“Sure.”
“Ford, come on,” Landyn cuts in gently. “Don’t you think you’re being a little hard on him?”
“Whose side are you on?” he asks, but there’s a playful tone in his voice.
“I’m not picking sides, babe. But last I checked; you fell for someone you worked with too.”
“I’m not falling for anyone,” I interrupt, exasperated. “You both need to relax. It’s a quick trip. No ulterior motives. Nothing is going to happen.”
Ford’s stare flicks back to me. “That’s what I told myself when I asked Landyn to come with me to Whistler. And you might actually not believe it, but trust me, you’ll makesomething happen.”
I open my mouth to argue, then stop. Because if I’m being honest with myself, evenI’mnot sure I can promise otherwise.
“Please just don’t do anything that drags Cove into this mess,” Ford says, shaking his head. But the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile.
“Scout’s honor,” I say solemnly, holding up two fingers.
“Jess,” he warns.
“I know, Ford. Don’t worry. I got it.”
I hope it’s enough to end this conversation, but the truth is, I haven’t been able to get Madeline out of my head all damn week. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to cross any lines with her.
Landyn slides onto the stool next to mine and leans into me, bumping her shoulder against mine. “Be careful with her, okay? Madeline is great. And I want to keep her at Cove, she knows what she’s doing.”
I meet her gaze, which is warm but a little too knowing. “I’m not planning on hurting anyone. I promise.”
“I know you would never hurt anyone on purpose,” she says softly. “I know you, Jess. You might be a shameless flirt, but you’ve got a good heart.”
I grin, leaning back in my chair. “See? Finally, someone around here appreciates me. You could learn a thing or two from Landyn here, big brother.”
Ford shakes his head. “Just don’t do anything stupid, Jess.”
It’s close to midnight when I finally call it a night. Thehouse is quiet, the blanketing type of silence that makes the city feel far away. I’m stretched out in bed, a book in hand—The Great Gatsby, dog-eared and worn, the same one I’ve read a dozen times. I have a soft spot for characters who maintain an in-control façade but when you scratch the surface things get more complicated.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand just as I’m about to switch off the light. I glance over, expecting one of Ford’s late-night emails, but instead I see a message from Madeline.
Madeline:Flight’s at 8:15 a.m. tomorrow. I’ll meet you at the gate at 7:30.
Another message lands right after.
Madeline:Don’t forget your ID. Or your suit. Or your toothbrush.
A grin tugs at the corner of my mouth. This girl is nothing if not organized. Maybe a little anxious, if the rapid-fire texts are anything to go by. It’s so her — precise, practical, and unintentionally adorable. It leaves a faint fluttery feeling low in my chest that I can’t shake.
I thumb a quick reply.
Me:Nice to see we’ve progressed from sticky notes to texts. Do you send all your bosses bedtime reminders, or am I just lucky?
Three dots appear. Then disappear. Then reappear.
Madeline: Just making sure this trip doesn’t turn into a disaster before it even starts.
Me:Love that you have so much faith in me, Mads.
Madeline: Let’s just say I’m cautiously optimistic. Emphasis on “cautiously.” And I’ve told you not to call me Mads.
I laugh, running a hand over my jaw. I can picture her reading that nickname with her eyebrows pinched together. She probably has a checklist scribbled on a sticky note next to her bed: suitcase packed, itinerary printed, boarding passes neatly organized.
