“You okay?” she asks lightly as we set it down on the tailgate.
I hesitate. Nod.
“Yeah. Just … tired.”
Missy tilts her head, her mouth pulling into something that looks suspiciously like a smirk, and I rush to fill the silence.
“I mean, when you promised me the ‘full camping experience’,” I say, mock accusatory. “Was the part about chronic back pain and aching joints in the fine print? Because if so, rude.”
She laughs, a sharp, genuine sound that makes something uncoil in my chest.
“It’s all part of the fun. No refunds.”
We collect a few other things around the camp, and I try to stay focused on the task at hand, but my thoughts keep snagging on the heat of Ford’s skin, the warmth of his breath on my neck, the way his voice wavered slightly when he told me we couldn't do this.
God.
If Missy knew what happened this morning … would she look at me the same? Would she hate me for it? For messing around with her brother like it didn’t mean anything, even though, deep down, I’m terrified it might.
My chest tightens. I don’t even know what it meant. We didn’t talk about it. Not really. Just backtracked like it never happened. And now Missy’s here. Being kind, when she should be … I don’t know. Protective. Furious. Warn me off, maybe.
“You know,” Missy says suddenly, tone soft, like she’s choosing her words carefully. “Ford’s a good guy. Bit of an idiot, but … good.”
I pause and look up at her. My heart stutters, a rush pounding in my ears, cold and hot all at once.
Does she know?
She knows.
And … she’s not mad?
Or maybe she is and just hiding it better than most.
But then she smiles, just a little, and it doesn’t feel fake. It feels … empathetic. It doesn’t make me feel any less tangled, though. But friends, that’s what Ford and I are, and it has to stay that way.
“Why are you telling me this?” I ask carefully, uncertainty lacing every word.
Missy shrugs, her eyes flicking to mine, gentle but unreadable. “Just thought it might be good to know. Seeing as you two seem to be talking again.”
I let out a breath. Short, uneven. “Yeah, I guess he’s … okay.”
It’s noncommittal. Safe.
Missy’s mouth curves into a smile, but she doesn’t say anything. Just turns back to grab another bundle of gear like the moment never happened. And I stand there, legs rooted, mind spinning.
Okay?
He’s okay?
That might be the biggest understatement in existence.
Missy hoists the bundle into the truck bed, then glances over her shoulder.
“You coming, Grandma Gatewood? Or is your back giving you too much grief?”
I narrow my eyes at her.
“What?”
