Page 32 of Traitor

I turn to him. “You’re a handyman, too?”

“When I have the free time,” he says with a shrug. “C’mon, I’m starving, and you look like you could use a drink.”

He pulls two sawhorses together, covers them with a piece of extra plywood and drapes a clean drop cloth over the top. I pull two folding chairs over and give them a quick wipe after setting my supplies down by the door. Ford plates up the food and pours himself some whiskey and me a full glass of wine.

“This smells amazing,” I tell him, as I take my seat.

“You’ll have to thank Nell, she’s the one who makes sure I get fed at night.”

“I’ll do that. She didn’t look very happy to see me this afternoon when I got back.” He flicks on a lamp and then comes to sit opposite me at our makeshift table. “I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.”

Ford digs into his steak, chews. “Nothing like that, but I have to be honest, my sister did some digging about you.”

I sit back in my chair, my smile evaporating. I inhale half my wine for something to do. “She did?”

“She’s a little protective, but that doesn’t excuse her behavior. Trust me, I’ve already reamed her for invading your privacy like that.”

The wine makes my head feel a little fuzzy. “Don’t be upset with her. I’m sure it’s only natural to want to find out more about a stranger. Especially considering the circumstances.”

Ford reaches across the table and covers my free hand with his own. “I’m sorry that happened to you, Peyton. I’ll make sure Mercy doesn’t spread it around.”

The genuine understanding in his expression makes me want to melt. “Thank you. Don’t worry about it. The news is sure to spread at some point.”

He takes a sip of his whiskey, and the second he removes his hand, I want to ask him to put it back. I guess my art isn’t the only thing I’ve been missing. Companionship, closeness. The simple act of being touched by another person. All I can think about is all the other places I want his hands.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly.

“For once, I’d like to talk about anything but that,” I try not to put a pleading tone in my voice, but I can’t help it.

“Your wish,” he says and nods at my food. “Now eat, then you can show me why you dragged all that shit up here.”

I pause as I taste perfectly seasoned red potatoes. “You don’t think I’m crazy?”

He smirks. “Baby, I’ve only known you a couple days, and I’d love to put you in a straitjacket sometimes, but I don’t think you’re crazy.”