Page 86 of Final Proposal

“So there is one then?” Ledger asks.

“Go away, Ledge,” I groan.

“If you’re not going to answer, then I’ll just go ask her. You know me. I’m not shy.” Callahan stands up.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

“Huh. That would be a yes.” Callahan flashes a gloating grin. The smug fucker. I can’t believe I walked right into that one. “Good to know I was right.”

“Look. She just came out of a relationship. We’re having fun. Can’t that be enough for now?” I ask but know it’s a bit more than just having fun.

Like I want her in my bed every night. By my side every day.

“He’s in deeper than he’s admitting,” Ledger says to Callahan like I’m not even in the room.

“Definitely deeper. He’s on the defensive, in protection mode. Definitely deeper,” Callahan says to him.

“Aren’t you guys the ones who said some shit like rebounds can be good? Great sex? No attachment? Did I miss something?” I ask.

“Yeah. You missed a lot.” Callahan snorts. “Hey, Ledge? When’s the last time Fordy here lied about any woman he’s dated?”

“That would be never, Callahan,” Ledger says in a mocking voice.

“Your point?” I ask.

“You’re already in over your head. Take it from a man who has been there.” Callahan raises his hand, and we all laugh.

Ellery

Maybe you, of all people, can make Ford come to his senses instead of doing something he’s going to regret.

Ledger’s parting words as he strode out of the inn, clearly frustrated with Ford, are on repeat in my head.

What exactly did he mean?

And why would he think that I, of all people, could help?

When I talked to the three of them, things seemed fine. They asked questions, they murmured approvals about how they really think this Sharpe Signature idea could lead to something, and they engaged in conversation with me as if I belonged as part of the four of them.

To say I was a little envious of their sibling bond is an understatement. I’ve never had that. Only rivalry. Only disregard. Only competition.

So that’s why Ledger’s comment when he left took me by surprise.

Maybe I should ask Ford what his brother meant? Then again, it’s none of my business. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Besides, asking him means getting involved in things outside of this little universe we’ve created here at the inn. And I’m not one hundred percent sure how I feel about letting the outside in just yet.

“You were no help,” I say to the wooden stick in my hand, now devoid of the ice cream and chocolate that was on it moments ago.

Regardless, maybe there’s something going on and he needs . . . comfort? Space? Me?

Me.

Why would a man like him need me when clearly, he has a handle on everything himself?

Between S.I.N. business and the inn, the man works nonstop without complaint or fanfare. Some days he’ll take off in the chopper for the office in Manhattan at five in the morning, to return by noon, and then put in another eight or so hours here at the site.

He typically knows the answer to every question a contractor asks—even on issues or details I’m in control of—and I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the man ask for help.

He’s a one-man show, and it’s incredible to watch him from the sidelines and learn from him by standing at his side.