Chapter 17
Natasha
As charming as the house was, my brain had snagged on the fact that Ford was storing his grandmother's baby grand piano for his sister. I remembered that he had a close relationship with his grandmother too. Had she given it to just one of them or both?
I didn't want to push too hard tonight. I was supposed to help a friend decorate their tree. It wasn't a rehashing of everything I'd missed when I was gone, even if I was dying to know more about him.
It was weird to have known someone so well and now have to play catch-up. What did I miss, and what pieces shaped the man that Ford was now?
He led me into the family room that held a large sectional, TV mounted on the wall, and the tree set up by the windows.
"The prior owners already knocked out the wall between these two rooms, saving me a lot of trouble. They did a few upgrades to the kitchen, but I'd like to do a renovation so that everything matches."
It was dark out so I couldn't see the view outside, but I suspected it was the trees I'd spotted when I parked in the driveway.
There were boxes by the tree with strands of lights and Clara's ornaments. "Oh, good. You didn't start without me."
"You promised you'd help," Ford reminded me as he moved into the kitchen.
"It's a large area."
"But the space isn't utilized well. I have a huge pantry, but it looks like a closet. If I use cabinetry instead, I'll get a lot more storage, and it won't take up as much room. I wanted to add a large island with stools since there's a formal dining room there." He pointed to the next room over.
There was a large table already in there. "Is this your grandmother's?"
"Aspen didn't have any space for a large piece of furniture, so I put it here. Better than having it in storage."
"That must be nice to have a piece of your grandmother in your home. I'm sure it brings back beautiful memories."
"It is nice having a piece of her here, although I see her by the piano more than the table. She almost never used it except for holiday dinners."
I walked around the heavy, dark-wood table, admiring the glass cabinet with china dishes inside. "The woodwork is gorgeous in here too."
"I'll keep the crown molding—"
I held up a hand. "Whatever you do, don't paint it."
I smiled. "I won't. You want to go upstairs?"
I nodded eagerly. "Yes, please."
I led the way up the staircase at the front of the house, leading her through the smaller guest rooms first, leaving the primary for last.
"There are so many rooms," she said after seeing a couple.
"Five bedrooms. It was one of my favorite things about the house."
"You can't beat the space."
"My family questioned how I'd fill the rooms, and I didn't have an answer for them. It just felt like the house for me."
Ford turned on the light to his room with its heavy, dark furniture and gray bedding.
I was positive he'd straightened up the room before I arrived, or he was naturally neat because of the army. The living room area had framed photos of his family, but otherwise the room was barren. I wondered if he hadn't gotten around to settling in yet, or if he wasn't good at decor.
"This is where I started working first," he said when he switched on the bathroom light.
The room was framed, and he was tiling the shower. "Will you have a freestanding tub in here?"
"If so, it could go here in front of the window."
I stepped in the space. "This is the perfect spot for it, especially if there's a good view through the window."
"It's like you're in a tree house up here."
I envisioned clean white lines, something with a modern feel.
"I want it to be an oasis when it's done. I shower as soon as I come home from work, and I want it to feel comfortable with all the amenities. You know, multiple shower heads, heated towel rack, radiant floors."
"You've thought of everything."
"The bathroom's important to me."
I smiled. "Most people worry more about the kitchen."
"I'll get there, and I'll put just as much time and attention into the design."
"It's going to be lovely when it's finished.
" I was more than a little jealous that he'd bought a house and was putting his touch on it.
Of course, he was a construction worker, so this kind of work was easy for him.
But I still lived in an apartment, and there was nothing special about it.
I should have let Ford renovate it, but I couldn't justify spending the money, not when it all needed to go into guest spaces.
"Are you ready to cook dinner?"
I nodded, following him out. "Thanks for showing me your home. I can't wait to see how it looks when you're done."
"I'm only working on nights and weekends when I can fit it in, so it will take a long time to be finished with everything."
"You seem to be making progress in the bathroom."
"I'm extra motivated to get it done. For now, I'm using the guest bathroom, which isn't ideal."
In the kitchen, he pulled out pasta, chicken, marinara sauce, and breadcrumbs. "I thought we could make chicken parmesan."
"That sounds good."
"You want to cook the pasta while I get the chicken ready?" he asked, already pulling out the pots and casserole dish we'd need.
"Absolutely." I couldn't remember ever cooking with a man before. Friends cooked together, right? Friends that had sex.
I didn't want to think too hard about that. It brought up all kinds of questions I didn't have answers for. Like what was I doing here? Were we friends with benefits? Something more?
I focused on filling the pot with water. He coated the chicken in the breading mixture and placed it in the casserole dish, putting it in the oven. "I'll get the lights started if you want to keep an eye on the stove."
"I can do that."
"I ordered hot cocoa mix if you want to make it."
"That would be great." I remembered where he said the pantry was, so I opened the doors, easily finding the hot cocoa mix and marshmallows.
There wasn't much in the pantry. I wondered if he didn't need a lot as a single guy.
He might order out most of the time. I never knew him when he lived on his own.
I was getting to know him as a man, no longer the teen who lived with his parents.
Things were bound to be different. It wasn't a continuation of our old relationship but something new.
We'd both grown and matured; we had new baggage to contend with.
Then I scolded myself for thinking we were in a relationship. We most definitely were not.
I heated the milk, watching as he untangled the strands from the boxes and hung them on the tree. I could see me living here with him, helping him cook while we decorated, or watching a movie with him.
