CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Ellery
It takes everything I have to step out of the car.
The inn is before me in all its remodeled glory. How ironic I stood here months ago with a pocketful of hope and no idea what this chance would offer me—if anything.
It gave me a new sense of myself, a confidence in my professional skills I never knew I had, and now a huge project under my belt that I can use as a reference.
It gave me a chance to see that I’m capable of feeling. Of receiving love . . . and now . . . now I need to steel myself for the person I want to love but am terrified to allow myself to.
And maybe that’s why I’m still sitting in my car, one foot out of the open door, the other in the footwell, as I summon the courage to face Ford for the first time in two weeks. Sure, we’ve talked through emails. Through conference calls with multiple people on the line.
But I haven’t seen him. I haven’t had a one-on-one conversation with him.
Until now.
Today is the contractors’ walk-through. The day where the people who made my dream come to life, get to see the finished product, what their work contributed to, before it opens to the public.
I wouldn’t miss it for the world, even if it means facing Ford before I have answers, or a sign, or whatever ridiculous thing I’m waiting for to tell me it’s okay to love him.
That it’s okay to be afraid but still love him.
I stare at this new beginning for me. Think about the memories we made inside. The partnership I cemented. And I miss him more than I ever thought possible.
“It’s a day for a lot of new things, Sinclair,” I murmur to myself as I take a deep breath and exit my car.
The inn looks incredible. The exterior is stunning with its lush landscape and newly made stone perimeter wall.
My smile is automatic. My vision came to life, and I feel a sudden pang of regret over missing the last two weeks here.
Over not being a part of the little nuances and problems that probably caused Ford and Roddy to scramble to figure out.
Of not being here to finish the job Ford and I started together on a whim.
I just need space.
Isn’t that what I told him the first and only time we spoke after I left?
When I told him that I was working remotely with Roddy to make sure my presence was felt in my absence?
Isn’t that what I kept saying in my head every night as I cried myself to sleep?
Isn’t that what I repeated on the drive here only to have it go out the window the minute I pulled in?
It was so much easier to heed my own request when I was away from Ford. But now that I’m here, and I’m more than certain he’s in there, I’m a mixture of every emotion imaginable as I move one foot after another toward him.
There are still a few things that need to be fixed or finished.
Even now, I can’t shut off my brain from looking for them.
The right shutter on the fourth floor, three windows over from the right is slightly crooked.
A plant near the left corner has already died.
The planter by the front door isn’t centered the same on the right as it is on the left.
And there is no signage for the inn’s name.
I guess that would be my fault. He asked and I never delivered an answer. Maybe I felt like I didn’t deserve to, or that he’d moved on and did it himself. Or maybe I was afraid to permanently place my mark on something we’d never share again.
Stop thinking that way, Elle.
Start thinking positively. Take this next step forward. You’ve already negotiated with your stepdad and have officially bound yourself to S.I.N. for the foreseeable future in the hopes that Ford will see you’re ready to commit to something with him.
If he’ll still have you.
I push open the front door, expecting there to be a flurry of contractors and their significant others milling about the halls.
But I don’t see anyone.
I move from one location to the next, the silence of the inn deafening, and I check my phone to make sure I didn’t mess up. That this is the time the invitation said.
It is.
“Hello?” I call out, feeling like a stranger in something I own.
Partially.
Fifty-fifty.
The thought brings a ghost of a smile to my lips as an “Up here” calls back to me.
I make my way to the rooftop bar expecting the party to be up there but walk into a completely empty space.
My breath falters as I hold my hand to my mouth. It’s done and absolutely gorgeous. This was the last place to be finished and so I missed seeing it come to fruition, but . . . wow.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Ford asks from behind me, and my heart swells in my chest.
I hang my head for a beat, steeling myself for the visceral reaction I know will happen when I see him.
I only last seconds before I turn around to face him. He’s standing in the doorway with a Henley and a nice pair of jeans on. His hair is messy like I like it, and the hope in his smile owns every sad, scared, hopeful part of me.
