"I remember you turning around," he chuckles. "You gave me this look like you thought I was going to kill you or something and all I wanted to do was kiss the girl with mud down the side of her face."
"I think you did kiss that girl," I wink.
"I did. And then I was hooked." He takes my hand and leads me to a burgundy and white quilt beneath a tree. A picnic basket is sitting on one corner.
"You made me pinky swear that I wasn't a serial killer," he laughs. "Do you remember that?"
"It seemed legit at the time," I say, embarrassed that he remembers.
My heart is full, memories flooding back like they only can when you're at the location they took place.
"This is the best date spot ever," I whisper. "Thank you for bringing me here."
We sit on a blanket stretched out under a tree. Ford lifts the lid to a picnic basket. I laugh as he pulls out two glass bottles of root beer, a bag of chips, and two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
"It's not gourmet," he laughs, his cheeks flushing. "But I got stuck in the office until late and I wasn't about to stop and buy burgers." He hands me a sandwich wrapped in plastic wrap. "I'll happily buy you whatever you'd like when we leave, but-"
My hand rests on his forearm, stopping him mid-sentence. "This is perfect."
He takes me in carefully. "It's not. I don't think I could ever come up with the perfect way to show you how much I think about you."
I twist his wrist and press my thumb against the little star in the bend of his thumb and pointer finger. "You did."
Tossing my sandwich beside me, I crawl across the blanket and curl up in his lap. He locks his hands around my waist and nuzzles his face in the crook of my neck.
"So, I was talking to Barrett last night," Ford says. "I think he really might run in the next election cycle."
"Really?"
"Maybe. He and Graham and I had a long discussion about it. He has reservations, naturally, and is afraid he's being thrown into a lion's den."
"That's what D.C. politics is, isn't it? A giant lion's den."
"Yeah, that's what I said," he chuckles. "But politics is Barrett's thing. He's been testing some ideas out, tossing around platforms that he could run on. One of them," he says carefully, strumming his fingers against my arm, "is the idea of bringing back the family dynamic in this country."
"Like sit-down dinners and things?"
"Yes. Kind of. I understand it like he wants to make the country think more about doing things as a community, helping one another. Being involved in their neighborhoods. That kind of thing."
"That's sensible," I agree. "I like it. I think it would resonate well with a lot of people."
He takes a deep, calculated breath. "A part of the reason he was asking Graham and I for our thoughts is because, to pull this off, he'd need his family to have his back."
"Of course you'd support him, right? I'm not following you."
Turning in his arms, I see the hesitation in his eyes, the lines forming around his mouth. Forcing a swallow, I wait for some kind of bomb to drop because I know it's coming. It's written all over his face.
"The thing is," he pauses, "he'd want to incorporate us into his campaign. Really walk the talk, so to speak."
He gauges my reaction, his features falling as I sit up. My stomach flip-flops, my mind scrambling to get to the point and to get there fast.
"So you'd be going to D.C.?" I ask flat-out.
"If he won. He proposed me being on the security panel of his campaign. I could do a lot of that from a home base-Savannah or Atlanta, for now. But once the actual campaign would start . . ." He blows out a breath. "God knows what it would entail, to be honest."
"Wow."
"I know this is a lot to take in, but I wanted you to know it was being discussed."
I nod, forcing back a lump that's forming rapidly in my throat. "Thanks for telling me."
"I'm not sure he's even going to do it, Ellie. And if he does, I have no idea what my role will be."
Sitting criss-cross applesauce on the blanket facing him, I consider what that life would be like. Or if there would even be one for me included in that plan.
There's no interest on my part in spending weeks and weeks alone while he travels the country with his brother. I have no desire to relocate anywhere, much less to the shark tank of Washington.
I see the resolution in his eyes. I know the loyalty he has to his family. And, sadly, I know where I rank.