Page 53 of Now to Forever (Life on the Ledge Duet #2)

Thirty-Seven

“I’d like this blindfold a lot more if you were naked and on top of me,” Ford says, staggering through the grass, arms waving blindly in front of him.

I adjust the bag over my shoulder and guide him with my hands on his waist to the edge of an overgrown field surrounded by trees. “Sadly, I think you’ll like this more.”

He blinks to adjust his eyes as I remove the handkerchief from his head.

“A field?” he asks, confused.

“A field at over three thousand feet elevation,” I correct.

“Okay.” His obvious confusion makes this so much better. “And that’s significant because . . . ?”

“Because the owner—who I found online in a bird forum—has been seeing golden-winged warblers migrating through on their way to South America.” I grin.

“According to your list you haven’t seen one.

” I knew when he showed me his notebook at his house, I had to do something to be part of it.

Give him one. Even running out of there like the house was on fire, I stopped to snap a picture.

I pull two pairs of binoculars out of my bag. “He gave me permission to bring you.”

His smile is like watching a star being born. “A golden-winged warbler?”

“Don’t come on yourself, Golden Boy. Take the damn binoculars.”

He laughs—giddy—and kisses me before taking them. I pull out my phone and follow the directions the owner sent me, walking along the rickety fence line until Ford stops me with a palm to my chest, cocking his head to the side to listen.

Binoculars at his face, he gestures for me to do the same. And there it is, a bird in a bush: grey, black, bright yellow, and white. That’s it, he mouths, eyes wide and bright, looking back through his binoculars until it flies away.

I laugh at the sight. Ford is a complete nerd but makes birdwatching hot.

“Do you know how rare that is?” he asks, shaking his head in disbelief as we stand at the edge of the field.

The passion in his voice would be hilarious if it didn’t make him so much more appealing.

Interesting. Seeing Ford Callahan look at a rare bird is like witnessing a once-in-a-lifetime cosmic event.

The more he talks, the more an anxious pressure builds in me.

“Their numbers are declining—severely—some people say it’s because of the—”

“I’ve never stayed the night with a man,” I blurt, effectively silencing his birding monologue.

I fill my cheeks up with air and let them deflate, looking at the overgrown field instead of him and drawing courage from Wanda and Blair to keep me talking.

“Since you, I’ve never slept in bed with anyone except June.

Never had a sleepover with anyone else. I-I-I don’t let anyone see me when I orgasm.

That’s why I turn away. After you . . .” I blow out a breath.

“Just, after you it changed. I got scared that all my bad parts are all that will show. Every mistake. Every flaw. And I don’t know how to handle watching someone feel so good.

Like—” I scoff. “How can Scotty Armstrong ever make someone feel all that? So, I just don’t look or let anyone else look.

Ever. I turn away, so I can pretend I’m someone else and they can too.

I read monster books because they don’t make me feel bad about my life.

They’re ridiculous—though the sex is fascinating—” I shoot him a look that he smirks at.

“But, I just . . . it’s stupid, but some days I think, if a man can love a snake, maybe there’s hope for me yet. ”

He’s quiet, looking at me as I aimlessly move the dial on my binoculars.

“Well, say something already. I’m being vulnerable and sharing. Aren’t you supposed to tell me good job or give me a damn gold star.”

I brave a look at him, and he puts his binoculars in the bag before taking my face in his hands.

“Good job.” Then he kisses me, consuming me like he does with all his flavors and textures.

Teeth, lips, and tongue. He pulls back, looking me square in the eyes, and says, “There’s no rush—on any of this—but you need to know, I don’t need to be inside you making you scream my name to feel good.

You can turn away as much as you want. I still see you.

” Another kiss. “I’ll follow your lead.” With a smile he adds, “Not that I have a choice in the matter.”

I nearly cry at the enormity of his words. What is happening to me? “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do.” He slings an arm around my shoulder and cuts sinful eyes to me. “But I can find ways for you to make it up to me if you really need me to.”

