I’ve probably said too much. I’ve definitely said too much.
Ford scrubs a hand across the trim stubble on his jaw, his blue eyes twinkling in…delight. “You named…my biceps?”
“And your abs,” I admit.
“There’s so much to unpack in that statement. But I have to get to practice. And no, I don’t give a fuck who’s there. So…is it a yes? To our revenge fake date?”
I smile, and when he smiles too, it does something entirely new to my heart—it feels light and glowy.
“It’s a yes,” I say.
His dimple shows up again. “Good.” He heads next door, gives me a wave, then—a flex of his right biceps.
“Dedication,” I say.
Another flex, the left this time. “Focus,” I add.
He wiggles his eyebrows as he goes inside with his dog.
I have no idea how my morning went from a pity invite to a revenge fake date, but I’ll take it.
“Bamboo is the new black. Fight me on this.”
It’s my opening salvo in today’s podcast. I’m feeling all sorts of feisty after this morning’s encounter with Ford turned my day around.
Trevyn arches a brow. “Reclaimedis the new black,” he counters.
Mabel smiles, makes a rolling gesture, and says, “I’d better get some popcorn for this.”
“Pay attention,” I tell her. “Because you’ll need to know this for your future bakery.”
“She’s not going to have a bamboo bakery,” Trevyn chides from across the table, full of stern authority.
“Not least becauseThe Bamboo Bakeryis a terrible name,” Mabel adds.
“One hundred percent,” I agree.
“But sheisgoing to have chairs made with reclaimed wood for her fabulous place someday, and here’s why…” Trevyn launches us into a fifteen-minute debate about which design hack is better for both pocketbooks and the planet.
I feel energized. And, honestly, a little too excited about next weekend’s…fake date with Ford. My mood must be patently obvious—especially to Mabel, who was on the receiving end of my rant this morning.
“You’re in amuchbetter mood than earlier,” she notes. “The viewers can see that smile, but the listeners can’t.So…what’s it for? You’ve been grinning this whole time, and let’s be real—pretty much the only things that put you in a mood like that are great thrift finds, snarky comments from Simon, and ogling hot guys.”
“Guess which one it is,” I challenge.
Trevyn strokes his goateed chin. “Oh, this is gonna be good.”
“I bet it’s all three,” Mabel declares, flicking a strand of light brown hair off her shoulder like she’s just cracked the case.
My jaw drops, and I can’t say a word as Mabel leans closer to the mic and whispers, “Is itSexy Reno Guy?”
A tingle shoots down my chest, chased by a secret hope I haven’t felt in a long time. I’m about to answeryes—but then I wonder if that would be saying too much. Is it admitting too much, even if it’s just to our nine hundred thirty-one subscribers? Well, one thousand one hundredfiftynow, since we had a bunch of new subs last week.Yay us.
But since Ididtell Ford I’d named his muscles, it’s not exactly a secret that I think a client is sexy. At least I haven’t said hisnameon the show. And if he listened to it, or his mom did, they’d only hear that I think he’s handsome. “Possibly,” I say, twirling a lock of my hair.
“Oh, I do love possibilities,” Trevyn says.
And the thing is—I like possibilities too. I’m eager for the possibilities for the first time in ages. But that eagerness also scares me. Dates lead to romance, which leads to opening up and getting close and realizing you’ve wastedfive yearsof your life on the wrong person.
