Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
F ord
I wake up too early. Again.
The house is still as I sit on the edge of the bed for a few moments, elbows on my knees, trying to shake off the constant reel of images in my mind.
I saw her last night.
Not just saw her—was with her. Walked beside her. Nearly kissed her under the stars like no time had passed. And then she pulled away, a sharp reminder that it had.
I drag a hand through my hair, scrub it over my jaw. I haven’t trimmed the scruff on my face in two days. I’m sure I look as rough as I feel.
The coffee maker percolates in the kitchen.
I don’t even remember pressing the damn button.
I pour a cup, black and scalding, and stand at the wall of windows, staring out over the expanse of trees.
I’ve always felt like this is the most peaceful place in the world, but right now all I feel is lost, like everything I want is just out of reach.
Landyn being back in Deep Cove changes everything.
Last night, after dinner, I hadn’t planned on asking her if I could see her again.
I don’t know how I thought the evening would go, or what would come after, but when it came time to go our separate ways, all I knew is that I didn’t want to say goodbye.
The thought of Landyn and I going back to exchanging awkward, forced greetings in the office sat like a stone in my stomach.
It’s not enough. It’s nowhere near enough.
I still have unanswered questions, and I know that she isn’t telling me the whole truth about why she’s back in town.
But when I am with her, I feel more like myself than I have in years.
I feel understood in a way I don’t with anyone else.
It’s familiar, comfortable, like returning to a place that used to feel like home.
And the intense pull I feel towards her every time she walks into a room—I’ve only ever felt that with her, and it hasn’t weakened in the time we’ve been apart.
So last night, when she turned to leave, I couldn’t let that be the end.
When I told her I wanted to see her again, I had expected her to be hesitant, maybe to offer up some excuse about it being a bad idea.
Instead, she’d said nothing, but when I looked in her eyes it was like watching someone holding their breath underwater…
and now, I can’t stop thinking about her.
About the reason she left. About the things she’s still not telling me.
About how much I want her anyway. But last night wasn’t the right time to push her.
I know Landyn, and she’ll open up when she’s ready.
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Jesse: Meeting at 9. Bring coffee. Or donuts. Or both. You owe me.
By the time I arrive at Cove, the office is already in motion. I drop my jacket in my office and then head down the hall to pour myself a cup of coffee but stop dead in my tracks when I spot Jesse and Landyn in the shared workroom.
Jesse is standing too close again. He’s leaned over the table, one hand braced on the back of her chair, an easy smile on his face.
She’s looking at something on her laptop, looking up at him every few seconds and gesturing enthusiastically with her hands the way she always does when she’s trying to make a point.
It’s too familiar between them. Too damn comfortable. I don’t realize my jaw is locked until Becca walks past with a stack of papers and shoots me a look. “Good morning, Mr. Winters.”
Jesse glances up just in time to catch my eye. He smiles at me, clearly amused, and then lifts his chin in my direction as if he’s waiting for me to say something.
I don’t.
I turn and walk straight back to my office.
Later in the day, I find Jesse in the break room sipping on one of those green juices that look like swamp water.
“You need something?” he asks.
I stare at him a beat too long. “Yeah. I need you to cut it out.”
He blinks. “Cut what out?”
“The flirting.”
Jesses chokes on his smoothie. “With who?”
I give him another look.
“ Oh ,” he says. “You’re talking about Landyn.” He grins like it’s hilarious.
“It’s not funny.”
“Dude, you’re acting like I’m hitting on your?—”
“I’m not acting like anything,” I snap. “Just keep it professional. ”
Jesse studies me for a second, more serious now. “Noted.”
Just then Becca pops her head in. “Hey, Landyn left without the campaign files she was working on. Do you want me to call her? She’ll need these tonight to prep for her presentation tomorrow at noon.”
“It’s fine,” Jesse says. “I’ll drop them by her place, so she doesn’t have to come back in.”
“I’ll do it,” I tell him, a little too quickly. “You have to get ready for tomorrow too, and I’m heading in that direction anyway.”
A lie, but he thankfully doesn’t call me on it. He just smirks. “Sure. Whatever you say, Ford.”
Becca looks from me to Jesse and back again, before holding the folder out to me. I take the file and head back to my office to get my things, telling myself it’s not a big deal. It’s just a delivery. A favor. It’s not an excuse to see her.
It’s just a file. That’s all.
I ignore the tiny voice that scratches at me, the one that whispers that the thought of Jesse in Landyn’s home, being let into a part of her world that I haven’t seen, was enough to make my blood go hot.
