CHAPTER 15 Tatum Barker
I Don’t Want to Fake
I don’t really know what to say. Everyone in this room appears to have been rooting for me and…Ford?
Not Archer? The man I spent half my life loving, crushing on, pining after? But Ford? Ford? The man I’m pretending to be with to keep them out of my hair for the day?
What alternate universe have I stepped in?
They’re careful not to say a bad word about Archer, which I appreciate. He’s a good man, and I care about him. Besides, he’s Ford’s brother. It’s not like they can sit here insulting him.
But they definitely play up how much they always thought Ford was a better fit for me.
He’s more outgoing than Archer, which is likely a better match for my personality.
He’s also analytical and strategic, focused and reliable, which are probably necessary traits in a partner to my complete and utter hot mess chaos.
But the truth is that my family probably knew Ford better than they ever got to know Archer.
That’s partly Archer’s fault since he doesn’t let anybody get to know him, but I suspect more of it has to do with the fact that Colton and Ford played football together.
They were in the same grade. They were old friends who lost touch after high school.
But he’d eat dinner at our house once in a while. As he grew apart from his brother, he grew closer to mine—and other guys on the team. It’s not like Colt and Ford were best friends or anything, but they played the same sport and spent plenty of time together.
And now I come to find out that my brother saw me ending up with Ford all along? Mom and Dad, too?
I’m so confused. So very, very confused. It’s like I invited them in, and we all entered the twilight zone together.
Except we didn’t. We’re still right here in Tampa.
And is that a boner digging into my ass?
Is Ford turned on by the fact that I’m sitting on his lap? Or is that just my own wishful, lustful thinking?
What the hell is happening right now?
After that one kiss we shared when he pulled away, I focused on Archer. I didn’t allow myself to look past Archer to see Ford standing right there, but suddenly, pieces start falling into place.
When I asked if I could come stay with him after Archer and I broke up, the answer was immediate.
When I asked if I should buy the Winston Manor, he did me one better by offering to put up half, pushing us together as not just friends but business partners.
When Archer took me to our senior prom and Ford was home from college on spring break, I didn’t miss the somber look in his eyes.
I didn’t know it was because Archer asked him to snap some pictures of the two of us, oblivious to what might’ve been simmering between us.
Maybe I was oblivious, too. I thought Ford wasn’t interested. That he forgot about that kiss.
My God. Does it span that far back, and I just never knew? Or was there some other reason his eyes lit up when I walked in the room in my fancy purple dress but turned dark when I took my spot beside my date?
I won’t know if I don’t ask, but as instances such as these continue hitting me over the head, I feel the sudden need to get some space. I’m just not entirely sure if I need space from my family or from Ford and the boner by my ass as I piece together exactly what I’m feeling.
“I need to go check the food,” I mumble as I push to a stand.
“I’ll help,” Ford says.
It’s an open floor plan. It’s not like we can whisper in the kitchen about how long he might’ve had feelings for me, or whether I’m delusional, or how I’m suddenly discovering that maybe I have feelings for him.
And oh, by the way, was his cock hard while I was sitting on his lap, or did he just have a giant pipe in his pocket?
I’d never ask that last one, just for the record. No matter how freaking curious I am right now.
I mash the shit out of those poor potatoes, and Ford slices the turkey.
“Can I help?” my mother calls from the family room.
“It’s all under control, but Dad, if you want to pour the wine, now’s your time to shine,” I say, and he joins us in the kitchen.
Ford bumps into me, and I nearly drop the potato masher thing at the sudden electric spark that passes between us.
“Oh, honey, use the hand mixer. It’s so much faster,” my mom says as she approaches us.
“I like them a little lumpy,” I mutter. If I wanted her help, I would have asked her to bring the potatoes. I realize how bratty that sounds, but this fake thing with Ford was supposed to help keep my family out of my personal life today.
Not flip the script to make me see how I was with the wrong brother all along.
Sue me if I’m a little vulnerable after the last half hour sitting on Ford’s lap in the family room.
“Suit yourself,” she says, and she moves to help my dad with the wine.
Ford leans in closer to me, and I suddenly smell him. I smell him. I’ve never smelled Ford Bradley a day in my life, but he smells like a goddamn five-star resort on the beach somewhere. Clean and fresh and a little bright and expensive.
I push the thought away. So he smells good. Big deal.
He’s done carving the turkey, I’m done mashing the potatoes, and we start carrying the dishes to the table. I gaze with curiosity at his green bean dish.
It looks…delightful. Not at all like that trash casserole everyone else brings to Thanksgiving dinner.
“Dinner is served,” I call formally, and my family joins me in the kitchen. Layla has already strapped my nephew’s booster seat to one of the kitchen chairs, and we all take our places around the table.
Ford and I are closest to the kitchen so we can grab whatever our guests might need, and after my father insists on saying a prayer, my mother says, “Let’s all go around and say one thing we’re thankful for this year before we begin.
I’ll start. I’m thankful for a year where we get to sit around a table together and celebrate this holiday. Larry?” She looks over at her husband.
“I’m thankful to be in Florida with this gorgeous weather. Sure don’t miss digging out of an early blizzard on Thanksgiving back home in Chicago,” he says. He looks to my brother next.
“I’m thankful for Layla and Maddox and the little family we’re creating.”
In the middle between them, Maddox says, “Gah!”
Layla goes next. “I’m thankful for the little one coming to us next June.” She rubs her belly, and there’s a moment of pause while the news hits us all. And then, suddenly, everyone is up and out of their seats with congratulatory hugs that my brother is growing his family by one more sweet baby.
He’s only twenty-nine. Ford’s age. He’s turning the corner of thirty, and he’s about to have two kids.
I don’t even have a boyfriend anymore. I’m nowhere close to having a family, even though it’s always been a dream of mine.
Instead, I’m starting to feel things for my ex’s brother that I have no business feeling.
Once we’re seated and the food is starting to get cold, I say, “Let’s eat!”
“Well, wait a minute, honey,” my mom says. “You and Ford haven’t gone yet.”
I nod at Ford to go first.
He glances at me. “I’m thankful we were finally given the chance to be together.” He leans over and presses his lips to mine, and my thighs clench together involuntarily.
Whoa.
My God.
What the hell is happening?
And why do I keep having the same recurring thought with every minute that passes us by?
I’m starting to become fairly certain that I don’t want to fake this with him at all.
I think maybe I want this to be real.