Chapter 12
TWELVE
L andyn
Ford’s elbow rests casually on the door, his hand at the wheel, his gaze focused but relaxed. I keep sneaking glances at him, trying to remember if this is how it used to feel…before everything between us fell apart.
The road winds in long, slow stretches, the fading sun bleeding through the windshield in soft pinks and purples.
He takes the bends quickly, his foot barely touching the brake.
Ford drives like he does everything else—confident, in control.
It’s so hot. His right hand is wrapped loosely around the wheel, fingers long and tan and dusted with faint calluses.
There’s a small scar at the base of his thumb that I don’t remember, a faint reminder that he’s lived a whole life I wasn’t part of.
His profile is sharp—strong jaw, faint scruff, his mouth set in that familiar but unreadable line.
His nose is straight, a little too perfect, like the universe gave him one lucky break after dropping him into a childhood that would have none.
His dark hair is longer than I remember, curling just a little where it brushes the collar of his shirt, messy in a way that still looks flawless.
He sits with this quiet, commanding confidence, like nothing in the world could rattle him.
Except maybe me.
I shift in my seat and look out the window, not wanting to stare too long, but eventually my eyes drift to the radio. “Since when do you listen to country music?”
Ford’s mouth curves, barely there, his eyes still on the road. “I know it’s what you like.”
My chest squeezes. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
He flicks me a quick glance, something unreadable in his expression. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.”
His admission wraps around me, soft and sharp all at once. I turn back towards the window, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my throat tightens. Trees blur by outside my open window. The sky’s washed with pale purples. “Thanks for not making today weird,” I say finally.
Ford glances at me, brow raised. “Weird?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Awkward. Tense. You could’ve made the entire trip miserable, and you didn’t.”
He doesn’t answer for a second. Then, quietly: “You think I want it to be miserable?”
“No,” I say, just as quiet. “I don’t.”
The conversation stops there—unspoken things suspended between us—until the Cove building comes into view and we’re back to reality.
By the time we step into the office, I’ve built my walls back up just high enough. I head to my desk and drop my bag. Before I can even take off my jacket, Becca’s up from her chair and walking towards me, eyes wide.
“Did you just walk in with Ford?”
I nod. “We were at the site. ”
Marco’s leaning against my desk three seconds later, coffee in hand. “I thought I saw you leaving with him earlier, but I figured I hallucinated it.”
“He took her to the site,” Becca stage-whispers. “Like the actual site.”
“Yes. I was there. And look—I survived!” I laugh, shaking my head.
“He only takes his brothers to the site. Like, ever ,” Marco says, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a crime. “Seriously. Even then, Jesse had to talk him into taking Wes.”
“I didn’t realize it was a big deal,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “We had to look at some layout stuff. It was fine.”
“Fine?” Becca nearly chokes. “This is Ford Winters we’re talking about, right?”
“Yeah, ‘fine’ doesn’t track, Landyn. The guy is intense as fuck,” Marco adds.
I think back to the way he gently held my elbow as I teetered on the loose gravel. His easy smile when I teased him at the diner. The way he looked at me like I mattered. “It’s not a big deal,” I say, pulling off my coat and draping it over my chair.
Becca and Marco exchange a look but don’t push. Instead, Becca tips her head. “So, Landyn. Tell us more about you.”
I smile, carefully. “Which version do you want? The one that sounds good on my resume or the one that’s half-coffee, half-chaos?”
Marco grins. “Chaos. Always chaos.”
I laugh softly. “Well, I’ve been in marketing for about eight years. I was living in Alberta for a while but moved back to Deep Cove recently. Fortunately, this opportunity at Cove came up so it was good timing.”
“Alberta?” Becca asks. “What brought you back here? ”
I hesitate, searching for the right words.
I’ve never been someone who shares much about my private life.
We’re still not sure what’s happening with my mom’s health.
If it turns out it’s something serious, I’m not sure I’ll be able to handle it.
“I moved back to be closer to my family. The job posting seemed perfect for me too, and I just felt like it was the right time to return home.”
Becca nods, like she understands that pull too. “Your parents live here?”
I glance down at my water bottle, twisting the cap. “Yeah. My mom and dad live here. And now my daughter and I do too.”
Marco blinks. “You have a kid?”
