Chapter 22
TWENTY-TWO
F ord
I lie in bed, staring at the ceiling after waking up from a restless sleep. Even hours later, my head is still full of everything that didn’t happen last night. My body is still humming from everything that did.
Landyn had brushed off the phone call, but everything changed after that. The way she slipped back into her dress and into silence like there was nothing to explain. Like it didn’t even matter.
But it did.
It does.
I can’t shake the way she looked when she came out of that bathroom. She tried to act calm and steady, but it didn’t take much effort to see past all of that. It looked like something inside her was cracking wide open.
Eventually, I throw off the covers and get dressed, then head downstairs. The hotel gym is empty, the only sound coming from the dull thud of my sneakers on the treadmill as I try to outrun my cycling thoughts.
I push harder. Faster .
Landyn’s laugh last night.
Her dress pooled at her feet.
The soft gasp when I pressed into her.
Then her phone rang and everything just…stopped.
I don’t know what that call was, but I know now without a doubt that she’s hiding something. And as much as I want to understand what it is, I can’t force her to open up to me.
After 40 minutes and a shower that doesn’t do a damn thing to cool me off, I head down to the café in the lobby, and I text her one word:
Me: Ready?
She replies a minute later.
Landyn: Meet you in five.
I’m already standing near the elevators when the doors slide open, and I see her.
Black trousers with a Cove tee and a blazer rolled to her sleeves.
Her hair is pulled back into the bun she always wears to work.
She looks polished, efficient, controlled.
And so beautiful that I’m not 100 percent sure I’m still breathing.
She’s in work mode now, her armor back on, but when her eyes flicker to mine I can see she knows I haven’t forgotten last night. Neither has she.
“Morning,” she says lightly, falling into step beside me.
“Morning,” I return, and it comes out rougher than I mean for it to.
She’s holding a paper coffee cup, her fingers wrapped tightly around it.
“We’ve got back-to-back panels today,” she says. “Lunch with the tech consultant, then that pitch meeting with the outdoor gear group.”
I nod. “And we’ll want to loop in the sustainability team before the cocktail hour.”
She glances up at me. “Already sent a note to Becca. She’s lining up the notes we need.”
Of course she did. She’s three steps ahead, and it doesn’t surprise me. That’s the Landyn I’ve always known, only now I can’t stop wondering who else she is, what parts of her I’m still not seeing.
The day passes in a blur of panels, meetings, networking, and pitch sessions.
Landyn handles every conversation like she was born for this.
Polished. Poised. Smart enough to answer every question, charming enough to make people forget why they were skeptical in the first place.
She’s good and Cove looks even better with her out front.
We sit beside each other all day, nodding through presentations, fielding questions, leaning in close to whisper the occasional strategy call.
Her scent makes it hard for me to think straight, and every time her arm brushes mine it becomes more difficult to remember this is supposed to be professional.
And even though her voice is steady, even though she laughs in all the right places, I know something’s off.
I can’t shake the feeling that whatever it is she’s holding back has something to do with me. With us.
By the time we get back to the resort, the sun is low, casting a warm, golden haze over the mountains.
The cocktail hour is already set up on the terrace—string lights glowing above linen-draped tables, small fires crackling in sleek stone pits.
The vibe is relaxed. Glasses clink. Laughter floats.
Everyone’s loosened their ties and dropped their inhibitions.
Everyone except us .
Landyn’s across the terrace, talking to one of the event coordinators, her fingers twisting the stem of the glass of white wine in her hand. She’s smiling, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
She must feel me looking at her, because her eyes suddenly meet mine and it hits me square in the chest. Tonight might be my last shot at getting through to her. I’m not walking away without at least trying.
I pick up my drink and cross the patio, pulled to her like a magnet. The expression on her face is unreadable, but she’s antsy, fingernail absentmindedly tapping the rim of her wine glass.
“You look like you’re considering an escape,” I say, nodding toward the doors behind her.
Her mouth curves. “How far do you think I could get in these heels before one of the presenters tackles me to talk about supply chain management?”
“You’d make it 10 feet. Maybe less.”
“I’m scrappy,” she replies, lifting her glass and taking a sip. “You forget that.”
“I already told you, Lan. I don’t forget anything.”
That slows her. She tries to cover it with a sip of wine, but I catch the breath she pulls in first. The light out here is soft, casting a hazy, golden glow, and for a second, it’s easy to forget the people around us, the clinking glasses, the quiet hum of conversations. It’s just her. Just us.
“Today went well,” she says, filling the silence. “You didn’t glare at the analytics guy even once.”
“Barely gave me a reason to,” I say, stepping in just a little closer. “I had a good buffer.”
Her lips press together like she’s fighting a smile, but I don’t want to talk about work. Not tonight. I gesture toward an unoccupied fire pit. “Walk with me? ”
She hesitates, eyes narrowing just slightly, but then she nods.
We move toward the edge of the terrace and for a moment just stand together, looking out at the mountains, silhouetted against the colors of the dusk sky.
The firelight casts a warm glow across her skin, moving through the waves of her hair.
We sit on an outdoor couch, so close that our knees touch.
“So, how are you really?” I ask.
She glances at me, surprised.
“After everything,” I add. “Coming back. Walking into Cove. Working next to me.”
