“You know,” she says softly, “I’ve always worried about Ford.”
I glance at her in the mirror, curious.
“He’s spent so much of his life looking after everyone else. Fixing things. Carrying weight that wasn’t his. And somewhere along the way, he stopped believing he could have something for himself. Like happiness was something he had to earn, not something he deserved.”
She sets the wand down and runs her fingers through the curls, loosening them with gentle care.
“He built walls, Stormy. Not just to keep people out, but to keep himself from hoping. Especially when it came to love. I used to think he’d never let anyone in.”
Her eyes meet mine in the mirror, and her smile softens.
“But then you came along,” she continues, smiling at me through the mirror. “And it’s like he finally stopped guarding the gate. Like he saw someone who didn’t need fixing, just care. Someone who makes him laugh, who challenges him, who sees him—reallysees him.”
My breath catches.
“I want him to be happy,” she says, voice thick with emotion. “He deserves that. And I think you’re the first person who’s ever made him believe he could have it. That he’s allowed to want something for himself.”
Missy leans down, resting her chin lightly on my shoulder. “You’re perfect for each other. Not because you’re flawless, but because you’re brave. You both are. And I think you’re exactly what he’s been waiting for, even if he didn’t know it.”
I reach up and squeeze her hand, heart thudding with something fierce and full.
“Thank you,” I whisper.
She grins.
“Now go knock him dead. But like, emotionally, not literally. I still need him to fix the light in my bedroom.”
I look at myself in the mirror. I’m nervous and excited. But, above all, I’m hopeful.
I’m just pulling on my boots when I hear a slow, deliberate crunch of heavy footsteps approaching up the gravel. My pulse flickers to attention. And then there’s three short knocks.
I glance towards the hallway mirror one last time with my chest tightening. My curls have settled in soft waves over my shoulders, and the pink dress is floating around my thighs like something quietly magical. It makes me feel romantic.
Missy stands beside me grinning like she’s watching a romcom unfold in real time.
I reach for the door and open it slowly. Ford stands there, looking so good that handsome doesn't even begin to cover it. In fact, he looks godly,as though he’s been carved from shadows and late summer light. His black button-down shirt clings in all the right places, sleeves rolled just enough to show the tattoos licking up his forearms where his veins are pronounced. His jeans sit low, and a brown belt anchors the whole look in rugged precision. His boots are dusted, and his hair is tousled in a way that’s unfair to the laws of attraction. Soft, touchable, and begging to be tangled in someone’s fingers. My fingers.
And for a second, he just stares.
His eyes travel from my curls to the shimmer on my lips, down to the way the dress skims my waist and settles over my hips. He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.
Then he exhales slowly, and a smile lifts the corner of his mouth. Not his usual smirk. Something softer.
“Holy hell, Stormy …”
He steps forwards, hands finding my waist, and spins me once gently. He’s admiring, like he needs the full view to believe it.
“You look …” His voice is rough now, low. “Beautiful.”
I laugh, dizzy from his reaction, heart skipping wildly.
“Would you two like some privacy?” Missy calls from behind, leaning against the wall with a smug little tilt of her head.
Ford tenses, just barely. His hands slide from my waist, slowly, like he doesn’t want to let go, thumbs grazing my hips. A whisper of contact so gentle it makes my breath catch.
He clears his throat.
“Shouldn’t you be at the stables?”
