He moves nearer and grabs my waist.“Shut up and let me kiss you, okay?”
My head bobs, and his mouth descends on mine.Tasting.Teasing.In the middle of a crowded airport.It should make me uncomfortable—not the kiss, the crowd—but it doesn’t.All I feel is Ford.His hands, his warmth, the gentle pressure of his mouth and subtle sweep of his tongue.I kiss him back, absorbing the moment and how easily he manages to ease my fears and insecurities.And trust me, I have plenty of physical and emotional insecurities.And telling a guy like Ford, a guy who is handsome and charismatic and the heir of a billion-dollar company, that I love him?Yeah.Pretty sure it’s a doozy on my insecurities.Yet, when we’re together, when he’s touching me like this and talking to me and offering tutoring services, it helps me feel like I belong.Like he might just be as infatuated with me as I am with him.Maybe.Possibly.Probably.I mean, he’s taking me to see my parents, for Pete’s sake.It might not mean love, but it definitely means we’re on the right track, doesn’t it?
I fist the back of his shirt, praying it’ll ground me and keep me from floating away from his kiss and thoughtfulness.
When he finally pulls away, he grits out, “I love you, too.”
My heart stutters, and my mouth parts.Did he really just say those four words?“You do?”
“Yeah, June.”He smiles.“I really do.”
“I love you, too,” I whisper.
His smile grows.“I know.”
47
FORD
Iwasn’t kidding when I told June I was nervous about meeting her parents.Okay, I might not have said it in so many words, but she picked up on my reservations anyway.And it’s weird, because if I were meeting anyone else—her cousins or childhood best friend—I’d be cool as a damn cucumber.But her parents?
Fuck, I hate parents.
They were cordial enough on the phone.After stealing their number from June’s cell, I gave them a call, explained who I am—thank God, they’d heard of me—and asked if they’d be home for the weekend so we could visit.Five minutes later, we had all the details ironed out, and now, here we are.On June’s childhood doorstep.
I think I’m gonna be sick.
Threading her fingers through mine, June murmurs, “You’re handsome when you’re nervous.”
I give her a mock glare.“Who says I’m nervous?”
“You’re right.I don’t know what I’m thinking.”She lets go of my hand.“I actually forgot something in the car, so…” She knocks on the door, then starts to head back to the rental parked out front, while simultaneously ditching me on the front porch.
Heart pounding, I grapple for her hand.“June, get your ass?—”
“Told ya.”With a smirk, she rejoins me and reaches for the handle.Sneaky little brat.She pushes open the door.“Hello!”she calls.“We’re here!”
The smell of fried oil and baked bread hits my nostrils as I grab our bags and follow June inside.My mouth waters, and I set the luggage at our feet, looking around the farmhouse.It’s nice.Not massive, but a decent size.Probably three to four bedrooms, if I had to guess, but I’m no realtor.When we were coming up the winding driveway, I realized just how much land June was raised on.How much space she had to roam and play and be a kid.Add in the warm wood floor, exposed beams along the ceiling, white walls littered with family photos, and wood-burning fireplace off the entryway, and I feel like I’ve been transported to a little house on the prairie.
“June!”a feminine voice calls from deeper inside the house.An older woman appears, wiping her hands on an embroidered apron.I can see where June got her curves and smile lines.
Rushing toward her mother, June meets her halfway and hugs her tightly.“Hey, Mama!”
Her mom kisses June’s cheek.“How’s my Junie doin’?”
“I’m doing good.”June wiggles free.“Where’s Daddy?”
“He’s out back, cuttin’ more wood.”Her sights set on me.“And you must be the infamous Ford.”
I offer my hand, but she bats it away.“Get in here, boy.”My spine turns to steel as she hugs me, patting my back for good measure before letting me go.“Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you, too,” I return.“I’m Ford.”
“Laurie, but you can call me Mama Withers.”
I dip my chin, unsure what else to say.Normally, I’d compliment her, tell her that I can see where her daughter got her good looks or something.Instead, I’m all…tongue-tied and shit.Why am I so damn nervous?
She glances at June.“He’s cute, too.”