“Her name’s Poppy. She just turned six. That’s part of why I moved back—it’s been just the two of us for a long time, and I wanted her to have more family around. She loves her grandparents. I want them to have a relationship. I know it sounds cheesy, but that kid is my whole world.”
Becca smiles. “Not cheesy at all. I feel the same way about my own kids. Is she in school here?”
“Grade one. She goes to Bayview. I was a bit worried about uprooting her, but she’s already made so many new friends. It’s amazing how resilient kids can be.”
Marco leans against the edge of my desk. “So, you’re doing this job, raising a kid, and still managing to look like you’ve slept in the last decade?”
I shake my head, grinning. “It’s all smoke and mirrors. And caffeine. So much caffeine.”
“And is there a partner in the picture?” Marco asks, eyebrows raised. “Husband? Boyfriend?”
“Nope,” I answer honestly. “I’m too busy for that, if I’m not working, I’m with Poppy.”
“Yeah, good call,” he nods, letting out a loud sigh.
“It’s slim pickings out there anyways. I went out last weekend with a guy my cousin set me up with and it was a disaster.
He said he’d pick the place, and we ended up at Arby’s.
In the drive-thru. I love crinkle fries as much as anyone, but not on a first date, and not in the front seat of your mom’s Honda Civic. ”
Becca coughs out a laugh, and I’m grateful for the opening to gently steer the conversation back to work, to the marketing push that’s coming up. I’m relieved they don’t ask more—about who Poppy’s dad is or why I really came back.
I’m not ready to answer those questions.
Not yet.
Eventually, the workday winds down. People start trickling out.
I gather my things slowly, giving my brain a second to catch up to everything that happened today.
When I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the exit, I catch a glimpse of him through the glass—Ford, in his office, talking to Noah.
He glances up. His eyes find mine. A beat. A breath.
I raise my hand in a small wave. He nods once.
It’s nothing. It’s everything.
I walk out before it can turn into more.
But I only get as far as the pavement outside of Cove when I hear his voice behind me. “Landyn.”
It stops me mid-step.
The tone of it, the hesitation laced beneath all the usual Ford Winters certainty makes me turn. Slowly. Too slowly. Like if I look at him too fast, everything I’ve been holding back might break loose.
He’s already coming down the steps toward me. He stands in front of me, close enough that I swear I can feel the heat radiating off him in the early evening air .
“I just…I want a little more time with you, to talk,” he says. “Not about work. About us.”
Us . That word slices through the quiet and I feel it settle in my chest. My heart thuds once. Hard.
I grip the strap of my bag more tightly, already inching back towards my car with my keys tangled in my fingers. I can’t do this right now. Not without completely unraveling. Not when I need to get home for dinner with Poppy. Not with the weight of the secret that exists between us.
“I really should get going,” I murmur.
“Dinner,” he says. “Tonight. Just you and me.”
It’s not a question. But it’s not a demand either.
My mouth opens. Closes. Panic spikes low in my stomach because I wasn’t expecting this. Not now.
“I—I can’t,” I say, too quickly.
His head tilts, and his eyes narrow just slightly. “Why not?”
“Plans,” I say, wincing. It’s not exactly a lie, but I know it’s far from the truth.
Ford pauses, studying me for a long beat. I know he sees through my excuse, but he doesn’t call me on it. Doesn’t push. Instead, he nods once, slowly, like he’s giving me the out I clearly want but don’t entirely deserve.
“Tomorrow then,” he says.
His words land heavily like a dare I’m not sure I’m brave enough to take. “Maybe.”
We stand there for a moment, the silence stretching between us full of unsaid things and every version of us we never got to be. I turn before I can do something stupid. Like tell him the truth.
“Just think about it,” he says quietly to my back, the rough edge of his voice pulling at my heart like a tether. “ One night. One dinner where we stop pretending like there isn’t something still there between us.”
I stop walking, but I can’t turn around. I can feel the weight of his presence behind me and the weight of what he just said. What we could still be if I wasn’t hiding the one thing he has the right to know.
“Ford—”
He lets out a frustrated breath. “Just tell me, June. Tell me why you can’t stop running.”
My guilt burns a hole through my chest, but not here, not now. I can’t tell him about his 6-year-old daughter on the sidewalk in front of Cove.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Eight o’clock tomorrow at Breakwater. I’ll be waiting.”
I nod. “Okay.”
I squeeze my eyes closed, unable to breathe for a beat. Then I walk away before I change my mind.