Chapter 11
ELEVEN
F ord
He spins in his chair and winces. “Yeah, about that… I can’t go.”
“Why not?”
He holds up his phone. “Last-minute pitch call with the PR firm. It’s the only time they could squeeze us in. You know…saving Cove’s ass and all that.”
I stare at him. “And Noah?”
“Supplier issue. He’s already halfway to the coast.”
“Wes?”
Jesse shrugs. “Wes is allergic to people.”
I rub my temples. “So, what, I go alone?”
A beat. Then Jesse’s grin turns calculated. “Take Landyn.”
“No. ”
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t know the facility.”
“She’s in marketing. It’s literally her job to understand it.”
“She—” I pause, jaw tight. “It’s not a good idea.”
Jesse leans back, lacing his fingers behind his head. “She’s free. And interested. Aren’t you, Landyn?”
I turn toward the doorway just in time to see her walk in, a folder tucked under her arm, lips slightly parted like she’d only caught half the conversation.
“Interested in what?” she asks slowly, looking between us.
Jesse grins. “Interested in joining Ford at the site tour today. Right?”
She glances at me—quick, unreadable—then back to Jesse. “If that’s what you need.”
I exhale sharply through my nose. “Fine. Let’s go. I’ll meet you at the elevator in ten.”
She doesn’t flinch at my tone, which is harsher than I meant it to be. She just nods and then steps aside to let me by her, like this isn’t a bad idea for everyone involved.
She’s waiting by the elevator ten minutes later, a tablet in one hand. Her hair is swept up, a few blonde pieces framing her face, and when our eyes meet, something shifts. Less ice. Less steel. Just…her.
We nod at each other—my peace offering from earlier in the week still holding.
The silence between us in the truck isn’t uncomfortable this time.
It’s filled with something unspoken but not unkind.
The drive is one I’ve made countless times, but today it feels different.
I notice the way Landyn turns to watch the trees blur past, how she tucks her lip between her teeth when she’s thinking. I’d forgotten that about her .
I decide instead of sitting here, next to her, locked up in my own head, I should suck it up and say something—anything—to make this drive less unbearable.
“You’re gonna like the site,” I say, eyes still on the road. “It’s on a beautiful piece of property in the country. Makes the build headaches feel worth it.”
She turns to me, maybe surprised that I’m speaking to her. “I’ve seen photos, but yeah, I’m looking forward to seeing it in person.”
“And you’re getting out of the office,” I tell her. “A reward for surviving a full week with Jesse.”
She laughs, and it’s warm. It’s real. “God love him, he’s a lot.”
“He’s the kind of ‘a lot’ that sells product. But yeah…I’ve considered shoving him in a storage closet more than once.”
She’s still smiling when we pull into the site, and I kill the engine. It’s quiet for now—lunch break for the crew—which gives us some time.
She steps out of the truck, the gravel crunching under her heels, and she stumbles slightly, catching herself with a hand on the truck door.
“You good?” I ask, rounding to her side.
“Fine. Just my incredibly professional entrance,” she says with a grimace. “I’m probably not dressed for the occasion.”
I reach out, steadying her elbow. “I mean, you were always a little clumsy. Some things don’t change.”
Her gaze flicks up to mine. There’s something there. Familiar. Unspoken.
We walk the site side by side. I point out the glass-walled design center, the production wall where the solar arrays are going to be installed along the roofline.
Landyn listens, asking smart questions and nodding like she’s mentally redesigning our whole strategy.
It shouldn’t affect me, but it does. Her being here, being part of this legacy.
When it’s done, Landyn will have played a part in making it happen.
We stop at the overlook, the green valley laid out before us eventually erupting into layers of towering, deep blue mountains.
But I find myself watching her more than the view.
The wind pulls at a loose piece of her hair, and before I can think twice, I reach over and gently tuck it behind her ear.
She looks at me, startled.
“Thanks,” she says quietly.
And for once, I don’t look away. We don’t say much as we walk the rest of the site, but the silence feels different now—charged, somehow. Like we’re standing on the edge of something neither of us know what to do with.
By the time we make it back to the truck, the sun has shifted overhead and a few of the crew have returned, nodding as we pass. Landyn’s quiet, and I get the sense she’s lost in her own thoughts.
