Page 6

6

HARPER

M y palms are sweaty as I grip my wallet, my fingers trembling.

I shouldn’t be this affected by what just happened.

I shouldn’t like the fact that Ford went full-on caveman for me.

But I do.

The memory of Todd’s disgusting words slithers back into my head, making my stomach churn. “Hey, Harper. You can drop to your knees and blow me in front of everyone. I’m into that.”

I glance at Todd now, beer in hand, slumped in his stool like a kicked dog.

My lips twitch, fighting a smirk.

He won’t be running his mouth again anytime soon.

All because of Ford.

Pride flutters in my chest, and I hate how much I like that Ford put Todd in his place.

How much I like that fame hasn’t changed him.

He’s still the same man who once made me feel safe.

Or maybe he’s still affected by?—

No.

No, no, no.

I shove the thought down.

Ford doesn’t feel anything for me.

I’ve seen the puck bunnies that flock to him, the supermodel ex-girlfriend plastered all over social media.

Women who look nothing like me.

The thought lands like a stone in my stomach, and I swallow hard against the burn in my throat.

Ford was just being chivalrous.

That’s all.

I flinch when a hand brushes my arm.

Warm, calloused fingers barely skim my skin yet sends a zap of electricity through me.

I close my eyes, knowing who it is without looking.

“Thank you,” I blurt out as I turn around. “For what you did with Todd.”

Ford stands there, staring at me, his expression shocked.

Finally, he nods and smiles at me. “Why don’t you join me for dinner?” His voice is deep, rough, and dangerously familiar, drawing me in. “My treat.”

I should say no.

“I’d love that.”

What. The. Hell.

His smile is slow and devastating, and my heart stutters like a broken engine.

He steps closer, and I swear the air between us crackles .

He smells the same—like woodsy cologne, clean soap, and something so Ford that it makes my head spin.

I want to press my face into his shirt and inhale deeply, filling my lungs with his scent.

I want to lick his neck.

Jesus Christ. Get a grip.

I clutch my wallet so tightly it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap in half as Ford tells the cashier my order will be for here and he’ll be paying for it.

He orders the same thing he always did—a bacon double cheeseburger with extra mayo and curly fries.

The only difference? A beer instead of a soda.

Proof that although things stayed the same, they’ve also changed.

His eyes flick to mine. “How about the table in the back corner?”

I nod, needing desperately to put space between us. “Sounds good.”

“Go grab a seat. I’ll bring our drinks.”

I whisper my thanks and scurry to the table like I’m being chased.

Sagging into the chair, I suck in a breath, my brain short-circuiting.

Don’t make a fool of yourself.

Don’t do anything stupid.

Don’t—

Ford slides into the seat beside me.

Not across from me.

Beside me.

Well, shit.

He’s so close, I feel him .

The warmth of his body.

The slight shift of the air.

I look over at him, catching the way his biceps strain against his damn T-shirt.

How does he look better than he did ten years ago?

Why do I want to climb him like a tree?

Or drop to my knees again in front of the entire bar.

Ford slides my drink toward me.

I grab it like a lifeline, needing something to cool the heat spreading through my chest.

But then his gaze locks with mine, pinning me in place, and I forget how to drink.

Liquid goes down the wrong pipe, and I immediately start choking.

Coughing, spluttering, wheezing—the whole pathetic show.

Ford’s hand is on my back in an instant, rubbing slow, soothing circles that sear through my clothes.

“You okay?” His voice is laced with amusement, but there’s concern in his eyes.

I nod frantically, face on fire. “Yeah. Yes.” I clear my throat. “I just… forgot how to swallow.”

Oh. My. God.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Did someone lace my drink with truth serum?

His lips twitch. “That’s unfortunate.”

His hand lingers, still tracing slow, lazy circles down my spine. My traitorous body leans into it, the warmth sinking into my skin.

“Thanks,” I mumble, still mortified.

I wipe my mouth with a napkin, shaking my head. “I’m making a damn fool of myself tonight.”

Ford takes a swig of his beer, smirking. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not .” I straighten my shoulders, trying to salvage what little dignity I have left. “I swear, I’m a competent, graceful person.”

His brow arches, completely unconvinced.

I sigh. “Fine. I’m competent at my job with a side of clumsy.”

His smile spreads wider, and it’s like being hit with a beam of sunlight. “I like the clumsiness. It’s cute.”

I blink. “Cute?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, taking a drink of his beer. “Familiar.”

My heart stumbles.

I snatch my drink and take a sip—carefully this time—focusing very hard on not choking again.

“I guess I’ll never outgrow it,” I mutter, twirling my glass between my fingers. “But I am good at my job.”

“I’m sure you are.” His eyes flint with curiosity. “What do you do?”

Before I can answer, the cashier yells Ford’s name.

He turns toward the counter. “Hold that thought. Our food’s ready.”

He strides away, and my traitorous, thirsty eyes immediately drop to his ass.

I don’t even try to stop myself.

He looks over his shoulder at me, his smirk slow and smug, catching me in the act.

Shit.

Busted.

I drop my gaze to the table, pretending to be very interested in my napkin.

A moment later, he sets the tray of food down, sliding the plate containing my wings and potato skins before I can even reach for them, just like he always used to.

Like muscle memory.

My chest tightens.

Stop it. He’s just being polite.

Don’t read into it.

As he pours ketchup beside his fries, his gaze lifts to mine. “So you mentioned your job. What do you do?”

I spear a potato skin with my fork, suddenly needing a distraction. “I work in public relations at Stone Ridge University.”

Ford stills for a fraction of a second. Then his muscles relax, and he continues eating.

But I saw the unease in his eyes.

The moment that tore us apart happened at Stone Ridge University.

“PR, huh? Makes sense.” His voice is even. “Using that journalism degree and English minor.” He gives me a tight smile.

I nod. “Summer and winter are slower seasons for me, so I figured I’d handle the house renovations.” I take a small bite, forcing myself to swallow past the strange lump in my throat. “Mom and Dad are selling it.”

He nods slowly. “I heard.”

The silence stretches between us, heavier than before.

I should feel relieved.

This is what I wanted.

A way to move on.

So why does it feel like I’m losing something all over again?

Ford shifts in his seat, watching me carefully. “Once it’s sold, you won’t be back?” The inflection in his voice at the end signifies a question.

I force a small smile. “Nope. No reason to.”

His expression flickers with something that looks like hesitation.

Maybe even regret.

Then it’s gone.

Over.

Just like us.