Wild Love: Chapter 10

When I walk into the mildew-scented building we’re calling an office, I’m ready to face the day.

I toned down my regular work attire, but my blazer is a dusty rose—pink, I guess—and that makes me happy. I’ve paired it with a plain white tee, baggy boyfriend jeans, and a pair of suede, beige boots with chunky heels—hopefully, they’ll hurt when I kick Ford’s ass for being so utterly bewildering.

The hair tug. The way he went eerily still at my red underwear joke. The way he dragged me closer to him. The way his chest peeking from beneath his robe stopped me in my tracks.

The way he let me touch him with no hesitation.

Yeah. I’m gonna kick his ass all right.

Ford is already here, sitting at the old desk, phone propped between his shoulder and ear. He looks relaxed—arms crossed, feet kicked out, so he’s leaned back. I can faintly hear someone talking on the other end, and while he listens, I try not to stare at him or what I now know is a hard chest under his cable-knit sweater. Beaded bracelets stacked on top of a watch that is just shiny enough to draw your eye.

Mussed hair. Scuffed boots. His stubble a little longer than it was yesterday.

He’s basically a flashing red light. There are so many reasons I shouldn’t let my brain proceed.

My brother. My maybe boyfriend, maybe roommate. I need to keep my eyes on my work and not on whatever transformation Ford has gone through in the past decade that has left him oozing sex.

I steel myself as I offer him a firm wave and turn away with a new sense of direction. Or at least a new sense of which side of the road to avoid veering off into.

But when I actually look at the space, I come to a screeching halt. Straight across from Ford’s desk, approximately twenty feet away, is another desk. With another chair. Facing him.

Basically, my own personal torture chamber. Am I supposed to spend all day working while facing Ford? No fucking way.

I storm toward the desk but come up short when my eyes catch on what’s sitting on top.

The book cover has a pattern of butterflies in a field of flowers. They dance along the tops of the blooms. The hard cover was shiny once, but it’s a little water-stained now. A little dirty in one corner.

I place my hand on my chest, rubbing it in slow, firm circles as I stare back at my diary. The same one I threw out the window all those years ago. The steel clasp is broken, but the heart-shaped lock still clings to the two rings meant to hold it shut. But now, it might as well be wide open.

If someone wanted to go through it, they’d be in for a wild ride through my unfiltered thoughts and feelings. In fact, if I remember correctly, the first page says something along the lines of “Read at your own risk. I might have talked shit about you in here.”

With a few steps forward, I’m standing right above the book and trailing my fingertips over it. Feeling where the cover changes from glossy to matte.

My eyes well with tears, and I’m not sure why. Possibly because I’m coming face-to-face with a lost artifact from my girlhood.

I turn my head, chin grazing my shoulder as I peek over at Ford.

His eyes are already on me, and he doesn’t bother dropping my gaze as he responds to the person on the phone, “That’s a great plan. Why don’t you run it past them and get back to me?” He hangs up without saying goodbye. To some people, that might seem rude, but I’d be willing to bet that, in Ford’s head, it’s just efficient.

“Did you put this here?” I point at the diary as I turn my entire body to face him. I don’t pick it up yet. I’m not sure I’m ready.

“I did.” He tips forward to toss his phone on the desk before returning to his leaned back position, lifting his arms and linking his hands like a hammock behind his head.

My throat goes dry. “Where did you get it?”

“From the side of the road. You managed to clear the ditch and land it between a fallen log and a poplar tree.”

My face scrunches up in confusion, because not a single part of this makes sense. “It was still there after all these years?” Even as I ask, I know it’s the wrong question. It wouldn’t be in this condition after ten years spent on the forest floor.

“No, I went there the day after you threw it and searched for it.” His head tilts as if he’s considering his next words with extra care. “It took me a few trips.”

I blink, trying to wrap my head around his words. “Are you saying you went back more than once to look for my diary?”

He shrugs. A silent affirmation.