We drive back with the windows down. She kicks off her shoes, tucking one leg under her on the seat like she’s been doing this forever. I catch her glancing my way once or twice, and when we hit a stretch of road lined by pines, she finally speaks.
“It really is impressive,” she says. “What you’ve built. What you’re continuing to build.”
I glance at her for a moment before turning my eyes back to the road , “We’ve still got a ways to go.”
“Still,” she continues, looking out the window.
“You did it. Even when no one thought you could.” She turns to me, and for a moment, the air between us feels heavy again.
“I didn’t mean me. I never doubted you, Ford.
Not once. You know, it wasn’t just the dream of the company that meant something to me back then. ”
I stare straight ahead, but my pulse kicks up.
“Don’t,” I say, quietly.
But she keeps looking at me, like she’s trying to find the version of me she left behind.
“Ford…”
I shake my head. “Let’s not do this. It’s been a good day, and this is about Cove. Let’s leave it at that.”
She sighs. “Fine. But I’m not running this time.”
“Good,” I say, voice rough. “Because if you do, I’m not chasing you.”
She nods, swallowing hard, as I flick on the turn signal and change the subject to anything other than us. “Should we grab lunch on the way back? You must be starved.”
Landyn looks surprised, but she quickly overcomes it. “Sure,” she says with a grin. “But I’m choosing the place.”
“As long as it’s not that vegan stuff you tried to get me to like. Dress it up however you want, cauliflower will never be a steak.”
She laughs. “No vegan. Promise.”
We end up at a small sandwich shop that Landyn spots just off the highway.
Nothing fancy. The bell above the door jingles as we step inside.
The place smells like toasted bread and dill pickles, and there’s a guy behind the counter with a stained apron and a name tag that says Buzz.
The place looks like it hasn’t seen a coat of paint in decades, but it’s charming in a comfortable, grease-splattered kind of way.
We each grab a faded menu from the counter, and I look around, the place feeling eerily familiar. “We’ve been here before, right? In college.”
Landyn grins, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “ We came here a few times. You swore this place had the best meatball sub in the county.”
I laugh, remembering. “That’s right. And it did.”
She looks skeptical. “It gave you food poisoning.”
“One time,” I say, pointing at her. “And you still made out with me after.”
She snorts, shaking her head, eyes closed for a beat , “Mistakes were made.”
I don’t reply, just let the smile pull at my mouth as I step up to the counter. “Two meatball subs,” I tell Buzz. “One with extra cheese. And a small fries.”
“Ordering for me?” she says, one eyebrow raised.
“Habit,” I say with a shrug. “Old ones are hard to break.”
She studies me for a split-second, lips parting like she wants to argue but doesn’t.
“Guess it’s muscle memory,” I add, shrugging my shoulder. “Like knowing you’ll steal the last fry or fall asleep in the car on long drives.”
Her cheeks flush and her mouth curves like she might smile.
Her eyes flick to mine, something unreadable behind them, and she looks away quickly.
I feel it too—that moment where it could get heavy, where it could drift back into everything we left unsaid.
But I don’t want that right now. Not when she’s standing beside me like this, flushed from the drive with the window down, looking exactly like the version of her that used to feel like home.
We find a booth by the window, the vinyl seats cracked and slightly sticky. She slides in across from me and leans on her elbows, her smile returning. The meatball subs are delivered in minutes, and we both dig in, famished after a long day.
“I forgot how weirdly perfect diner food tastes when you’ve been on the highway. ”
I glance up at her, chewing. “That’s because you don’t give a crap what you eat when you’re starving.”
She smirks and takes a bite out of her sandwich. “You used to eat two of these in one sitting. Don’t tell me you’ve outgrown diner meatballs, Mr. CEO. Is it strictly caviar now?” she teases.
I point a fry at her. “That’s a baseless accusation.”
“Still stubborn.” Landyn grins.
We eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, and I watch her across the table. She’s picking at her sandwich, eyebrows drawn slightly. Not sad. Just…thoughtful.
“You like being back?” I ask, keeping my voice casual.
She shrugs. “It’s familiar. Which is both comforting and suffocating, if that makes sense.”
“It does.”
She glances at me. “What about you? You ever think about leaving?”
“No.” I sip my drink. “Cove was never just a business to me. It was the one thing I could build and keep. The one thing I could control.”
