"Shoot."
"If you can walk away from Ford, do it. That means he's not the one for you."
My heart pulls at the thought of not seeing him again. It already hurts to think of going days, months, years again without having him in my orbit.
"In every other relationship I've ever had," Mallory adds, "I've always felt like I could leave and survive if I wanted to. I know if I tried to leave Graham, he'd come after me. And I'd want him to. I'd need him to."
With that, she heads to the front to greet her customers, and I'm left sitting on the mat to think.
Ford
THE LATE AFTERNOON SUN BEATS down, heating the interior of Graham's SUV. I crank on the air conditioner and get a snarl from my brother.
"What is it with you and the AC?"
"It's ninety degrees in here," I say, pulling the collar away from my neck. "I'm sweating like a motherfucker."
"Remind me to make you drive separately next time," he laughs.
"I'd be happy to, especially since you failed to inform me you have a meeting after ours that I'm going to wait out."
He looks at me over his shoulder. "I didn't know about that until we got in the car. I've waited to talk to this guy for two weeks. You're going to have to deal."
A sign catches my eye and I squint through the sunlight. "Hey, Halcyon is like two streets over."
"So?"
"Drop me off there."
Graham huffs. "Do you think I'm your dad? Like, 'Hey, Graham. Take me here and then come back to pick me up'?"
"Would it kill you?" I deadpan.
On a dime, the SUV takes a right and heads north.
"Ah, thanks, G," I grin.
"You can be such a child."
"If it makes you feel any better," I laugh as we take another right and pull up in front of Ellie's store, "you've made this child very happy."
"Get out of my car before I'm late," he says, smiling. "I'll text you when I'm on my way to get you."
"Yes, Father."
"Asshole," he mutters as I climb out and slam the door.
I jog the few paces to the front door, my heartbeat picking up. I tell myself it's because of the burst of exertion, but I know better.
There's been no exchange between us since I left her standing, covered in paint. It's killed me not to call her or send her a text. Hell, it's been nearly impossible not to just drive to her house and scoop her up and kiss the ever-loving fuck out of her.
I knew once I broke the barrier, things would change. Seeing her respond to me in such an intimate way, watching her put her guard down and let me in, only solidifies how I feel.
She's mine.
Not in some mock-caveman way. It's not like that at all. She's mine because as much as she belongs with me, I belong with her. The catch is I've said a lot of stupid things, made a lot of promises, and set up a lot of things that I didn't follow through on. She won't trust my word. She shouldn't. It's up to me to show her who I am and how I feel.
That I love her.
The cool air of Halcyon hits me in the face as I step inside. Violet and Ellie are on the floor, sandwiches and chips in front of them.
"Hey, ladies," I say, nodding quickly at Violet and then setting my sights on Ellie. A pair of cut-off denim shorts showcases her toned legs and a plain black tank top is stretched across her ample breasts. With her messy ponytail, she's a sight I could watch for days.
"Hey, Ford," Violet chirps.
"Hi." Ellie smiles at me, absentmindedly combing a hand through her hair. Green smears are laced through the dark strands. I pretend not to notice.
"I hope you don't mind me stopping by," I say. "I was riding with Graham and he had a meeting. I thought I'd see if you ladies needed any help instead of waiting in the car for God knows how long."
"We were just wrapping up lunch," Violet says, mischief in her eyes. "I do hear you're a good painter though."
"Violet!" Ellie hisses, making us all laugh.
"That's what she says, huh?" I tease.
"She did," Violet continues, dodging a thrown water bottle from her friend. "She said-"
"Don't you dare!" Ellie springs to her feet, a smile on her face. "Between the two of you, you embarrass me to no end."
I pin my eyes to hers. "Baby, there is absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about."
Her cheeks ratchet up a darker shade of pink. "Can we change the subject?"
"Yes," Violet offers. "Let's talk about that little smear of green paint on Ford's forearm that conspicuously matches the green in your hair."