Chapter 41 Ford
Ford
Stormy grabs herself something warm to put on for the cool evening breeze that’s beginning to stir outside, and then I guide her to my truck, where Buddy waits patiently.
As soon as he notices us coming, he perks up, tail wagging and then hops into the back—apparently, it’s his new favourite spot whenever Stormy’s around.
“You don’t mind Buddy tagging along, do you?” I ask, opening the door for her, and hoping she’s okay with it. “I think he’d be a little jealous if I went out with you without him.”
She laughs, making that endearing little sound that I’ve grown so fond of. “Of course I don’t.” She reaches out to where his head rests between the seats, giving him a gentle scratch as she climbs in. “Hey, little buddy.”
I close the door behind her and pause for a breath, trying to steady my heart because it’s been racing since she opened that door.
She looks breathtaking tonight. She always does, but tonight, there’s something about her that feels almost unreal.
Maybe it’s the way the evening light catches in her eyes, or maybe it’s just the simple truth that she’s here, with me.
Whatever it is, I can’t take my eyes off her
That dress, pink and delicate, is just like her. And I don’t mean that in a way that makes her seem fragile, but in a way that makes her feel precious. She’s someone you hold close, and someone you never take for granted.
Those soft blonde waves … the way they frame her face. And that barely-there makeup … She doesn’t need anything extra to impress me. She already has. I like her for who she is, no filters, no performance. Just Stormy
I slide into the driver’s seat and pull the door until it clicks shut behind me.
Suddenly, the cab feels full with her in here.
She’s everywhere, with her soft cardigan, floaty dress, and the faint scent of coconut and vanilla emanating from her shampoo.
Everything in me aches to reach for her and to pull her close and kiss her, slowly, endlessly, across her lips, down the curve of her neck, and over the delicate line of her collarbone.
But I catch myself before the thought runs too far. Before she notices the heat rising on my neck and the way my breath’s gone uneven.
I glance at the dashboard instead.
6.00 p.m.
Perfect.
I glance over at Stormy with a smile.
“I’ve got a little surprise for you before our date,” I say, starting the engine. “We’ll just make it in time before the place closes.”
Her eyes widen, smile blooming like sunlight breaking through clouds.
“You planned a surprise?” she asks, voice laced with disbelief and delight. I know she’s not used to being the one surprised, and God, the way she says it makes me want to do it a hundred times over.
I just smile and nod, keeping the rest to myself.
She’ll know soon enough, and I can’t wait to see her face.
She twists in her seat, glancing back at Buddy, who’s now sitting tall in the back, tail thumping against the upholstery. Then she looks at me, then back to Buddy again, eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Buddy,” she mouths, mock serious. “Do you know what the surprise is? Come on, tell me. Whisper it in my ear.”
Buddy lets out a soft huff and thumps his tail against the seat, tongue lolling, clearly enjoying the attention.
I laugh, shaking my head.
“Uh-uh. He’s sworn to secrecy. You’ll see soon enough.”
Stormy turns back to me with bright eyes and flushed cheeks. She’s glowing and not just from the golden spill of early evening light through the windshield, but from something inside.
She leans back, still smiling, and I swear the whole truck feels warmer as we settle into a comfortable rhythm. The truck hums along the road, and the low sun stretches long across the fields. I quietly promise to myself: to do my best to keep that smile on her face, whenever I can.
A short while into the drive, Stormy shifts in her seat, tucking one leg beneath her, cardigan sleeves pulled down over her hands like a soft cocoon.
She glances at me.
“Do you have any music?” Her voice is light.
I shake my head, eyes still on the road.
“Not really. I don’t usually listen to anything in here.”
She turns towards me with her brows raised in disbelief. “Wait … you drive in silence? Like, actual silence?”
I laugh, the sound low and amused.
“What can I say? I like the peace.”
She gasps, mock dramatic, hand to her chest.
“That’s borderline criminal, Ford. Can I … put something on?”
“Sure,” I say, narrowing my eyes playfully.
“But please tell me it’s not going to be that girly stuff you and Missy were dancing to that time I walked in on you both.
” Her cheeks flush instantly, and I catch it in my peripheral vision, that soft pink blooming across her face.
It’s adorable. “You did look very cute, though,” I add, unable to help myself.
“All carefree. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you laugh that hard. ”
She rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling widely now. “Come on, it’s good music. I’m sure you’ll survive.” Her smile softens, turning nostalgic. “Me and my sister used to dance around to this stuff when we were younger. It was our thing.”
She connects her phone to the truck’s Bluetooth, and within seconds, the cab is filled with upbeat pop, catchy hooks, and glittery vocals—the kind of stuff that makes you want to dance even if you pretend you don’t.
I want to ask about her sister, about her mom and her dad, but she’s been through enough today and I don’t want to dredge up any more bad feelings, so I leave it for now.
I endure the music with a grin, watching her mouth the lyrics and tap her fingers against her thigh. She’s so damn adorable, and I kind of love it. Stormy is unfiltered, and it feels easy to be with her.
But then, a few songs in, I freeze.
The opening beat to a very familiar song kicks in, ‘Wannabe’ by the Spice Girls, and it’s like my brain short-circuits.
Stormy doesn’t say anything, but I catch the shift in her posture; the way she glances at me, her lips rolling together like she’s trying to hold something in, eyes glinting with something suspicious.
I glance over.
“You know this song?”
She asks casually, but there’s a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.
I shrug, trying to play it cool.
“I mean, who doesn’t?”
A few seconds pass. Her gaze lingers. I narrow my eyes. “You’re acting weird.”
She laughs innocently.
“I’m not! Why would I be acting weird, Ford?” A tiny giggle slips out, betraying her.
Her grin is pure mischief, and suddenly it clicks.
Mortification hits me like a punch to the gut.
“Missy,” I mutter, dragging a hand over my face. “I’m going to kill that girl.”
Stormy bursts out laughing with her head tilted back and her eyes shining.
“She might have mentioned something about a certain boy who used to belt out Spice Girls in his bedroom.”
I groan, but I’m smiling too.
“I was eight. It was a phase.”
“Sure it was,” she teases, eyes dancing. “You still know all the words, don’t you?”
I glance at the road, then at her, then back again.
“No comment.”
She nudges my arm playfully.
“Come on, Ford. You can sing along if you want to …”
I shake my head, laughing.
“You’re lucky you’re cute.”
But the truth is, I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything.
Not the music. Not the teasing. Not even the embarrassment.
Because this here—with her beside me—is exactly where I want to be.