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CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

JULIET

Everything’s changed.

And yet, at the same time, nothing has.

We’re just Ford and Juliet.

At least that’s the mantra I keep gaslighting myself with.

Because the truth remains—everything has changed.

I worked so hard to separate myself from the woman I was when Tyler was alive. And yet, it’s because of her I’ve been able to become the woman who has spent every night this week coming at the hands and mouth of Ford McCoy.

It’s been nothing short of some wild fever dream. Thanks to All-Star break, Ford hasn’t had any games. Every morning, I head to the restaurant to work with Sophia, while he heads to the field to keep up with workouts and train with Smitty. It’s sacred time that allows us each to remain tethered to who we are outside of every other moment spent naked on one surface or another in the apartment.

Not that we’ve actually slept together.

We haven’t. Literally or figuratively.

Despite knowing every inch of each other’s bodies, every night we either go our separate ways or he slips out of my bed after sending me into an orgasm coma. You’d think I was the man in the relationship with the way I can’t seem to keep my eyes open after the waves of carnal bliss come crashing down.

It’s infuriating.

And yet, I have no right to be complaining.

Because when it comes to our lack of fucking, I’m one hundred percent the problem.

Ford wants to talk about what we are. And I’m…I’m scared shitless. I don’t have my life together yet, and even though I wanted to start dating again, I didn’t think someone like Ford would fall into my lap. Hell, I didn’t think Ford would ever be anything more to me than the pretty boy stepbrother Tyler hated.

But he is.

He’s become—I don’t know—someone I trust. Someone I enjoy spending time with. Definitely someone I enjoy making come. But is that enough? And am I ready to admit this could be more? I have no idea, but I guess we’ll find out tonight.

Because I’m planning our third date.

And we’re going to talk.

Then just maybe, I’m going to finally fuck Ford McCoy.

“If you chop that onion any finer it’s going to turn to mush.” Sophia laughs and when I look up, she’s stopped slicing the carrots for the salad and has an annoyingly knowing grin on her face. “Ford might not mind that your onions are paste, but I’ve always had higher standards than him.”

I drop the knife on the stainless steel counter and take a step back from my workstation.

She’s right. And I need tonight to be perfect.

Dinner. Talking. Sex.

The order doesn’t really matter as long as we’re taking steps forward together.

My heart slams against my ribcage. The thought is freaking terrifying. I’m really doing this. And yet it’s exhilarating too.

“You want to talk about it?” God, she sounds justlike Ford. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. They are really good friends.

But this feels like crossing a line. We’ve done our best to keep things professional while in the kitchen. And it’s been amazing to cook and collaborate with Sophia. She really is the best at what she does for a reason. Her attention to detail is unmatched when it comes to the menu we’re curating for the new restaurant.

Apparently, it’s also keenly attuned to my anxiety this morning.

Wary of what this means, I plant a hand on my hip and narrow my gaze. “If I say no, are you going to pull some voodoo mind tricks like Ford and find some roundabout way to get me to talk about it anyways?”

“Huh.” She lifts her knife and tilts her head to the side. “He really does do that, doesn’t he?”

“Every single time. Or I just feel bad afterward that I wasn’t honest because it’s almost like kicking a puppy who just wants your love and affection. Which is almost worse.”

“Holy shit, how have I never put that together?”

“I’m sure you have. You just chalk it up to Ford being Ford.” I know I have. It drives me absolutely insane, but also the consistency is something I appreciate. With it comes a safety I’ve never really experienced. My parents were never big on emotion. They are more likely to see the world in black and white than explore the wonders in shades of gray.

Sophia goes back to slicing her pile of carrots, musing as she does. “He’s just so damn unassuming. Even when he’s angry, he’d still give you the shirt off his back.”

“Right?” I mean, maybe not if it was Earl the enforcer asking, but anyone else, absolutely. “It still blows my mind that Ford is the same guy I went to high school with.”

“Was he really that different?”

I pick up a head of garlic and separate the cloves. “To be honest, I don’t really know. We didn’t talk much back then.”

“You know he mentioned you before?”

I halt my movements and snap my head up. “He did?”

“Yeah, when he found out I owned a restaurant and was the head chef. It was around the time his mom got sick and she started trying to talk him into fixing things with Tyler. He told me all about how you wanted to become a chef and how he hoped you’d gone on to live those dreams.”

