I try to relax, letting my head rest against the seat, the tension slowly unwinding from my shoulders. I relish the warm wind against my face as my eyes drift to the scenery rushing past, a stark contrast to the grey monotony of London, with its endless rows of buildings and perpetually overcast skies. Here, the world feels open. Just being here shifts something in me, lifting all the weight I had been carrying.
I don’t remember the last time I felt this free. Free to move, to breathe, to go where I want, do what I want, without anyone standing in my way. Well, except for Ford. He’d just appeared, all brooding authority, insisting on driving me back. And truthfully, though I’d claimed I was fine, I’m grateful he did. My arms had begun to ache under the weight of those bags, far heavier than I’d anticipated. I don’t know what I was thinking, assuming I could manage the walk back.
My eyes catch the rearview mirror, and for an instant, a pair of green eyes lock onto mine. Not just a passing glance, but something heavier. Yet, the moment he realises he’s been caught, his expression tightens, and his gaze snaps back to the road like it had never strayed. He hadn’t wanted me to notice, but I did. I glance toward Buddy, enjoying the wind against his face and without thinking, I let out a casual observation, to break the silence.
"He must be a good dog to get shotgun every time,” I say with a teasing lilt to my voice.
Ford glances briefly at Buddy before shifting in his seat. There’s a pause, a slight consideration, then, a gruff, quiet response. "He’s earned it."
I raise a brow, intrigued.
"Oh, yeah? How so?"
Ford keeps his eyes on the road, but the corners of his mouth twitch, just the slightest bit.
"Doesn’t whine, doesn’t chew up my stuff, doesn’t try to talk my ear off. Just sits there, enjoys the ride, minds his business."
I smirk.
“I’m starting to think Buddy’s a little spoilt.”
Ford lets out a small, huffed laugh.
"He’s a good dog."
I rest my chin against the seat, watching as Buddy lets out a contented sigh, as though agreeing with the words Ford says.
I grin and lean back, my face then slackening with a sobering thought.
"Must be nice. Being spoiled like that."
Ford doesn’t say anything, but when I catch him stealing a glance in the rearview mirror again, he’s looking at me funnily. Like he’s assessing and trying to piece my broken pieces together, to understand something I haven’t said.
I see it, but I don’t fully register it as my eyes drift back to the view out the window, thoughts turning to Sam, how, for all the good in the beginning, he never did anything truly selfless. Never made me feel like I was worth spoiling.
The realisation settles in my chest, bitter and quiet, but instead of lingering, I let out a short, amused breath. This dog has it better than I ever did, and somehow, that realisation stings and amuses me all at once. So, I laugh, soft, breathy, barely there. A quiet acknowledgment of the absurdity of it all.
The rest of the journey passes quickly and the hum of the engine and the rhythm of the road settle into something almost comfortable. Ford pulls up in front of my cottage, and though he still hasn’t said much, there’s a noticeable shift in his demeaner. His frame isn't quite stiff as when he picked me up, not pulled taut like a coiled spring, but silence still clings to him like a second skin.
Without a word, he jumps out of the truck, Buddy following close at his heels. I unclip my seatbelt, push open the door, and climb down, stretching my legs briefly before circling toward the back. But Ford is already moving. He’s ahead of me, bags in hand, striding toward my front door.
He stops, standing there expectantly, and I frown, jogging a few steps to catch up.
He shifts the bags in his grip, voice easy.
“Anytime you’re ready, Sunshine.”
I blink, caught off guard. There’s no bite in his tone, just a dry, almost amused edge that makes my stomach flutter for reasons I’d rather not examine.
“Oh … right, yeah, okay.”
Flustered, I scramble for my keys, rummaging through my bag with far more urgency than necessary.
Fords lips curve lightly, waiting as I fumble.
“I thought you had to work?” I mumble, distracted as I dig deeper into my bag.
There’s a beat of hesitation before he replies, voice low, almost offhand.
