“Bad combo from the beginning. Both hotheads, willing to die on a hill for everything they believed in. At first, it was one another and marrying outside the faith. And later it became going back to their faiths. Anyway, the one tradition my mom kept up all my life was Sunday Sauce. Every Sunday, she’d put up a huge pot of homemade sauce. The garlic and tomatoes permeated our whole house.” He smiled, the crinkles around his eyes deepening. “This place smells like that. To me.”
“I wish I could have experienced that in real time. We didn’t go to your house much. That was on me. Maggie needed to watch all of us, and it was easier to be at our place.”
“It’s not a big deal. Only the smell makes me feel a little closer to my mom.”
Sometimes I needed to be reminded of her, especially in uncertain moments like this. But I didn’t admit any of that.
“I’m glad to be here with you, then,” was all Ford said.
The server brought the wine, providing a welcome respite from the focus on me. Ford asked him to skip the whole sniff test and to just pour, laughing the whole time, making sure it was known he wasn’t some sort of snob.
With two glasses of wine in front of us, Ford said, “To the back forty.”
It was the second time in a matter of minutes that he’d rendered me speechless. He spoke about the second half of our lives so easily, as if this dinner actually meant something. As if it would lead into the next forty years. It was my greatest fantasy, but also my wildest and least likely to come true. I didn’t know how to reply, so I took a sip of wine, hoping the alcohol would clear my thoughts and my vocal cords.
“Oh, that’s good,” he said about his own taste of wine, “and I didn’t even need to look at the list.”
“I’ll remember that trick, but I would give the guy a budget.”
“Smart. Now that I know garlic and tomatoes take you to the edge, tell me about the job.”
“Like I said, I was tutoring, and then got out from Tony’s reign and rented a small apartment by the hospital. As luck would have it, one of my students was the son of someone on the board. A woman,” I added quickly.
“I wouldn’t judge you like that.”
“I know, but I felt like it was important to note. Anyway, I was working with the student in a coffee shop one day when his mom came to meet him afterward. She invited us to join them. She wanted to get to know me—after all, I’d helped her son pass all his philosophy classes. When she asked me about my background, she loved that I’d attended Stillwell, and told me about the development opportunity. Said we could both open a lot of doors for one another…”
“Good old Stillwell, the gift that keeps on giving.”
I felt my face fall and encouraged my mouth to draw back up.
Ford immediately picked up on my unease. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I was the scholarship kid.”
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it. Stillwell is its own brand, and it doesn’t matter how you went there. You went, and it opened a door. That’s what it was supposed to do.”
“At the time, I was happy for the escape opportunity. It was a second chance, and I took it. Now I rarely bring up Stillwell. I’m a known entity in my circles. I’ve built that on my own.”
I had grown something, and I might not be confident in dating or with men, but I was confident in my career.
“That’s amazing. I don’t doubt you’re well respected.”
I shifted the attention back to Ford. “Not like someone with a couple of Academy Awards.”
“They’re only action figures.”
Running my hand through my hair, I brought it to one side and allowed some cool air on my neck. Sitting across from Ford, sharing time like this, was something out of my dreams. Slipping off my striped blazer, I set it behind my chair. In only a dark green sleeveless blouse, I felt naked, but with the jacket on I was a roasting pig. Ford eyed my naked arms, his gaze coming back to my own.
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Look at you? Why? You’re stunning.” His words hummed in my chest.
“I meant the awards. Don’t minimize them for my benefit. But also, don’t stare at me.” I had no idea where the boldness was coming from.
“Green is your color, with your perfect skin.” He continued to ignore what I was saying.
“Not with my red-red hair. I never could wear green back then.” I mentally scolded myself. What man wanted to discuss hair color and clothing selection? None.