“I…I didn’t think he remembered me.” Or at least that’s what Tyler had me believe. I now know it was all a twisted truth, but at the time, it was my reality.

And yet, Ford still thought about me with hope.

Sophia nods with a gentle lift of her lips. “And then after a few too many tequilas mentioned that he wished he would’ve had the balls to talk to you since he saw you first.”

For the second time I send what I’m holding clattering onto the countertop, and this time my jaw drops right alongside the garlic. “What?”

“Something about chemistry class,” she says, waving her knife around as if it isn’t some huge revelation meant to rock my entire existence.

He—of course, Ford saw me first, I reason. We shared a class together.

But he wanted to talk to me?

I close my eyes and picture him standing there in his blue and gold letterman jacket. God, we were so young.

Then a whole lifetime flashes before my eyes—one where Ford did make a move first.

There are high school dances and acceptance letters to colleges in faraway states.

Images of baseball games, surfing, and Dungeons and Dragons .

Naked trysts and pleas for more.

None of them are real, but the pang in my heart tells me maybe in another life they could’ve been.

“You look surprised,” Sophia says, setting down her knife.

“I didn’t realize he’d ever thought of me that way.” My brow furrows as I try to compartmentalize this new information. “Tyler and I started dating just after the first week of school that year. Ford never stood a chance.”

I thought it was love at first sight.Clearly, I didn’t know what love was.

Sophia’s eyes soften, and I recognize the guilt in the way she drops her shoulders. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

While I know she didn’t, I’ve learned Sophia does nothing without a reason. Which is why I ask, “Why are you telling me this?”

A weighted sigh slips free from her lips. “Because Ford is one of my dearest friends, and while I love him to death, we’ve already establishedhe’s also the special kind of stupid that would give you the shirt off his back and ask for nothing in return.”

Or pay off over a million dollars in debt.

My forehead creases as I try to navigate where this is going. “Is this your version of the you break his heart I’ll break your face talk?”

“No, I don’t need to issue empty threats.” Sophia huffs a sardonic laugh. “This is me telling you that if you’re going to let him down, be easy with him. Ford acts like he’s tough as nails, but he’s not, and he’s already lost enough in this life.”

“And I haven’t?” I scoff, hating how defensive my knee jerk reaction sounds—as if everything I’ve lost is worth less than what Ford has.

Shit.

Is that how I really feel?

The truth is, maybe. It’s hard to reconcile the weight of loss. Especially when more often than not Ford has gotten literally everything he’s ever wanted in life.

Including me.

God, why are all these revelations hitting at once?

Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought to talk with Ford.

And I definitely need tocall that therapist Willow recommended.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” A soft smile tips Sophia’s lips as she continues to placate me and defend her friend. “I like you, Etta, and I think despite the fact neither of you want to admit how much you care about each other, Ford and you are good together.” She takes a step forward, but when I tense, she stops. “I’ve watched you in this kitchen over the last two weeks. You’re on the cusp of finding your stride and making a name for yourself in this industry. And while I am so fucking excited to be at your side and help you grow, if you don’t want Ford there as well, then you need to tell him tonight and put an end to this before he’s in too deep. Because while you may still have the ability to walk away easily, he really is that puppy, and I don’t want to see him get kicked.”

This is why I’m a cat person. They don’t have feelings like this. They’ll cuddle you one minute, then claw the crap out of your face the next. They’re predictable in their unpredictability.

And yet, a puppy doesn’t sound so bad these days.

Damn it.

So much for no voodoo mind tricks. This is ten times worse than the break his heart, I’ll break your face talk.

“It’s just something to think about,” she says as she reaches up and unbuttons the shoulder of her chef's coat. “I’m headed out to Mercer’s hearing. I’ll shoot you a text when we’re done and Ford is on his way home.”

I should tell her I have no intention of leaving.

I should tell her I’m not going to look for another apartment because Ford’s is the only place I consider home.

I should be honest with myself and own the reckless feelings of my heart.

But where I started the day so freaking confident, this conversation has left me wavering in my resolve.

Either way, if I’m going to talk about this, it should be with Ford first.

Which means I have a handful of hours to figure out if that’s what I’m going to do.

Because, in theory, love should be enough to conquer all these emotions.

And I think I might be considering adopting a puppy.