“Why?” I can’t for the life of me understand why he’d do that. The time. The effort. All spent on his best friend’s little tag-along sister, who spent every summer doing her best to annoy him.

Then it hits me, and I point an accusing finger. “You wanted to read it, didn’t you?”

He stares at me blankly, and I walk toward him, delighted I’ve found a brand-new thing to tease him about. “Did you read my journal, Junior? Was it juicy⁠—”

“I never read it.” He sits up straight and pulls himself toward his desk. Without sparing me a glance, he flips his laptop open dismissively. “I wouldn’t do that to you. But I figured you might want it one day. You’d left for college by the time I tracked it down, and I just forgot about it. Haven’t seen you since then anyway.”

“You’ve seen West.”

He nods, still avoiding my gaze. If I didn’t know better, I’d say Ford was nervous right now. Embarrassed even.

“You could have given it to him.”

“I could have,” is his impassive reply.

And suddenly, I’m the one who feels nervous. This man did something sweet—tender, even—a really long time ago, and I have no idea how to respond.

He clearly didn’t want anyone who might read it to have it. And West would have definitely read it because he’s that type of shit-disturber. Probably would have made a hit list of every guy mentioned in it too. Or cracked an awkward inside joke at Christmas dinner.

“Wow.” I comb my fingers through my carefully curled hair. “You really wanted to guilt me about pushing you into the lake last night, huh?”

That gets me a twitch of his cheek and a coy peek from below heavy brows. “Is it working? Do you feel bad?” His eyes flit back down to the screen on the heels of his question.

It’s my turn to stare back at him with a blank look on my face. Because after this revelation, Ford makes me feel a lot of different things..

And bad doesn’t top the list.

Speechless.

Affected.

Confused.

Ford breaks the silence without glancing my way. “When you’re done gawking at me, can you look for a contractor that won’t dick me around on gutting this place? Oh, and I’d like to see your résumé, mostly so I can say I didn’t lie to your parents.”

And I decide I don’t feel bad about pushing him into the lake after all.

Not even a little bit.

Cora looks like an adorable storm cloud stomping out the front doors of the school. Ford was adamant that, as his business manager, I didn’t need to pick Cora up. I pushed back and said it makes it easier for him to work through the afternoon. But the truth is, this daily excursion gives me the break I need from feeling the weight of his gaze on me while I work. And I like Cora. I enjoy her company. She makes me laugh even when I don’t feel like it, so picking her up feels like a treat, not a task.

When she catches sight of me, I lift both hands like I’m about to wave. But instead, I fold my thumbs and fingers together and begin the chicken dance.

When she figures out what I’m doing, her eyes bulge and her steps quicken.

I hook my thumbs under my armpits and start flapping my arms, but Cora is so close now that I can’t hold back my laughter. I don’t know her well enough to tease her like this, but hey, we have to start somewhere.

Someone nearby must be watching us, because right before she draws up in front of me, her head snaps to the side. “What do you think you’re looking at?”

Her eyes narrow on the man, but me? I get the giggles. I don’t recognize him, but I don’t recognize many people in Rose Hill anymore. This place has gone from charming lakeside retreat to bustling mountain town in the past ten years.

“Hi, Cora,” I say calmly as I watch her trudge around the car and practically fall into the passenger seat.

“Hi, Rosie.”

I get in, buckle up, and start the engine to pull out of the parking lot. “How was school today?”

“Fine, until you did the chicken dance at pickup.”

“Do you think all the kids will talk about me tomorrow?” I cast her a teasing look, and I know she’s amused because she does the sullen tween thing of clamping her lips together and turning away to stare out the window.

“You remind me of my dad sometimes. That’s something he’d have done.”

When I realize she doesn’t mean Ford, I pause for a beat but decide there’s no point in tiptoeing. “Yeah? He sounds cool.”

“He was,” is her soft reply as she stares out the glass.

“What was his name?” I ask as I turn out of the pickup loop and head onto the quiet neighborhood street.

