Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Unlike the last time she’d been on the road, Colby stayed in constant contact with Ford throughout her trip to Chicago.
She’d even had him, along with Griff and Meemaw, on a video call when she was announced as the best pastry chef award winner, CC holding the phone so they could virtually be there for her acceptance speech.
Looking directly at the phone, Colby had thanked that special someone who had made her rest, eat soup, and drink plenty of fluids all day Friday so she could be there.
She’d talked longer on the phone with Meemaw that night than with any of them.
Jo Rafferty had the same indigo eyes as her grandson and while there was more spitfire in her than in Ford, she was equally earnest. She’d made Colby promise to visit soon and to work with Ford to get all her recipes down while she could still remember them.
Ford had had tears in his eyes when he’d come back on the line. “Josh would never,” he’d said, his voice thick with emotion.
“Yes, well,” Colby had said, adopting Meemaw’s spitfire, “Hogwash Josh and Pooper Cooper have clearly never appreciated what they have.”
Ford had opened his mouth to say something, but then caught himself.
Colby was fairly certain she knew what it was.
She felt those same three words on the tip of her tongue as she exited the terminal security gate at Logan and found Ford standing in front of Miller and the entire Chess staff, the lot of them holding balloons, noisemakers, and congratulatory signs, welcoming home their award-winning pastry chef and member of their family.
As Ford scooped her into a hug, twirled her around, and whispered, “Proud of you, baby.”
Colby saved her words for him, though. Through the rowdy chartered bus ride to Woods Hole, the equally rowdy ferry to Martha’s Vineyard, and the party waiting for them when they arrived back at Chess, more of the RH family there to celebrate, Tony and Greg, Tyler and Sloan, included.
But as she and Ford made the short drive to her house, as Ford carried her suitcase inside, as she took in the plate of biscuits and jam and bottle of champagne waiting on the kitchen counter, the words bubbled up again.
Ford returned from the back where he’d taken her suitcase and mistook her biting her tongue for something else.
“I totally understand if you’ve had enough celebrating already.
” She opened her mouth to correct him, to blurt out the truth that wanted to be said, but then he withdrew his hand from behind his back and held out a rectangular wrapped box. “But you at least have to open this.”
Her heart swelled bigger. “Is it a golden whisk?”
“Don’t ruin the surprise,” he tsked.
She ripped into the present . . . and quickly realized it wasn’t kitchen related at all. But it was a promise she’d made to him in this very kitchen.
Ford stepped closer, curling an arm around her waist. “I called Lady Robin’s, and they said you hadn’t ordered this yet.” She removed the strapless dildo from its crushed velvet bed and handed Ford the box to set aside. “It’s the toy you were talking about, right?” he asked shyly.
The words, her heart, finally broke free. “I love you.”
His answering smile split his face in two, and he pulled her tighter against him. “Is that the scariest thing you’ve ever done?”
“Even scarier than the first time I flew to France.” But at the same time, she’d never felt safer than she did now that the words were out and she was in his arms again.
“I’m in good company,” he said. “As terrified as I am to say them again . . .” He cupped her cheek, that wonderful earnestness in his gaze along with so much love she couldn’t help but return his beaming grin. “I love you too.”
They moved together, lips and hearts colliding.
Joy filling her up and overflowing.
She was professionally and personally right where she wanted to be, expecting more good things, at Chess and with Ford by her side.
And if she ever stumbled, she was sure Ford, her family, and her friends would be right there to catch her.
And she would do the same for them, for him.
She loved that feeling maybe even more than she loved being loved herself.
After all, she was a pastry chef. She made a living out of making people happy. Tonight, she was ready to start making a life out of it. With Ford.
Sweeping her tongue inside his mouth, she savored the taste that was uniquely Ford, the added traces of champagne and pastry from the party earlier that little bit of over-the-top she could never resist.
Or maybe that was the toy trapped between them.
She drew back far enough to meet his darkening gaze. “I’m going to put this on the charger for a few,” she said with a shake of the toy. “Why don’t you grab that champagne, a couple glasses, and meet me in the bedroom.”