I love him.
I get the chance to love him.
It’s the same thing I’ve repeated over and over for the past few weeks. The same phrases I’ve been teaching myself to not wince at or be on the defensive when I say them.
Because it’s true. As much as it terrifies me, I love Fordham Sharpe.
“You did a great job,” I say, starting easy.
“No, we did a great job.” He smiles softly. “You look good, Celery Ellery.”
“You too, Fordham the University. Where is everyone?”
He chuckles, looking down at the floor and then back to me. “They’ll be here in thirty minutes. I may have changed the time on your invitation so I could see you first. You know, I’m selfish like that.”
“Ford—”
“It was a joke, Elle. Aren’t we past that yet?”
“Yes.” Please still love me. Please tell me it’s not too late. “So you’ve seen me first, now what?”
“Several things.”
“As in?”
He motions to the bar top, to where papers are laid out to the far right. I’m not sure if I’m happy that he’s being all business—buying me more time—or upset. What did I expect after I hurt him? For him to pull me into his arms and tell me he loves me after I rebuffed him once already?
I take a fortifying breath as doubt starts to creep in. Did I wait too long? Has he moved on? Am I too late?
But when he turns and looks at me, that smile warming up his face as he motions for me to move to where he is, I know it’s going to be okay.
He has a way of doing that to me. Soothing away the panic.
Curious, I move toward the papers, graphics really, and then gasp when I see the entirety of the renderings. On the bar are about ten different mock-ups of possible logos and signage for the inn.
But it’s not the masterful designs that bring tears to my eyes. It’s the name of the inn itself that Ford has selected.
Azure. A Sharpe Signature Collection.
I try to blink tears away but fail as I stare at a name that means so very much to me. “Ford? Do you know—”
“I do,” he murmurs as he moves beside me. “Delia Azure Sinclair-Haywood. Mother of one Ellery Jean Sinclair. I thought it only fitting that since I have a way of honoring my father with the inn’s name, that you should have the same opportunity.”
“So you named it after my mother?” I ask.
“I did, yes. I hope you don’t mind.”
I asked you for a sign, Mom, and this was a huge, flashing one that I couldn’t miss. Literally and figuratively. Thank you.
“Fordham . . .” I whisper as I reach out and run my fingers over the designs as if I can feel them before turning to look at him. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”
“Don’t thank me. This is half yours too. Remember—”
“Fifty-fifty,” I say.
“Fifty-fifty. And I figure the next one can be a nod to my mom somehow. Then the one after, a nod to your dad . . . and so on. I want to find a way to honor those we’ve loved and lost, not just exist with the loss.”
“You’re serious?”
“I am.”
“But why . . . I mean . . .”
“You asked for space. I gave you space. But rest assured, I wasn’t letting you go.
Not on your life.” He purses his lips and plays with the corners of one of the renderings as words unspoken drift between us.
“I even went so far as to call Garland and speak about a new partnership with Haywood, but apparently someone beat me to it.”
He looks at me now, a ghost of a smile on his lips and hope flooding his eyes.
“I did. You see, you’re not the only one who was afraid of letting go.”
He nods, almost as if he wants to say something, but refrains as if he’s afraid to ruin the moment.
It’s my turn to talk. It’s my turn to lay it out there for him.
I have speeches prepared. Explanations and excuses and everything but a Venn diagram basically.
But when I go to speak, only one thing comes out.
And it’s the one thing that matters.
“I love you, Fordham Sharpe.” His breath hitches, and I hold my hands up to let me get through what I need to say.
He nods. “I love you, and it terrifies me to death that by me loving you, I’ve put Fate’s target on you.
I love you, and it scares me because I’ve never known this kind of love before, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
Do I offer it to you after I’ve pushed you away and hope that you accept it?
Do I tell you ‘here it is’ and then say you don’t have any choice because I’m never letting you let me walk away?
What do I do, Ford, because I’m lost, and I’m terrified that it’s too late and—”
He steps up and presses his lips to mine.