Landyn nods slowly. “That’s how I felt about leaving.”
We look at each other again, something deeper tugging beneath the surface. This time, neither of us looks away.
“Did you mean what you said earlier?” she asks finally. “That you’re not chasing me?”
I study her, the way her mouth tightens at the corners. Like she’s bracing for something.
“I meant,” I say carefully, “that I don’t want to chase someone who’s already running.”
She leans back, crossing her arms. “Maybe I’m not running.”
My chest tightens. “I hope not, June.”
Her breath hitches. Just slightly. But enough .
Before either of us can respond, Buzz shouts, “Hey, lovebirds, you done hogging the best table in the house?”
Landyn grins, flicking her napkin at me. “Let’s get back on the road before he charges us rent.”
I stand, grabbing our wrappers. “Still can’t eat a full sandwich, huh?”
She lifts her chin. “Guess I still need someone to finish it for me.”
The words were nothing, tossed out with a shrug and a half-smile but they remind me that I used to do that. I would finish her sandwiches, steal her fries, kiss the corner of her mouth after she wiped it with a napkin and missed a spot.
A litany of things I didn’t realize I’d memorized.
We don’t speak again until we’re 15 minutes into our drive home. But the silence isn’t awkward. It’s something else entirely. Something almost like understanding.
Landyn next to me, in the passenger seat of my truck feels so familiar, it aches, like a memory I’m still not sure I’m ready to feel. She shifts slightly in her seat, her voice softer now, her gaze fixed on the blur of towering evergreens rushing past the window.
“You’ve been awfully quiet. That’s suspicious.”
She smirks, keeping her gaze on the blur of trees racing past the window. “Maybe I’m just enjoying the peace.”
“Peace,” I scoff. “You? You’ve never been quiet a day in your life.”
She cuts me a look, amused. “That’s rich, coming from you. You used to lecture me for talking too much on road trips.”
“That was different,” I say, shifting gears smoothly. “Back then, you were distracting me while I was trying to look cool driving.”
“You? Cool?” she laughs, the sound bright and warm. “ Ford Winters, you once missed an exit because you couldn’t stop staring at my legs on the dashboard.”
My jaw ticks as the memory slams into me—sunlight on her skin, her laughter echoing in the cab, me gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white because I couldn’t look away.
“Pretty sure that was a strategic choice,” I say, keeping my tone even.
“Strategic?” She arches a brow, leaning back like she’s got me cornered.
I glance at her, just long enough to catch the spark in her eyes. “Yeah. Gave me an extra half hour with you in the truck. Worth every mile.”
Her lips part, caught somewhere between a laugh and a sharp inhale, and for a second the only sound is the hum of the tires on the road. The air shifts, charged and a little dangerous, and I have to drag my focus back to the yellow line ahead.
“Careful, June,” I tease gently. “Keep laughing like that, and I might start thinking we’re friends again.”
She turns her head, surprised. “Maybe we are.”
She looks out the window, a small furrow between her brows giving her away as she drifts deeper in thought. “I didn’t expect any of this. I didn’t come back to stir up the past.”
“Then what did you come back for?”
Her voice catches slightly. “To build something new.”
I glance at her again. “What are you running away from, Lan?”
She meets my gaze, and there’s that flicker of hurt, the quiet kind that comes from too much time spent carrying things alone possibly. “I’m not running, Ford. I just needed to be back closer to my parents. ”
“How are they doing?”
She fills me in, telling me her dad still works the same government job, her mom slowing down in her retirement years.
I nod, remembering them clearly. “Your mom always made the best shepherd’s pie.”
Landyn smiles. “She still does. She actually brought me some the other night.”
I look back at the road. “I always envied that. Your house, your family.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, but I know she remembers. The house I grew up in never felt like a home.
“You used to say my family felt like too much sometimes,” she murmurs.
“It was,” I say. “Too busy, too much structure. Too… perfect.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “But you liked it anyway.”
I nod once. “Yeah. I liked it because it was yours.”
I can feel her watching me, like she’s trying to piece together who I am now, to find the parts she used to know, the parts that are new. I don’t look at her. If I do, I might not be able to stop the past from sinking its claws into me, drowning me in memories I swore I’d buried for good.