It’s dark outside now, and the moon beams down through the windows. The same moon that’s watched me cry through countless nights, and seen me unravel, rebuild, and survive.
And I wonder, just for a moment, if the moon would be proud of who I am now.
I hear the door creak open behind me, and Ford steps in, hair still damp and holding two glasses of water. He sets them down on the bedside table, then walks over, stopping just behind me.
I feel his warmth and steadiness, and so I switch off the hair dryer, setting it on the table. He leans down, hands resting lightly on my shoulders, and meets my eyes in the mirror.
“You look beautiful,” he says, voice low.
I smile shyly, but my heart is overflowing.
“You keep saying that.”
“Because it’s true.”
He presses a kiss to the top of my head, then steps back as I finish brushing out my hair again, letting the slow rhythm ground me. Ford moves through my room, quiet and curious, trailing his fingers along the spines of my books. He picks them up one by one, studying each cover before gently setting them back.
I pull my hair into a messy bun on top of my head and slip into a soft silk nightdress, the fabric cool against my skin.
“See anything you like?” I ask, and he looks up from the book in his hands.
He hesitates, fingers still resting on the worn spine.
“I’ve … never actually read a book before.”
I stare at him, momentarily thrown.
“Wait … you’ve never read a book?”
He shrugs, a little sheepish.
“I mean, I’ve read manuals and stuff. Ranch guides. Equipment instructions. But never a fiction book. Not like these.”
I step closer, a slow smile curving my lips.
“I think you’d like them, Ford.”
My fingers trail lightly down his bare chest, and I watch his breath catch as his gaze follows my hand.
“Strong, morally grey men,” I murmur, voice low and teasing. “Falling hard for brave, sweet heroines. Lots of tension. Lots of heat.”
He clears his throat, eyes flicking to mine, flustered but trying to play it cool.
“If I read one of these, will it help me understand what you’re doing to me right now?”
“Maybe.”
My smile deepens as I catch the heat swirling in his eyes. “But I think you’re already catching on.”
I turn on my heel, my hand lingering just a moment longer before I let it slide away.
Behind me, his voice follows, low, rough, threaded with restraint.
“You’re trouble, did you know that?”
I glance back, just enough for him to see the spark in my eyes.
“Only the best kind of trouble,” I say, voice light, but laced with intent.
