about? “Kicked out? From where?”
“You’ll see.” With a smirk, he kisses the tip of my nose. “For now, shower, get dressed, then meet me in the kitchen. Quasimodough and I have some pancakes to make.”
It didn’t take long for me to realize the first stop was the airport. From there, Ford managed to keep things quiet while parking and going through security, but after we reached the gate, there was no going back. My lips part as I read Austin, Texas on the gate’s display.
Home? He’s taking me home?
Turning to face Ford, I blink away the moisture in my gaze. “Are you serious?”
“As ED.”
“How did you…do my parents…have you reached out to…Ford!” I wrap my arms around his neck, squeezing him tight.
His hands find my waist in an instant as he pulls me closer.
“I cannot believe you did this,” I all but squeal.
And it’s true. I genuinely can’t wrap my head around this.
I get to see my mom and dad today? Really?
“It’s not much, June Bug,” he murmurs against the shell of my ear.
Is he kidding? He must be. Because this isn’t just much, this is huge. This is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me, and I mean ever. How did he know I needed this? How is he always so freaking thoughtful? It’s like he sees everything.
Letting him go, I wipe at my cheek, so caught off guard and blown away, I don’t even know what to say. “Thank you. Seriously. I don’t…I don’t know what to say.”
“Don’t thank me too much. Not yet.” He squeezes the back of his neck, suddenly…I don’t know, shy? Unsure, maybe? It’s so unlike him, I’m kind of taken aback.
With a frown, I ask, “What do you mean?”
“I still have to convince your parents to like me.”
Is this man serious? He’s gorgeous, charming, kind, witty. There isn’t a single off-putting bone in his body, and he’s nervous my parents won’t like him? It’s like he’s never spent time in a room with himself or something. “Trust me,” I pat his chest, “they’ll love you.”
Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, he looks up at the sign but doesn’t answer me.
It’s like he’s unable to hold my gaze or something.
So, he is nervous. The question is, why?
The guy is the most arrogant—okay, confident—person I’ve ever met, and he’s nervous to meet my parents?
If I didn’t think I loved him before, the feeling is very clear now.
If only he knew how accepting my parents are, he’d realize he has nothing to worry about.
But maybe that’s the problem. His only experience with parental figures has been from his own, and from witnessing the literal aftermath of one of their encounters, it suddenly makes sense.
Of course, he’s nervous. If his own father can verbally and physically abuse him, who’s to say mine won’t do the same?
Okay, not the abuse part, but the derision part?
The unwelcoming jerkface behavior part? That’s very much a possibility, or at least, it would make sense for Ford to think it was a possibility since he’s never met my dad.
I tangle my fingers with his and bring the backs of his hands to my mouth. I kiss each one gently as we wait to board the flight. “Ford,” I murmur.
He blinks and looks down at me. “Yeah?”
“You have absolutely nothing to worry about.”
His nostrils flare. “We’ll see.”
“I’m serious,” I push. “I know your experience with parental figures is a little shakier than most, but trust me. I am positive they are going to love you. Do you want to know why?”
“Why?”
“Because I love—”
His eyes bulge, and so do mine.
Holy crap. Did I just tell him I love him?
I mean, I do, but I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that. Is it too soon? Probably. Does it make me feel like an idiot? Definitely. Will it scare him away? Possibly.
“I didn’t,” I start. “I mean, I do, but I didn’t mean to blurt it out like that or make you feel like just because you did something insanely nice and thoughtful that it would push me over the edge into, you know, when I’m pretty sure I felt that way before you woke me up this morning, and—”
“Hey, June?”
“Yeah?”
He moves nearer and grabs my waist. “Shut up and let me kiss you, okay?”
My head bobs, and his mouth descends on mine.
Tasting. Teasing. In the middle of a crowded airport.
It should make me uncomfortable—not the kiss, the crowd—but it doesn’t.
All I feel is Ford. His hands, his warmth, the gentle pressure of his mouth and subtle sweep of his tongue.
I kiss him back, absorbing the moment and how easily he manages to ease my fears and insecurities.
And trust me, I have plenty of physical and emotional insecurities.
And telling a guy like Ford, a guy who is handsome and charismatic and the heir of a billion-dollar company, that I love him?
Yeah. Pretty sure it’s a doozy on my insecurities.
Yet, when we’re together, when he’s touching me like this and talking to me and offering tutoring services, it helps me feel like I belong.
Like he might just be as infatuated with me as I am with him.
Maybe. Possibly. Probably. I mean, he’s taking me to see my parents, for Pete’s sake.
It might not mean love, but it definitely means we’re on the right track, doesn’t it?
I fist the back of his shirt, praying it’ll ground me and keep me from floating away from his kiss and thoughtfulness.
When he finally pulls away, he grits out, “I love you, too.”
My heart stutters, and my mouth parts. Did he really just say those four words? “You do?”
“Yeah, June.” He smiles. “I really do.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
His smile grows. “I know.”