Page 37 of Aisle Come Back to You

My mouth drops open in pure shock before a pleased, girlish giggle leaves my lips. Who knew my little Ford had it in him? But honestly, I kind of love it.

Blair:I don’t know. Once again, I think that depends.

Ford:On what?

Blair:On whether you’re capable of giving me something to beg for.

Ford:I think you underestimate me, Bennett. They don’t call me Panty Dropper Hastings for nothing.

I laugh out loud, quickly lifting a hand to stifle the giggles. Just because I’ve been unable to sleep doesn’t mean Miles has been cursed with the same problem. The last thing I need to do is wake him up with my flirty texts with the guy I’d been whining to him about only a few hours earlier.

Blair:No one calls you that!

Ford:Maybe not yet, but I think you will be after the next time we’re together

Blair:In your dreams, Hastings!

Ford:Pretty sure it’s you who is going to be seeing me in your dreams tonight.

I raise an eyebrow. Since when did he get so cocky? Not that I dislike it. If anything, I kind of like seeing this side of him, even if I’ve already been in love with the sweeter and softer side of him for years.

Blair:Speaking of dreams, I should probably get some sleep. We’re supposed to be meeting Ronnie tomorrow.

Ford: You’re probably right. I’d say in that case I’ll see you tomorrow, but we both know you’ll be seeing me sooner than that.

I roll my eyes. Although, why do I have the feeling he’s right?

Blair: Goodnight, Ford

Ford:Goodnight, Blair bear

19

Ford

“Thank you so muchfor coming,” my mom says, her hug tight and comforting, and like usual, she holds on for a few seconds longer than needed.

“Of course. Where else would I be?” I ask, even if a part of me is currently wishing that I could’ve gone to breakfast with Blair and Ronnie this morning. While I’d been invited by the ladies, I couldn’t bring myself to ditch my mom and our weekly Sunday church date. As tempting as it is, spending more time with Blair will have to wait a few more hours. Given the thoughts I’ve been having about her after our text conversation, I can’t help but think that this is exactly where I need to be.

Okay, maybe I’m not actually devoutly religious and don’t necessarily view my explicit thoughts about Blair as morally impure. In fact, I have no intention of suppressing these fantasies—if anything, I’m hoping to make them a reality.

My attendance at church week after week is solely to ensure my mom’s happiness—a result of my inherent need to be a perpetual people pleaser.

“So, I’m going to guess that I can’t convince you to come over for some brunch?” she asks, attempting to sway me with a soft pout.

Apologetically, I give a slight shake of my head. “Not today. I’m supposed to be heading over to Ronnie’s to help with some last-minute wedding stuff.”

As if slightly inconvenienced, she lets out a huff, but her smile reveals her true, playful intent. While my dad, the town sheriff, was never fully supportive of my friendship with Ronnie and Blair, my mom has always held a soft spot for the two women. “In that case, I suppose I’ll just have to see you soon,” she says, leaning closer and giving me one last hug before we say goodbye and I make my way out the church doors.

Unlike my mom, I’m impatient to make my escape, relieved that this week I won’t have to waste hours of my day listening to her gossip with the other churchgoers. There’s something about this particular setting that’s not only fascinated me, but driven me crazy at the same time.

Ever since I was a young kid, week after week I’d been surrounded by the constant chatter of the same women repeating the same gossip over and over again. While they’d sit there gossiping away, we kids, and occasionally their husbands, would exchange knowing glances, silently urging each other to step in and break up the conversation so we could finally go home and eat.

Walking out the door, I reach up and loosen my tie, feeling immediate relief, but it doesn’t last long as I practically run straight into Jenny. It’s really not a surprise to see her here; while we were married she joined me week after week. For appearance’s sake, she even sat next to us for a few weeks toavoid the gossip and stares, but eventually, we bit the bullet and she moved to sit elsewhere. That week, it was especially impossible to avoid the stares, and even worse, it took even longer to get the women to leave.

Jenny quirks a brow. “Running off already?”

“Oh, uh yeah. I have some plans,” I say, hating the way my cheeks seem to flush. I know it shouldn’t matter, but a wave of guilt also washes over me as I recall the texts I sent Blair last night. Even though we’ve agreed that it’s okay to see other people, that doesn’t mean that I want my soon-to-be ex-wife to know about it.

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