Page 31 of Always a Bridesmaid
He ran the pads of his fingers over the worn, grooved spots in the steering wheel. “What do you do when you’re not painting a bakery for your sister?”
The heavy sigh signaled he’d hit a sore subject. See, the woman was practically a land mine. Why would he keep on dancing around the area, waiting for the step that’d blow his foot off?
“I’m a photographer,” she said. “Or I was one. I guess I still am. And, with any luck, will be again, after I finish up here and head home to Florida. Let’s just say it’s…complicated.”
“Complicated” was a good word for Violet. “Trouble” was another.
“Anyway, thanks for the ride.” Halfway out the door, she spun around. “What about Trouble?”
Ford froze. Had he called her trouble out loud? How could he explain that he simply wasn’t into relationships with women who’d storm into his life and would storm out shortly thereafter, leaving as much destruction as a hurricane?
“For the puppy? Pigeonholes him a bit but doesn’t blatantly call him out. I’d be upset if someone nicknamed me ADHD. Trouble, on the other hand… It’s a warning and a threat all in one.”
“I like it.”
Unfortunately, he’d always struggled with not landing himself in trouble, and if it involved Violet, Ford would probably like it way more than he should.
Which meant he was going to have to actively fight his attraction to the woman.
Chapter Six
The paint fumes in the bakery left her light-headed, so Violet stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, congratulating herself on everything she’d accomplished this past week.
The boring sections of the painting job were done, each wall covered in a shiny coat of eggshell. It’d been a slow process, since Maisy wanted to remain open. The fact that Maisy’s Bakery—and most every shop in town—closed on Sunday had given Violet time to finish the first step of the remodel.
Her sister had offered to help, but Violet insisted Maisy go to the park with Isla as planned. Bonus, it allowed Violet to concentrate with less guilt, since Maisy chatted a lot, and Violet often missed blips of what she’d said and botched sections of the wall, too.
Multitasking would never be a talent of hers. However, she’d managed, and through the years she’d gotten proficient at filling in the blanks of conversations she’d missed thanks to her ADHD.
Not only did every wall of the bakery boast a fresh coat of paint, Violet had avoided any run-ins with the Hursts or Ford for a week now.
One of the strings in Violet’s heart panged, and she placed her palm over the spot. “Play it cool. It’s a good thing, so there’s no reason to go doing that to me.”
Lottie, the woman who owned the also-closed craft store next door, chose that moment to walk by. She pursed her lips and studied Violet as if she should be wearing an orange jumpsuit—the woman would undoubtedly volunteer to knit her one.
“You’re not cooking, are you?” Lottie’s glower made it clear she suspected Violet had purposely started the fire. She patted a bag bursting with yarn and knitting needles. “I’m off to a Craft Cats meeting, but if you’re cooking, I’d better stick around in case I have to call the fire department.”
On top of being insulting, Lottie’s call would mean breaking Violet’s streak of not seeing Ford. Each day it became more of a struggle to believe it was for the best, which only proved it was. “No need. I’m only painting, and I’m finished for the day.”
“I’m relieved to hear it.” With that, Lottie continued on her way, and Violet resisted the urge to flip off the woman. For the record, her resentment came from more than treating her like an arsonist. Back in the day, the busybody had been one of the people who’d flapped their gums about Violet’s scandalous existence.
After locking up the bakery, Violet jammed the bulky set of keys into the pocket of her paint-splattered jeans and headed toward the center of town to meet Maisy and Isla.
She soon found herself on the sidelines of the field next to the park, where a crowd had gathered to watch a football game. She slowed as she spotted the very guy she’d been congratulating herself on avoiding. There was a difference between not seeing and avoiding.
It wasn’t the first time this past week Violet had seen him from a distance.
However, itwasthe first time she hadn’t run in the other direction. With him in the middle of a game, it was finally safe for her eyes to look their fill.
He and the other firefighter were working together, Darius blocking as Ford ran the ball downfield.
A smaller guy—no, that wasn’t a guy. It was Addie. She came fast, slamming into Ford and then jumping on his back when he barely wobbled.Pretty sure that’s illegal, so they must play with their own set of rules.
Some dude with copper-colored curls added a hit of his own, and Ford hit the ground just short of the goal.
People around her cheered, and Violet turned to the woman next to her. “What game is this?”
The woman blinked at Violet as if she’d asked if the sun was bright. “It’s football, and if you’re gonna live in Alabama, you best learn your Ps and Qs when it comes to the gridiron game.”
