Chapter 16 Stormy
Stormy
Missy drives us to the ranch house in a truck that doesn’t match her.
Even after a night of alcohol, she’s effortlessly put together, while the truck, well …
it's seen better days. The white paint is peeling, rust creeping in at the edges, and the interior shows its age. It’s the kind of vehicle that looks like it’s been in a lifetime of stories.
I glace at her and then at the jumble of loose wires sticking out of the dash and the tears in the upholstery and wonder how the two exist in the same story.
Missy, however, couldn’t care less.
"It gets me where I need to be," she said with a shrug when we got in. "I’m not into trucks or looking good while driving. As long as it runs, that’s all I need."
She pulls up in front of the house, and I follow her to the door.
The moment she swings it open, I’m hit with the most incredible smell; home cooking, warm and rich, filling the air like a welcome hug.
I don’t know what’s on the menu, but if it tastes half as good as it smells, I already know I’m going to love it.
We both toe off our shoes, leaving them neatly beneath the coat rack.
"Mom, I’m home," Missy calls out, and within seconds, Grace comes down the hallway, a tea towel clutched in her hands. She’s rosy cheeked, wiping at her palms as if she’s in the middle of preparing something important. She looks towards me with a welcoming smile.
Missy grins and pulls me forward.
"I brought Stormy for lunch!"
Grace’s face brightens immediately.
"Oh, that’s lovely!"
I clear my throat, suddenly feeling unsure.
"I hope it’s okay? I don’t want to impose."
"Of course it’s okay," Grace says, waving off my hesitation with an easy confidence. "Happy to have you. The more, the merrier!"
And then she turns towards the kitchen, gesturing for us to follow. "Come join us," she says casually disappearing down the hall.
As I trail behind her, my gaze drifts toward the lounge area, where Jensen and a younger girl are perched on the sofas, deep in conversation.
Jensen catches sight of me and waves, while the girl offers me a polite smile.
I return it, but my attention shifts abruptly when Missy, beside me, lets out a loud, disgusted, “Eww.”
My eyes snap to where she’s looking, and … oh my god.
Ford.
Standing right there in front of us.
In nothing but his jeans.
My breath catches, knees threatening to give way as my gaze locks onto him. The solid ridges of muscle stretch across his tanned chest and stomach, every defined contour impossibly sharp. And then, oh no, my eyes trail lower. His jeans … they’re unbuttoned.
Stop looking. Eyes up, Stormy. Eyes up.
It takes effort, actual physical effort, to tear my gaze away from the spectacle, and when I finally manage it, I notice his wet curls hanging messily, dripping water onto his forehead. A white towel dangles from his hand, but his eyes, dark, steady, are locked on me.
"Oh."
The word slips out in a breath before I can stop it, my surprise evident.
And just like that, his expression shifts, just for a moment, like my reaction threw him. Like it stirred something in him.
"Why are you naked?" Missy blurts, pulling both of our attention to her, looking thoroughly unimpressed. "Can you please put some clothes on?"
She gags, loud and theatrical, complete with an exaggerated retching sound.
Ford huffs, but I can feel his eyes on me as Missy tugs me further into the room.
Against my better judgment, I chance another glance at him, at his stomach, and watch as his muscles tense in response.
And to say that doesn’t do something to me would be a complete lie.
A pulse of heat flashes through me, sharp and sudden, settling low in my core.
My fingers twitch with the ridiculous, traitorous urge to reach out, to trace each defined line.
"Excuse my son," Grace calls out, snapping me from my thoughts. "He was just taking a quick shower before lunch, he was filthy." She turns towards Ford, exasperated. "Go get some clothes on before you scare the poor girl away!"
He clears his throat before finally reaching down, slowly buttoning up his jeans.
Eyes up, Stormy. Keep your eyes up.
From the sofa, Jensen lets out a bark of laughter. "You should’ve seen the state of him!"
The girl beside him giggles, and Jensen leans forward, barely containing his amusement.
"One of the campers called about some issue with the showers, so we went to check, and turns out the entire block was flooding. Someone left a shower on, and the drains weren’t draining properly.
" Jensen struggles to hold back another laugh before continuing.
"Anyway, there was this huge muddy puddle outside, water had pooled everywhere, and Buddy went barrelling toward it.
Ford, in his infinite wisdom, tried to stop him, charged after him like some kind of hero, only Buddy stopped short, and Ford?
" Jensen wheezes out a laugh, shaking his head.
"He tripped right over him and into the mud. He was covered."
Behind me, Ford lets out a low, grumbled, "Can we not? It’s really not that funny."
I turn and I catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth when he notices me smiling, before he quickly schools his expression.
"It was fucking hilarious," Jensen insists, reenacting Ford’s graceless stumble with far too much enthusiasm.
I glance at Buddy, who lounges on the sofa with a knowing glint in his eyes, looking all too pleased with himself as he watches the chaos unfold, obviously well-accustomed to the playful antics of his humans. Meanwhile, the girl beside Jensen bursts into laughter, struggling to get the words out.
"When they got back, he looked like …" she wheezes, momentarily losing the ability to speak through her laughter.
"… you know Wreck-It Ralph?" She pauses, trying to catch her breath, then dissolves into giggles again.