She’s quiet for a beat. Then, “It’s been…a lot.”
I nod. “For me too.”
She looks at me again—longer this time. The fire crackles between us, low and slow. “You said last night that you missed me,” she says softly. “After all these years…do you still feel that way?”
I move closer, slowly, carefully, until there’s only a breath between us. “I don’t miss you, Landyn,” I say. “I ache for you. Every time you walk into a room. Every time you laugh at someone else’s joke. Every time you look at me like I’m a stranger…when we both know I’m not.”
Her breath catches, and I can see it—the crack in the mask she’s been wearing all day.
“I know there’s something you’re not telling me,” I add, voice lower now. “And I’m not asking you to spill it. Not yet. But I’m not backing off either.”
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Swallows hard like the words are there, perched on the edge, but she can’t bring herself to let them fall.
“There you two are!”
We both turn at the same time, instinctively moving a few inches apart as we do .
It’s Claire, one of the panel coordinators, striding toward us with a flute of champagne in one hand and a schedule in the other.
She’s relentlessly energetic, the human equivalent of a can of Red Bull, and she’s been trying to corner me since this morning.
Her eyes flick between Landyn and me with piqued interest she doesn’t even bother hiding.
“You’ve been impossible to pin down tonight, Ford,” she admonishes, lowering her chin so she can look at me over the rims of her thick, black glasses.
She turns to Landyn next. “And you were brilliant on the panel earlier. Literally spellbinding!”
Landyn laughs. “Thank you, Claire. Spellbinding. I’ll have to add that to my CV.”
“You absolutely should,” Claire gushes, squeezing Landyn’s arm enthusiastically.
“I agree,” I say to Landyn, trying to suppress a grin.
“Now, don’t run off just yet,” Claire says, stepping in closer. “There’s someone from the VanEdge group I’d love for you both to meet. I told them they do not want to leave this summit without talking to the folks from Cove. They’re very interested in your upcoming fall line.”
“Sounds good, we’ll make sure to find them before we leave,” I tell her.
“No time like the present!” Claire enthuses, not taking the hint. “That’s them at the bar.”
Landyn glances at me briefly, like she’s not sure whether to be relieved or resentful that we’ve been interrupted yet again. And me? I’m pissed that the opportunity to connect with Landyn is gone. Snatched away before it could become something more.
I give Claire a polite nod. “Sure. We’ll be over in a minute.”
She hesitates—clearly wanting to drag us there by the wrists but eventually flashes that polished event-host smile and retreats back toward the crowd.
I glance at Landyn. Her gaze is down, focused on her wine glass. One finger traces the rim slowly, and for the first time tonight, she looks tired. “We don’t have to go,” I murmur. She looks at me then, and our eyes lock.
She shakes her head. “We should. I’m sure Claire has a couple of Bloodhounds on standby if we try to get out of it.”
She’s probably right. Even so, she doesn’t move to leave and neither do I, until a burst of laughter around the fire pit next to us fractures the moment.
The hotel room is too quiet. I’ve checked my emails three times, flipped mindlessly through a report that Jesse had asked me to go over, watched 20 minutes of a remarkably unfunny sitcom, and took a long shower. I thought maybe the day would catch up with me by now. Exhaust me enough to sleep.
It hasn’t.
It’s just after eleven, and I’m still wound tight.
Thoughts spinning, body still buzzing from the way she looked at me out on the terrace tonight.
The way she almost told me something. The way she didn’t.
I run a hand through my hair, sit on the edge of the bed, and stare at my phone like I can will it to light up.
It doesn’t.
She’s in the room next door, probably doing the same thing—pretending today was just another day. Pretending last night didn’t nearly break us wide open .
I lie back, arm slung over my eyes. Five seconds pass. Then ten.
Then I’m up again, walking toward the window, trying to resist the urge to do the one thing I’ve been telling myself not to do all night. Don’t reach out. Don’t push her. Don’t knock on her door.
I grab my phone anyway.
One message. Simple.
Me: Still up?
I hit send before I have a chance to overthink it. And then I wait.
One minute.
Two.
And then?—
Landyn: Yeah.
I stare at the screen, thumb hovering, when another message comes through.
Landyn: Can’t sleep. You too?
I don’t reply. I’m already grabbing my keycard off the dresser. Already stepping out into the hallway. Already heading toward her door.
I knock once and wait in the empty hallway, adrenaline rushing through me. The ice machine across the hall hums. A door thuds shut somewhere nearby. My heart kicks like it’s trying to escape my ribcage.
And then her door opens.
Her hair has been pulled from its bun and she’s barefoot wearing a loose T-shirt and a pair of soft cotton shorts that make it really fucking hard to remember why I shouldn’t be standing here right now. She looks jittery, like maybe she’s spent the last hour pacing her room too.
She blinks up at me but doesn’t say anything right away. Neither do I, because seeing her like this—unguarded, vulnerable —is almost too much.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I say finally.
She nods. “I know.”
We stand there, a breath apart. Closer than we should be. Still not close enough.
Her fingers tighten slightly around the edge of the door and for a second, I think she’s going to close it, to make some excuse not to let me in.
Instead, she takes a step backwards.
And just like that, I’m inside.