“You’re staying here?”
I shrug a shoulder. “I’m cold,” I remind him.
“Then come here.”
He brings an arm around me, encircling us together. When he kisses the top of my head, I can’t help but feel like we never missed a page, because lying with him in bed feels as natural as the air I breathe.
“You have good arms,” I comment.
“I’m not even going to give a comeback because you know you just gave away that you’ve been checking me out.”
“You’re the father of our child, I’m always checking you out,” I declare matter-of-factly.
He squeezes me tighter. “I’m more than that and you know it.”
I don’t answer, instead opting for us to lie with each other, occasionally glancing and touching one another’s face or an arm or tracing a vein from the top of a hand up.
Staying in his bed is a one-way ticket to confusion.
“Night, Ford,” I whisper.
He sighs as I begin to wiggle out of his bed. “Your loss.”
“I’m sure,” I retort.
Walking out of his room, I know that the last few hours are enough to encourage me to jump over the cliff.
Because the next morning when I wake, I pick up the ring box.
7
FORD
Staring into my mug of coffee as I lean against the open sliding door to outside, I might appear calm, but I’d be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous. Throwing my shirt on hasn’t been a priority this morning either.
I haven’t seen Brielle since last night when she walked out of my bedroom after giving me a tease of getting her warm in my bed. She doesn’t even know that’s what she was doing, or if she did, then she played it steady. Needless to say, I didn’t get back to sleep easily, especially as the smell of her hair remained on the pillow.
Damn papaya.
It’s almost nine. We are due to see Margo in an hour. It won’t take long to drive to her home. Margo runs a routine, and by ten she wants morning tea in her garden, or the conservatory when the weather is too cold.
I tap my finger on the mug handle, and I decide that I’m not in much of a mood for caffeine. I walk out onto the patio and set the cup on a table, heading straight for the edge of the tiles to look out and study the middle of the lake. Old man Pete is swimming. He does it without fail as long as there’s no ice. Geez, I hope I’m capable of that when I’m his age.
The pattering of heels grabs my attention, and I twist my body to glance over my shoulder.
Fuck me, Brielle is stunning. Her hair is down in waves framing her face, and her shoes are open-toed to show the pale blue polish that matches her fingernails. She had to choose a baby-pink near-white dress? It’s exquisite, with short sleeves, yet it flows out at the waist to above her knees. I never had a fifties-housewife fantasy in my head, but my mind is spinning.
The sunlight shines on her as she stands still by the sliding door. “Really? No shirt? I should have known. Anyway, we should be going soon; I want to stop and pick up some fresh flowers for Margo.”
I smirk, kind of proud of my unintentional shirt move, before I scrub a hand across my jawline, taking a breath to prepare myself for the obstacle of the next few hours—keeping my body in check.
I slide my hand into my dark jeans pocket. I’ll throw on a white buttoned-down t-shirt. Margo likes effort.
“Yeah, sure. Don’t you want some breakfast?”
Elle giggles. “You know she is going to have an array of tea sandwiches and cake that we can’t say no to, right?”
I grin to myself. “That she will.” I walk in Brielle’s direction, and when I notice her adjust her earring, I’m blinded by the light of a diamond on her finger.