Jensen nudges her playfully, clearly enjoying the moment as she continues, "That scene where he’s completely covered in that green candy, stomping around like some giant grumpy monster?
" She lets out another fit of laughter, elbowing Jensen back, who’s still in hysterics. "Well … that was Ford!"
With dramatic enthusiasm, she starts reenacting the scene, arms flailing in exaggerated frustration, making the whole thing even funnier, and I can’t help but giggle.
Ford lets out a long groan, dragging a hand down his face as if enduring the worst kind of suffering.
"Really? This is what we’re doing now?"
Jensen just grins, thoroughly enjoying watching the girl beside him as she continues her dramatic display, stomping around like some over the top monster.
Ford crosses his arms, his jaw ticking like he’s debating whether or not to argue, but then, against his will, a half-smile lifts his cheek. He tries to suppress it, clearing his throat and controlling his expression back into one of pure irritation, but it’s too late.
"Oh my god," Jensen gasps, pointing. "Did you just smile?"
Ford scowls, launching his towel at Jensen’s face.
"No."
"You so did," Missy chimes in, arms crossed, enjoying herself far too much. "Admit it, you think it’s funny."
Ford exhales through his nose, shaking his head as if deeply disappointed in himself, then mutters under his breath, "You’re all annoying," before walking off down the hall.
I lean against the edge of the sofa, arms loosely folded, watching the scene unfold with quiet amusement.
The easy banter, the teasing, the way laughter bounces off the walls, it’s something I haven’t been around in a long time.
Something I’d forgotten I’d missed. There’s a lightness here and an effortless kind of warmth.
Missy rolls her eyes at Ford’s grumbling, but the fondness behind it is unmistakable. Jensen laughs too hard at his own jokes, and Grace scolds Ford with exasperation, but there’s love in every word.
I let the moment soak in, taking a slow breath.
I missed it before, but I never realised just how much until now.
The food is as expected—delicious. A golden, vegetable tart sits at the centre of the spread, surrounded by an array of sides; roasted potatoes, fresh salads, warm bread, and dips that make my mouth water just looking at them.
The table is overflowing with choices, and I already know I’m going to need a second plate.
Apparently, they try to avoid eating animal products as much as possible, which makes sense for an animal sanctuary.
And I respect that. Actually, I love that.
I’ve been vegetarian for a while, always tempted to go fully vegan, but now, after tasting this, I think I’ve officially made up my mind.
This is going to be part of my new, changed life.
I eat happily, listening to the easy back-and-forth conversation around me.
I learn that the younger girl, Harper, is Ford and Missy’s little sister, and that Missy works in a cafe in town.
I also find that Grace has more than a few thoughts on the women who attend book club, some gossip slipping into the mix that makes Jensen snicker into his drink.
I drift into my own thoughts for a while, savouring the meal, until …
"Stormy?"
I blink, realising I’d tuned out for a moment.
"Sorry?"
Missy laughs.
"Me and Jensen were just saying, you’re about to open a bookstore in town, right?"
"Oh, yeah …" I start to respond, but before I can say anything else, Ford shifts in his seat and lets out a low sound, not quite disapproval, more like hesitation.
“I’m not sure that’s gonna go down well.”
I pause, surprised by his comment.
"What?"
Ford leans back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, eyes fixed somewhere near his plate.
“Just saying,” he mutters, “the other shop owners might not love it.”
Grace sighs, shaking her head as she wipes her mouth with a napkin.
“Ford, don’t be rude.”
“I’m not being rude,” he says, voice quiet but firm. “It’s just … they make good money off book sales from the book club. A new store means changes. And change makes people twitchy.”
His tone isn’t sharp; it’s measured and careful. But when his eyes meet mine, there’s something else there. A crease in his brow, like he’s not sure how to say what he means without it coming out wrong.
I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I don’t know what to say.
Missy jumps in before the silence stretches too long.
"I’m sure everything will be fine," she says, waving off his comments. "People love books, and honestly, the more places to buy them, the better!"
Ford doesn’t argue. He just gives a slow shrug.
I stay quiet, picking at the last bites of my meal. His words settle somewhere deep in my chest, not because I doubt myself, but because I don’t understand why he doubts it. Why the caution?
It’s my bookshop—my dream. And it’s happening.
I’ve spent too long rebuilding myself to let someone else’s uncertainty shake me now.
This move, this fresh start … it’s mine to make work.
And what does Ford know, anyway? Just because he’s wary doesn’t mean he’s right.
Business is business. Competition exists everywhere.
A bookstore could bring more foot traffic, not less.
Still … I don’t think he said it to be cruel.
He said it like someone who’s seen things go wrong.
Like someone who’s afraid of hope.
But he doesn’t have to believe in me. I believe in myself.
I press my lips together, deciding not to react. Instead, I take a slow breath, letting the conversation continue around me.
But when I glance up, and Ford’s eyes meet mine across the table, there’s no challenge in them. There’s no apology either. But something in his expression tells me maybe he wishes he’d said it differently, a sense of resignation.
And for a moment, I wonder if his doubt isn’t about the bookstore at all.
Maybe it’s about me.