“Doug.”

“Well, if Doug would have approved of my chicken dance, I’ll keep doing it.”

Now I get a snort. “Oh yeah. Ford is more like my mom. You’re the Doug in that relationship.”

I point at her. “Except there is no relationship between Ford and me. Just childhood frenemies turned boss and employee.”

Cora gives me a look that says she thinks I’m an idiot. It’s one of her best, most well-practiced expressions, and I admire that about her.

“Frenemies?”

“Yes. It’s the perfect description for us.” My eyes slice in her direction, and she’s back to staring at me like I’m the dumbest person alive.

All it does is make me smile.

“School was actually good, though? You making some friends?”

She shrugs. “Yeah.”

Okay, we’re in one-word-answer territory. We’ll circle back to that another day. Or I’ll take a casual stroll down the halls and see for myself.

“And how about things with Ford?”

He annoyed me today. I thought we were having a moment, a little heart-to-heart over my journal, but then he shut down. And when I gave him my résumé, he scrutinized it thoroughly. Brows drawn low, red pen in hand as he tapped it against his lips. I watched him from my desk. Okay, I glared at him from my desk. Then he literally wrote “HIRED” on the top, walked over to me, and dropped it on my desk with an obnoxious smirk.

Cora shrugs again. “He’s cool.”

“Yeah?” I can’t keep the amusement from my voice. Cool. I love that she sees him that way. So many people never did. He was too cerebral, too quirky. People labeled him a lot of things in this small town, but cool was not one of them. Although I would have never said it, I always thought he was.

She nods. “Yeah. We don’t like…” Her hand swivels before her as she searches for her next words. “Talk a lot? I guess.” A shrug. And silence. I can tell she’s thinking, can practically see the words on the tip of her tongue, so I don’t say anything. I just let her digest.

“But I love Gramophone. I listen to all my music there. And this morning I overheard him talking with Ivory Castle. She was this lame teenybopper pop star, you know? But then she recorded with him, and he gave her this whole new sound. Have you heard the new single from that album? It’s all smoky and gritty but mainstream enough that people with bad taste in music will still like it. She plays the guitar and everything. She’s great. You know, if you can just pretend those other sellout albums don’t exist.”

I bite down so hard on my inner cheek that I swear I taste blood. Behind all her snark, I somehow missed the serious case of hero worship this girl has going on with Ford.

“That is pretty cool. Does he know all this?”

She bats a hand through the air like she’s swatting at a fly. “Nah. He mostly just stares at me like I terrify him.”

I feel a twinge of sympathy for Ford—he truly is unprepared for this.

“I don’t want to make his life harder, so I don’t push my luck. He’s busy and important.”

Now I feel a sharp pang of sympathy for Cora. Because that is so fucking relatable. I tried so hard, for so long, to fly under the radar with my family that I now recognize all the ways I missed out on a deeper connection with them. I don’t want to say that I resent my parents for letting me become the invisible child, but it certainly taught me not to rely on them… not to confide in them. And in a lot of ways, I did it to myself. I saw the anxiety they had around West and decided I wouldn’t add to that.

As I think back on it, it made me feel very alone. And I don’t want that for Cora—or for Ford.

“He’s not as bad as he comes off sometimes,” is what I offer back. “You can’t take him at face value—and I know that’s tough sometimes. Trust me, I do.” Because it’s true. For all my stomping and huffing about the guy, I know he’s a good one. And I know the way he works. “But you don’t make his life harder, I promise you that. Don’t make yourself into an inconvenience when you aren’t one. He may not know you well yet, but he wants to, and he just isn’t sure how to do it.”

She nods sternly and we fall into a comfortable silence. As I turn up the radio for the short drive back to Rose Hill Records, I shake my head with a small smile on my lips.

He looks at her like she terrifies him. And she looks at him with stars in her eyes.

But they’re both too alike to say a single word to each other.

It’s adorable.