I laugh, kissing him one more time as I pick up the bag. “Well before you imagine me on my knees, you should know we’re having turkey for dinner.”

This earns a chuckle from him as we fall into step toward the Bronco. “A little early, but okay.”

“I’ve never made one before and Thanksgiving is serious business for June,” I explain. “I bought some for practice.”

He slides his phone out of his back pocket and fires off a text before putting it away. “Sounds like the best date ever.” At the Bronco, he looks at me, lips twitching as we open our doors. “How does a snake have sex with a person?”

In the driveway of the A-frame, I’m significantly lighter.

It wasn’t just being with Ford and seeing the ridiculous bird, it was telling him something more real than I have before.

It’s pulling him toward me instead of pushing him away.

And though it’s not everything, it was like a ton of bricks lifted off my chest in the instant the words were out.

At the house, Wren is sitting on the porch next to Molly. I look at Ford, confused. He gives nothing away.

“Hey,” I say to her as I climb the steps. “What are you doing here?”

Wren points to a pile by the door: two sleeping bags and a duffle. “Dad texted.”

I look at Ford.

He clears his throat. “I figured a turkey required at least three people. And maybe a movie.” He pauses, rocking slightly on his heels. Nervous? “And Wren and I could sleep downstairs if it gets too late.”

I bite my lip as a warm realization ripples through me. “A sleepover?”

He shrugs, eyes smiling. “A sleepover.” Then, “If that’s okay.”

“Yeah.” I swallow. “That’s okay.”

“I’m starving,” Wren says, oblivious to what’s happening.

To the fact she’s watching me fall so deep in love with her dad I’ll never be able to come back from it.

It’s not like it was when we were teenagers; it’s more.

Like I’ve unknowingly carried all those feelings with me for all these years and now it’s morphed into something so gigantic it can’t fit into any one place.

I don’t know what to do with it—don’t know how to tell him or show him or be any sort of lover he deserves.

I might never be able to say it, but the way he looks at me, it’s as if he knows this is it.

He’s it. The thing that I can never untangle myself from.

Whether I’m in a desert or he’s in another city—we’re it.

And more: I don’t want to leave him . . .

or her. I want them both—this feeling of us—for as long as I’m allowed to have it.

Then: What if I didn’t leave at all? What if I stayed and this was just my life? Me, Ford, and Wren in an A-frame on Lake Ledger. Could it be this easy?

Instead of saying any of this, I take the turkey out of the fridge and pull a recipe up on my phone, reading through the steps.

“Four hours!” I shout, stunned, internally swearing at June for making me do this. “What the hell kind of food is this?!”

Wren and Ford laugh behind my back. As I preheat the oven, Ford orders a pizza. It arrives at the same time I put the turkey in.

We sit on the floor and play cards, laughing as Ford retells the story of seeing his beloved warbler, and eat pizza while we watch a movie. Wren rolls her eyes every time Ford kisses me.

For dessert, we have turkey. It doesn’t taste half bad for sitting in an oven for hours and hours.

The night, in short, is a domestically boring experience and exactly like the kind of magic I’ve never believed I’d be privy to. Never believed could exist for me.

And when it’s late—so late Wren has already fallen asleep on the couch—Ford kisses me good night and crawls into a sleeping bag on the floor as I go upstairs.

I last five whole minutes in Archie’s bed before the short distance between us starts to feel like a million miles.

I scoop up all my blankets and drag them down the steps, making a bed on the floor next to Ford.

His fingers interlace with mine as we stare at each other in the darkness, a moment more intimate than anything I’ve ever felt naked.

“Ford,” I whisper when it looks like he’s fallen asleep.

“Hm?” he says, not opening his eyes.

“How freaked out would Wren be if she woke up and I was in your sleeping bag.”

A sleepy laugh rumbles in his chest.

“Ford,” I repeat.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He squeezes my hand. And then, we fall asleep.

Together.