“You missed a spot,” I tease, nodding towards a perfectly painted section.
He glances over his shoulder, eyes narrowing playfully.
“You sure? Or are you just finding excuses to stare?”
I laugh, cheeks warm.
“Maybe both.”
He grins, and for a moment, the world feels so light and easy
We’ve been taking things slow. Well … if you can call sex most nights and a never-ending text thread ‘slow.’ But really, we’ve just been enjoying each other and letting this thing between us unfold without pressure, without overthinking.
And so far? It’s going ridiculously well.
So well that I’ve got this stupid, permanent grin plastered across my face. I feel like I’m walking around with sunshine in my chest, and no one can wipe it off,
I’m sorting through a box of fantasy novels, stacking them by author when my phone buzzes. I glance down, expecting Missy. Or maybe a delivery update for the books arriving today.
But it’s not.
Sam: You still think you’re better off without me?
The words hit like a slap, and my chest tightens. The air feels suddenly too thick, like its stuck in my throat, and I just want to puke.
I already decided I wasn’t going to let men like this control my life. I meant it and I still do.
But this feels different than Will.
Will was sharp and sudden, a betrayal that cut deep but clean. Sam’s damage was slower. Quieter. It was years of erosion and second-guessing myself.
I guess it’s harder to step away from that kind of pain—the kind that gets into your bones.
So, I stand there frozen, with my fingers still curled around a book and staring at the screen.
Ford notices. Of course he does. He sets the roller down and crosses the room, wiping his hands on a rag.
“What’s wrong?”
I swallow hard and turn the screen towards him.
“It’s Sam.”
His jaw tightens. He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me, really looks. Then he moves closer, standing beside me like a wall I didn’t know I needed.
“Y’know, I’m not telling you what to do,” he says, voice low but firm. “But as long as you still have him on your phone … he still has a hold over you.”
His hand strokes gentle circles against my back, and I lean into him, soaking up the quiet protectiveness radiating from him. The truth of his words lands like a stone in my chest.
He’s not trying to control me. I know he’s not. He even said it himself; he’s not telling me what to do. He’s trying to remind me I’m allowed to choose peace.
I look down at the message again. My thumb hovers over the screen.
Ford doesn’t push. He just waits.
And somehow, that makes it easier to breathe. To know that he’s there to support me, whatever I choose. I can’t erase all the hurt and pain, but I have to give myself a fighting chance. I know I already made the choice to walk away. But this isn’t just about walking, it’s about untangling. And Sam’s the kind of knot that takes time to loosen.
“You’re right,” I whisper. “I don’t want him in my pocket anymore.”
