13
Stormy
Will’s arm is slung around my waist, heavy and unwelcome, but smiling feels easier than pulling away. Sometimes it’s simpler to let things slide rather than risk making something out of nothing. Missy’s gone quiet next to me, her attention drifting toward the bartender, and I’m just about to excuse myself when I hear a throat clearing beside me. I look up. It’s Ford.
“Everything okay over here?” he asks, but his eyes are on me, not Will. There’s something steady in his look, something grounding. I nod, just barely, and I think he sees it, the flash of relief that I can’t quite hide.
Will answers for me.
“Oh yes, all good over here, Ford,” he drawls, all teeth and confidence. “Just getting to know this little British beauty right here.”
I tense, but Ford doesn’t react. Not visibly. Will finally untangles himself, and I feel the shift in my own body, the way my shoulders drop, the way I can breathe again. I keep smiling, polite, practised.
Ford orders drinks with the barman, then turns back to me.
“I … uh ... you’re welcome to come sit with us over there,” he says, nodding toward a booth where another man sits waving with a grin.
I hesitate. Will’s still watching me, hopeful, maybe even expectant. But I nod. “Sure.” Then I turn to Will, still smiling. “It was nice to meet you, Will.”
His face falters, just slightly, but then he smiles.
“Guess I’ll see you around.”
He stays for a beat longer as if I might say something more, before finally, he turns away.
I catch Missy’s eye and tilt my head toward the booth, and she follows without a word.
At the table, Ford introduces me to Jensen, who rises with a big smile and gestures for me to slide in first.
“Ford didn’t mention you wereBritish,” he says, eyes locked on Ford like he’s been betrayed. “Oh, I’ve got so much I want to ask you … First and foremost, did you know the Queen?”
I laugh, caught off guard.
“Not personally,” I say, already bracing for the barrage of questions I know is coming. Jensen’s charming, and I can tell he’s going to talk my ear off. But I don’t mind, it gives me something to focus on beside the strange tension still humming in my chest.
Ford settles beside Missy, and I catch glimpses of their banter; shoulder nudges, eye rolls, the kind of teasing that only comes from years of knowing someone inside out. I miss that. The bond I had with my own sister. Seeing it across from me, especially from Ford, makes me see him in a slightly different light. It adds something else to the grumpy exterior he seems to wear.
I wonder why he invited us over. From our first encounter, he didn’t seem interested in having anything to do with me. But then he picked meup when I was struggling with my bags, and now here I am, sitting in a booth with him. Whatever the reason, I can’t say I mind too much.
Jensen keeps me talking, and slowly, I relax, and the tension I’d been carrying starts to melt. I smile at something he says, take a sip of my drink, and glance up, only to catch Ford watching me. My blood heats. God, he’s hot. I shouldn’t be into him. I shouldn’t be thinking about men right now at all. But when something that looks that good is sitting right in front of you, it’s impossible not to look.
Just for a second, his expression softens, but before I have time to fully absorb it, it shifts, so I turn back to Jensen, who’s now asking about British slang and whether I’ve ever had a proper fry-up. I laugh again, answering easily, but part of me is still aware of Ford. Of the way he’s pretending not to watch and of the way he keeps glancing at the time.
Eventually, he stands.
“Okay, I’m off … gotta be up before the sun,” he says, grabbing his jacket.
Missy groans.
“Oh, come on! Have a shot with us!”
She motions to a barmaid carrying a tray of shots to come over to the table.
Jensen joins in, “Yeah, one shot. That’s all.”
Ford shakes his head, pulling his jacket off his shoulders.
Jensen points his beer glass toward Ford.