“Ford. I want the epilogue now. To read it. To love it. To live it out.”
“You sure?”
With my teeth sunk into my bottom lip, I nod. “I’m sure.”
His smile lights up his face. “What changed?”
Fair question. One I’ve thought about a lot.
“You. You’re what changed me. Your unwavering belief in me. Your relentless love for me. Your patience. Your friendship. Just you, Ford. You’re what has changed me.”
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Why are you telling me that?” I laugh.
“Because it’s going to be romance-novel worthy. The kind you write one hell of an epilogue after,” he murmurs against my lips.
“Bring it on.”
Two weeks is a long time to go without his taste. Without his touch. Without his love.
How did I think I could walk away? That my fear of loss was greater than the strength of this love?
Because fear does that.
And somehow, Ford has taught me that love counters that risk.
When the kiss is over, when I’m thoroughly reminded of the havoc the man can wreak on my system, and how very much I missed him, he pulls back and frames my cheeks with his hands.
“Let’s get one thing straight. You, Ellery Sinclair, have not put a target on me.
You have not cursed me or hexed me or whatever you think you have.
You have completed me and done it in ways I never expected.
With your love for germ mix and your penchant for ice cream bars.
With your thirst for knowledge and your love of romance novels.
From wanting to read my father’s book to better understand me.
With the way you look at me from across the room and make me feel like I’m the only one in it.
And with the way you’re not afraid to dish out tough love—even if it’s to simply protect you from getting too close while sending me to a tragic death in the Hudson. ”
“Hey—”
“Just kidding.” He laughs and holds his hands up in surrender before cupping the sides of my face again.
“You . . . you are the biggest pain in my ass and the greatest love of my life.” He presses a kiss to my lips.
“My father once told me that I’d know the one when I’d be willing to walk through fire to get to her.
These past two weeks feel like all I’ve been doing is walking through fire while I waited for you.
And you know what? I’d gladly do it all over again times a thousand just to hear you say those words to me again. ”
“What words are those?” I tease, earning me a swat on the butt and another soul-searing kiss. “I love you, Fordham Sharpe. Now. Always. Even when I’m scared. Even when I fear them. Even when I feel like I won’t be able to love anymore, I love you.”
“What? Just like that? There’s no negotiating?” He chuckles as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re getting soft on me, Celery Ellery.”
“What is it you want to negotiate?” I narrow my eyes as if I’m serious.
“Things. So many things.” He presses another tender kiss to my lips. “Things like when we get back to the city, how you should move in with me.”
I should say that I’m shocked, that my natural response would be to say no, but aren’t we already living together here?
“Live with you?” I ask. “Only if we can get a dog.”
“A dog?” he laughs out.
“Yep. A dog. That’s a requirement.”
“Okay.” He nods. “What else?”
My mind is buzzing a million miles a minute. How hard it was to accept this love and now that I have, how damn easy it is to fall headfirst into it.
“I’m not sure yet, but I reserve at least three more things that I can throw in there once I can think properly.”
He draws a finger down my back, lifting the hem of my shirt so it can skim across my skin. “Why can’t you think properly? Is something distracting you?”
I laugh. It feels so good to. “Maybe. I might need some more distracting.” I lift on my tiptoes and kiss him.
“Distraction commencing.” His groan is all I need to know his body is as wired as mine is right now. Is as needy and wanting. “Now I’m wishing I’d have scheduled everyone else to come an hour later instead of thirty minutes.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I want to make love to you for the first time, Ellery.” He grins. “That’s such a cheesy thing for a guy to say, but to hell with it. I’m using the word love every chance I get so you get used to it. So you are no longer scared by it.”
“Move in with you. Get a dog. And immediate lovemaking. Wow, Sharpe. I don’t know,” I tease, my smile turning up against his lips. “Is that your final proposal?”
“Baby, I’m just getting started.” He chuckles as he leans back to look at me, the grin he flashes making my knees turn to jelly. His words even more so. “No. You’ll know when I propose.” A chaste kiss. “And there will be no negotiating the answer on that one.”