54. June
JUNE
After drinks with Bryan, I asked Roman to take me home.
I could’ve probably asked him to take me back to Ford’s, but considering all the baggage and information I’d laid on him during our conversation, I figured it might be best to give him some time to do what he needs to do without worrying about his girlfriend.
After all, if I’ve learned anything from being with the man, it’s that he likes his space to process things, and finding out his baby sister set his house on fire? Yup. That one’s a doozy.
I grab Quasimodough from the fridge and a scale from the cupboard.
Might as well make some sourdough to pass the time.
Using a glass bowl, I measure out some of the starter, mixing one part flour to two parts water, along with a few other ingredients, forming a lumpy paste.
Perfect. I roll up my pajama sleeves and begin kneading the mess until I’m able to make a less-lumpy ball and all the flour is incorporated.
I’ve always loved baking. The comfortable distraction.
The peaceful monotony. It’s like a scratch to my brain and a sensory high all at once.
The smell, the feel of the dough, and the delicious payoff afterward?
What’s not to love? Satisfied with the dough’s texture, I oil the bowl, then plop the dough into it and grab some plastic wrap to tuck Quasimodough in for the evening.
As I slip the wrap over the top, the hinges squeak on my door, and I look up.
Disappointment fills my gut, but I paste on a fake smile. “Hey, Vi—”
She waves me off. “Don’t look so happy to see me.”
“Of course, I’m happy to see you,” I rush out, drying my hands on a dishtowel hanging from the hook beside the sink. “Are you staying or—”
“Nope. Just thought I’d hitch a ride with my future brother-in-law so I could grab my things, then drive my own car back.” She glances over her shoulder and crooks her finger. “Now, stop torturing the poor girl and come give her a kiss.”
My jaw drops as Ford appears. His sandy brown hair looks like he’s run his fingers through it at least a dozen times tonight.
Add in the oh-so-subtle bags under his eyes and his slightly rumpled shirt, and my heart aches.
He’s been through the wringer tonight, even if he won’t admit it out loud, and all I want to do is give the man a hug.
“Hey,” I murmur.
His long legs carry him into the kitchen in five seconds tops before his arms surround me. Bending down, he breathes me in. “Hey, June Bug.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.” His chest expands on another deep breath. “Fuck, you smell good.”
I smile against him. “Do I?”
“Mm-hmm.” His hum is low and throaty and pulls at my lower stomach. “Like every proud Quasimodough mama should.”
With a laugh, I pinch his butt, then tilt my head back so I can look up at him. “You should’ve told me you were coming. I just got a loaf started, so I have to stay—”
“Already have a bag packed in my trunk.”
My forehead wrinkles. “Wait. So we’re staying here?”
“Yup.”
“But you hate my bed,” I remind him.
With a groan, he brings me closer. “I know. It’s the worst, yet I sleep in it every night.”
“And every morning, you grumble under your breath about how uncomfortable it is,” I reply.
You’d think he’d just buy me a new bed or offer to let me sleep at his place now that the renovations are complete, but here we are.
And the crazy part? I wouldn’t change a thing.
Whether it’s my bed or his, I love sleeping by him every night.
Falling asleep in his arms. Waking up curled against his chest. It’s addictive and comforting and the highlight of my night each and every time.
“I don’t grumble,” he pouts, offended I would even insinuate he’s anything other than perfect.
“Ha!” I roll my eyes. “Of course, you don’t.” My arms hook around his shoulders as he sways us gently from side to side. “You know, if you’d given me a heads up, I would’ve kept Quasimodough in the fridge.”
He quirks his brow. “You think I don’t know my girl well enough to know that when she’s stressed, she bakes?”
“I don’t only bake when I’m stressed.”
“I know.” He kisses my forehead. “You also bake when you’re happy and excited and bored and hungry and—”
“Okay, I get the point.”
With a grin, he presses his lips to mine. “You have no idea how much I needed this.”
“Needed what?”
His arms tighten around me. “This. Holding you. Breathing you in. Knowing you’re okay, and that you’re still mine.”
I give him a heavy sigh. I know we just determined he knows me super well, but considering his insecurities, I’m also convinced he doesn’t know me at all. “Is that what this is about?” I ask. “Your fear of Bryan stealing me away?”
“Of course not.”
I give him a pointed look.
“Okay, maybe a little,” he caves. “Sending my lamb into the lion’s den tonight messed with my head.”
This man and his metaphors. Bug, Volkswagen Beetle, lucky charm.
And now I’m his lamb? Why is that so adorable?
Biting the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning like a lunatic, I drag my hands along his broad chest, letting the steady thump thump of his pulse against my palm ground me.
The fact that Ford thinks it’s even remotely possible for me to be obsessed with anyone other than him is absolutely insane.
Can’t he see I’m the luckiest girl in the world?
“I promise you have nothing to worry about,” I tell him.
“I know.” He kisses me again. “Guess I’m not used to being put first, June Bug.”
My chest squeezes. After learning about his parents and everything he’s been through, it makes more sense than I’d like to admit, and I don’t care if it takes the rest of my measly existence to prove he’s worth the world. I’m determined to make him see it. That he’s a catch. That he’s my catch.
“Well, you should start,” I reply. “Because you and me? We’re the real deal, Ford Harden.”
“The real deal, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
His mouth quirks. “You serious?”
“As ED,” I reply, falling right into his trap and not regretting it in the slightest.
With a laugh, he steals another kiss. “Damn, I love you.”
The words hit just as hard as they did the first time he spoke them.
Love. It wasn’t so long ago that I was convinced he didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Now? Now, he encompasses it so fully, the idea of him feeling anything less for me is…
laughable. Not that I take it for granted.
Never. But he’s the most loving person I’ve ever met.
Caring and kind and genuine. So freaking genuine.
How did I not see it before? How didn’t he?
Running my hands along his chest, then higher, I sweep my thumbs across his stubbled jawline, letting his five-o’clock shadow tickle my palms. “I love you, too.”
“Thanks for the ride, Jeep!” Violet calls. “And by the way, you know you can just push our beds together, right? It’s not like I stay here very much anyway. And now, I won’t feel so guilty that I’ve basically moved in with Jagger without telling you, June.”
Ford tisks back at her. “Nope. No deal. If we make it too comfy, we’ll never leave, and even though this apartment is great,” he grimaces, heaping on the sarcasm with a freaking ladle, “Next time, we’re just bringing Quasimodough with us.”
“And all my things?” I question.
“I’ll make Hawke drop off some boxes.”
“Seems you have an answer for everything,” I note.
“You said so yourself, June Bug.” Towering over me, he brushes his nose against mine in an Eskimo kiss. “I’m like, really smart.”
My mouth splits into a grin despite my best attempt to keep it at bay.
Heaven forbid, we keep this man’s ego in check, but I can’t help it.
He makes me happy. Really freaking happy.
“Okay, mister. We’ll talk logistics later.
For now?” I rise onto my tiptoes and kiss him once more. “It’s time we tuck ourselves in.”
“And when you say tuck, you mean fuck, right?”
I snort. “Who are you, Shakespeare?”
He bounces his eyebrows up and down. “Just wait ‘til I show you what else I can do with this tongue.”
Violet opens the front door. “Aaaand, that’s my cue.”
“Really?” I challenge, my tone thick with amusement as the door clicks shut behind her. “Did you have to go there in front of Vi?”
His eyes crinkle in the corners. “Guess I couldn’t resist.”
The End