She’s renting one of the old cottages on the edge of the cove—one of the Ashcroft properties.
We used to come out here on weekends, back when we were in college and time felt endless and easy.
We’d rent kayaks, pick up a couple of cheap sandwiches from the deli, and paddle until our arms gave out.
Then we’d float in the sun along the water’s edge, salt drying on our skin and the ocean breeze in our hair and play that dumb game she made up—Pick Your Dream House.
She’d always choose something small. Some place with wildflowers in the yard, a crooked porch strung with twinkle lights. A place that looked like it had a story.
I, of course, picked the opposite—big, sharp-lined, modern mansions. Imposing all-glass structures surrounded by perfect landscaping.
Half an hour later, I’m in my car, the asphalt giving way to gravel, the trees thickening on either side of the narrow lane.
Eventually, I pull into the clearing, where the last cottage sits.
In my memory, it was painted a washed-out baby blue, faded and battered by years of sun and ocean air.
It had a small front porch that was missing a beam or two, an overgrown thicket of reeds obscuring its view of the water.
The home I’m looking at now barely resembles that long-ago place.
It has new cedar siding, white-framed windows, potted herbs on the steps.
A porch swing sways gently in the breeze like it’s been waiting for someone to take rest there.
There’s a pair of rain boots tucked neatly beside the door and a kid’s bike leaning against the steps—probably a neighbor’s, this area is full of young families.
Everything about the cottage is soft, warm, and so unmistakably her.
I take a deep breath and swing open the truck door, file in hand. I should’ve texted her first. Actually, I should’ve just let someone else bring the damn file, but it’s too late to turn and run now.
The porch creaks under my weight as I climb the steps, and I pause at the top. A child’s sketchbook lies open on the bench beside the door, a rock holding a page in place. Crayon streaks of yellow, blue, and pink create something vaguely resembling a sun.
Something twists deep in my chest, but I ignore it, knocking on the door firmly and then taking a step back. It’s just a moment, maybe two, but it stretches on for what feels like forever.
Then the door opens.
Hair pulled back, sweater falling off one shoulder. Her expression is caught somewhere between surprise and something heavier. Guilt, maybe. Or nerves. Or both.
“Ford,” she says, her voice quiet, cautious. “What are you doing here?”
I hold up the file. “You left this. Becca said you’d need it tonight.”
Her eyes drop to the folder. “Oh. Thank you. I…I didn’t even realize I left it.”
I nod, but I don’t hand it over right away. My eyes flick past her shoulder into the warm, lived-in space behind her. Soft lighting, a blanket tossed over the arm of the couch, a mug on the entry table. Cozy. Safe. Hers.
Before I can say anything else, Landyn steps forward, quickly closing the door behind her and joining me on the porch. Her posture is careful. Guarded. Like she’s nervous that I’m in her space.
“I haven’t been out here in a while,” I say, watching the tension settle in her shoulders. “Place looks different.”
“It’s been fixed up a bit.”
“It’s nice,” I say after a beat. “It suits you.”
Her fingers close around the file, but instead of lingering like last night, she pulls back quickly. Her movements are sharper now, like standing this close to me is a risk she doesn’t want to take.
“Thanks again for bringing it by,” she says, her voice tight. She shifts, already angling her body toward the door. “I should?—"
“I didn’t want you scrambling before the call,” I interrupt trying to keep my tone steady, trying to keep her here with me.
“Well, I’ve got it now, so I’m good.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I glance at the closed door behind her. “Everything okay?”
She nods, too quickly. “Yeah. Totally fine. I just have a lot to do before tomorrow.”
She looks to the yard, then her eyes slide back to the door. Her stare is anywhere but on me. She’s trying to shut the moment down, and I can feel it slipping away.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. Last night had felt intimate, vulnerable. Now it’s like she’s scrambling to rebuild the wall between us.
I try again. “I’m happy they cleaned the place up. It’s a lot better than it used to be.”
“Yeah, I guess,” she says. “They did a nice job with the renovations. Anyway, I should?—”
She takes a step backward and her heel bumps against the door. She nearly drops the file but catches it and clutches it against her chest like it’s a shield.
I take a slow breath. “You always liked it out here.”
“Ford,” she whispers. “I… I really need to go.” She fumbles with the doorknob behind her. “Thanks again.”
I nod slowly. “Sure.”
She opens the door, stepping quickly inside. Before she disappears, she hesitates—just for a second—and looks at me. There’s something in her eyes. Like she wants to say more. Like she’s just about to tell me something.
But she doesn’t.
And then the door closes between us.
Again.