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We click our plastic bottles together, then both take a sip. We eat silently for a few minutes, but it’s comfortable between us. Ivy is mostly focused on the baked potato, but at least it’s not fake food.
“I feel like I don’t know anything about you, Ford,” she says. “Have you ever been married?”
I swallow the bite in my mouth, surprised at the unexpected question. “No. I believe in marriage, though. I just haven’t met the right woman.”
Though the night I met Ivy, I’d thought I had. For three beautiful minutes when we’d been introduced, it was love at first sight for me. Then she’d been whisked away by a production assistant to meet Brad and that had been that.
“Are you a romantic?”
“I am. I’m also loyal.”
She fiddles with her fork, dragging it through the potato. “With a strong moral compass.”
“I like to think so.”
“Have you been in love?”
“I don’t think so.”
“I don’t think I have either.”
That shocks me a little. “No?”
Ivy looks up from her plate. “IthoughtI was. But I think if I had really been in love, I would be more upset. I think I got caught up in the whole “it looks good on paper.” It worked at first and we were happy—at least I was—and we just sort of fast tracked the whole relationship. I may have been drunk last night but I was right about ignoring red flags. Granted, they were subtle, not huge like I claimed, but I’m so mad at myself for that.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself. We’ve all done that. I ignored the huge red flags that Harrison and Liam can’t be in a car all day together.”
Ivy laughs. “I think that’s called sexual tension.”
“Oh, is that what it is? I thought it was bitter resentment,” I joke with a smile.
Raising her fork, she licks the tines with the tip of her tongue and I fight the urge to groan. I want to kiss her with every fiber of my fucking being.
If she had any idea the thoughts running through my head…
Strong moral compass, strong moral compass.
“What’s in the minibar?” I ask.
CHAPTER 7
Ivy
“This isthe tiniest and cutest bottle of champagne I’ve ever seen in my life.” I hold up the bottle from the minibar for Ford to see as I crouch on the floor. “I must drink it.”
“That is extremely tiny and cute,” Ford agrees, dropping down beside me in a squat. “And probably costs forty bucks.”
“I put my room on Brad’s credit card.” I try to twist the top off of the champagne but nothing happens. “I figure paying for me to get to South Carolina with tiny champagne bottles along the way is the least he can do.”
“I agree. In fact, we’ve just found our snacks for the road tomorrow. Why pay two dollars at the gas station when we can pay twelve here?” Ford holds his hand out to me as I continue to struggle to untwist the top.
Without thinking, I pass the champagne bottle over to him. “That is very true.”
He opens it and hands it back.
I’m startled to realize we just silently communicated with each other.
Granted, it wasn’t like a mind meld—it was just non-verbal cues, but still…it’s intriguing to me. Being around Ford is so easy, comfortable.