"I think we're missing music." I searched my music app for a holiday playlist, then hit Play. "How's that?"
He smiled over at me. "It's perfect."
I wanted to end the day staring at his gorgeous tree while a holiday movie played in the background. Maybe we'd make love in the living room with the fire crackling and the lights twinkling.
I had no business thinking about us sharing this space.
It was his house, and he'd only asked me for help as a friend.
Not as a former lover or his present one.
We were friends with benefits at best. I wouldn't let my mind wander too far into the future.
The past was doomed to repeat itself, and I wasn't a stupid girl.
When the milk heated, I poured it into mugs with the hot cocoa, then mixed it. I set the mugs on the counter with a spoon for marshmallows. I loaded up mine, then asked, "You want marshmallows on yours?"
"I'd love something sweet," he said with a smile, and I wondered if he was talking about something besides sugar.
I wouldn't assume that this was anything more than what it was. Even if it felt decidedly intimate being in his home, cooking in his kitchen, and decorating his tree. We were friends. I could do this.
I added the noodles to the bubbling water, then carried the mug over to him.
He smiled as I approached. "What do you think of the lights?"
I adjusted one strand and said, "They look great."
We sipped our hot chocolates, admiring the tree for a few seconds, before I remembered I was still cooking on the stove. I set my mug on the coffee table and checked the pasta.
"I'll empty it for you. Don't want you to get burned." Ford drained the pasta into the strainer, the steam from the water pouring out.
It was a thoughtful gesture. I had never lived with a guy or even gotten close to it. I roomed with my sister, which stopped me from getting too serious about anyone, and maybe that was on purpose. I knew how much love hurt.
I'd insulated myself over the years from anyone getting too close, and it was all because of this guy. So I had to remain vigilant. I couldn't let myself fall for him, even if it felt uncontrollable.
"You want to start on the ornaments? The chicken will take longer."
In the family room, I pulled out the vintage-looking decorations, hanging them on the tree, much like we had at my place.
He handled the top of the tree, and I covered the bottom branches. We were halfway through the ornaments when the timer sounded.
Ford handed his ornament to me. "I'll check on the chicken."
I found a bare spot and hung the baby-blue mustang. "It's coming together nicely."
"Clara included garland for the mantle too."
I pulled it out, arranging it on the mantle. Then I found three candles of various heights. The boxes indicted that they had timers on them, so they'd be lit for five hours a day. He wouldn't even have to turn them on. "Did you ask for candles?"
"Nope."
"Well, Clara included them. She thought of everything."
"If I ever plan a Christmas-themed party, I'll be sure to hire her."
I laughed. "She's amazing."
"Dinner's ready, if you want to set the table."
I rushed to help him, grabbing the plates and silverware, pleased to see that he didn't have any boxes. He'd unpacked, which meant he was here to stay for a while. I wouldn't get my hopes up, but it was a good sign.
I set the dining room table since that was the only one he had.
"How do you feel about real candles?"
"That would be nice."
He pulled out tall white pillars that ran the length of the table.
"I feel like a princess eating at this table," I said as he lit each one.
"It has a nice ambiance."
"Your grandmother would be pleased to know you used her things."
He raised a brow. "This is the first time."
"You haven't had family over yet?"
"They saw it when I moved in, but I wasn't ready for guests yet. I figured I had a lot of renovations to complete before I could host."
"Well, this is fine for me. I'm not fancy."
"I'm glad you approve." He carried over the bowl of pasta and the chicken parmesan and plated it for me. He poured wine in the glasses and sat across from me at the table.
It was intimate, and the candlelight made the evening romantic. This didn't feel like a friend helping out another friend. It felt very much like a date. But I wasn't brave enough to point that out to him.
Maybe he was just having fun playing house, wanting to use his grandmother's things. When I'd talked myself into a good head space, I cut the chicken and took a bite. "It tastes really good."
"I'm glad you like it."
I chewed and swallowed. "You should cook more often."
"I can cook, but it seems like a waste for one."
"But then you have leftovers for days."
"I get sick of eating the same thing every day. At my parents, we always had a new meal. There were never any leftovers with six kids, and Cooper was always over."
"I'd imagine not. How's Cooper doing?"
"He works in the family business, and he's still tight with the family. I think of him as a brother."
I sighed. "I always wondered what was going on at his house that he preferred yours."
"We never asked. My mom was adamant that we let him tell us when he was ready, but he never did. She wanted to provide a safe place for him."
Nothing was ever said, but he and his younger sister were quiet in school. They wore what were clearly hand-me-downs, and they received free lunches at school. But beyond that, no one asked. And maybe that was a mistake. "As long as he's fine now."
"He's great and really proud of his sister, who went to college."
I raised a brow. "First one in the family?"
He nodded. "From the way he talks about it, I have to assume so."
"That's great."
He sighed, looking around at the room. "I'm happy to be here, surrounded by people who mean so much to me. It's not that my fellow soldiers didn't mean something too, but it's different being home.”
"I'd like to say it's the same for me, but it's just me and Eve, and it's almost sad to be here without my parents."
He reached across and covered my hand with his. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring up all that you've lost."
"You can talk about your family. It's just that the grief, the sense of loss, is still so acute. I'm sure it will get better with time. But I will miss them at big events, holidays, weddings."
He squeezed my hand before moving back to his side of the table. "You know my family is yours too. Any time you want to be ensconced with noise and chaos, you're welcome."
"I really appreciate you saying that." When we broke up, I mourned the loss of him and his family. It was good to know that I had that back.