Page 8

8

HARPER

A chill washes over me as I walk beside Ford.

I hadn’t realized how late it was until Ford and I stepped outside into the darkness.

The night air clings to my skin, cool and damp, making me shiver.

Or maybe it’s him having that effect on me.

“I hope Gram isn’t starving,” I say, glancing at the takeout bag with wings and cheese fries Ford ordered before we left.

“Nah. You know her. She eats small portions all day long.” He looks down at his shoes, and for a moment, I swear he blushes.

I narrow my eyes. “When Gram texted you… did you tell her who you were with?”

His lips curl into a smirk. “Yeah, I responded when I grabbed our food from the cashier.”

I nod, trying to keep from laughing. “No wonder you ordered her cheese fries. I don’t think it’ll help. She’s gonna bust your balls when you get home.”

His chest rumbles with laughter, vibrating through the night air. It sinks into my skin, chest, and bones, storing itself like a memory I don’t want to lose.

“Of course she will.” His voice lowers, and I think I hear him mutter, “She already has.”

I let it go, not wanting to pry.

I stop by my silver sedan, facing him with a smile. “Well, this is me.”

The streetlamp overhead casts shadows across his face, but I don’t need light to know every inch of him by heart.

A mixture of desire, fear, lust, and something dangerously close to hope rolls through me.

It feels like old times.

But it’s not.

The past and present are colliding, and I don’t know whether to run or lean into them.

Ford rests his hand on the roof of my car, his fingers idly tapping against the metal. “Get inside and lock your doors. Start your car and wait until I’m in Gram’s SUV.”

His eyes flick over to it across the dimly lit lot before moving back to mine. “Make sure you wear your seatbelt.”

A wry smile curls my lips. “Yes, sir.”

His eyes darken, heat simmering beneath his smirk.

There’s something dangerously sexy about him.

My stomach flips, and my body goes rigid as tension simmers in the air between us.

It reminds me of the hum of the fluorescent light bulbs in my office, burning brighter before it blows out.

Dear God, don’t think about blowing .

You were already on your knees in front of the man’s dick tonight .

Ford smirks like he knows what I’m thinking.

Before I humiliate myself further, I unlock my door and slide inside.

His gaze burns into me as I fasten my seatbelt and start the car.

I crack the window. “Thanks for dinner. The food was amazing, and so was the company.”

His smirk turns downright sinful. “You’re welcome. I had a great time.”

His Adam’s apple bobs, like there’s more he wants to say, but instead, he rasps, “Lock your doors.”

I do as he says, pressing the button with a soft click.

Satisfied, he nods and pivots toward Gram’s SUV.

I wait for him to climb inside the vehicle.

When the headlights flick on, I back out.

As I drive forward, my headlights illuminate an old Dodge truck parked at the far end of the lot.

A man sits inside, but I can’t make out his face.

The cherry from his cigarette flickers through the open window, illuminating the rough outline of his jaw.

A shiver runs down my spine, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck as an eerie feeling steals over me.

Is it Todd?

My grip tightens on the steering wheel.

I don’t know for sure.

But something about the way he’s just sitting there, watching and smoking, like he’s waiting makes unease creep up my throat.

I shake it off as I pull onto the road, Ford’s headlights steady in my rearview mirror.

I’m safe.

If it’s Todd, he won’t do anything with Ford behind me.

I wave at Ford as I push through the front door of my childhood home, locking it behind me.

I head straight to my room, ignoring the mess of paint cans and tools scattered around the first floor.

The crew stopped by earlier to discuss the things that needed to be fixed before the house could be put on the market.

Most of the work is cosmetic, which keeps the expenses down and is quicker to repair.

I blow out a breath.

The sooner it’s done, the sooner I can get out of here.

As I climb the stairs, nostalgia presses down on me, thick and suffocating.

My bedroom is exactly the way I left it, the walls still painted a horrendous shade of lavender.

I strip out of my clothes, put on an oversized tee, then flop onto my bed.

My body is exhausted, but my mind is wired with thoughts of one person—Ford.

I throw an arm over my face, groaning.

I should not still feel like this.

Like my skin remembers him.

Like he’s ingrained in the fibers of my DNA.

Steeped into my soul.

With a sigh, I lower my arm, my thoughts whirling.

Tonight wasn’t a date.

So not a date.

Definitely not a date.

Right?

I roll onto my side, eyes drifting to my window.

Across the silvery waters of the lake, his house rests still and silent, a shadowed outline of my past.

An image of the rage on Ford’s face causes me to shiver.

It was primal.

Raw.

Dark.

Like he was ready to burn down the world to protect me.

I blow out a breath, shaking my head at how ridiculous I’m being.

Real life men don’t go around burning the world down for their girl.

Only fictional men do that.

I roll onto my back, trying to rationalize dinner with Ford.

I only agreed to it because tonight was supposed to be about closure.

That’s all it will ever be.

Even if I’m not entirely convinced.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I know, I’m jerked awake by the crash of glass shattering beside me.

A scream rips through my throat as I bolt upright, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Cold night air rushes in through the broken window, sharp and biting.

Moonlight glints off the shards of glass scattered across my bed and floor.

I grab my phone, my hand trembling, and wince when my finger grazes a jagged piece. Blood wells, a sharp sting piercing my skin.

I shove my finger into my mouth, the metallic taste filling my tongue.

My breath is ragged and uneven.

My pulse pounds against my skull.

I flick on the flashlight on my phone.

Shining it around the room, the light catches on an object near the en suite bathroom.

A dark shape.

I creep closer, the wooden floor cold beneath my bare feet.

The closer I get, the more distinct it becomes.

A rock.

And there’s something wrapped around it.

My throat tightens as I kneel, my heart hammering as I reach for it.

My fingers brush against rough stone, and I flinch.

A rubber band holds a piece of folded paper in place.

My stomach twists as I tug it loose.

The scent of a Sharpie burns my nose, fresh and overpowering.

I swallow hard, my hands trembling as I smooth out the paper and read the message.

“THIS ISN’T OVER!” is written in all caps.

The air whooshes from my lungs.

My vision blurs at the edges, black spots creeping in.

The paper slips from my fingers, floating to the floor like a feather.

Oh, God.

Someone just threw a rock through my bedroom window with a threatening message.

My hand shakes as I lift my phone to my ear.

Ford is going to lose his fucking mind.