Page 61 of Wild Love
I help manage Bash and his timelines as the projects around the old-barn-turned-office-space carry on. In only a matter of a few weeks, he’s transformed the place with new drywall and modern light fixtures. The painting has yet to come, but I can already envision how beautiful it will be. Fresh but rustic all at once.
I pick Cora up from school every day—sometimes withFord as a bitchy-faced chaperone—and try to play it cool when I see her wearing my scrunchie. We never talk about it, but she wears it daily, and it makes this pinching sensation pop up in my chest when I see it.
Ford and I arefriendly.Too friendly. Too… bland. He keeps a respectable distance, never pulls my hair, and doesn’t say rude things like he has no plans for us to fuck. In fact, he swears more around Cora than he does around me.
On Sunday nights, I have dinner with my parents, West, and the kids—on the weeks that he has them.
Every other Thursday, I do pizza and a movie with Cora while Ford goes to Dads’ Night Out at the bowling alley. His team loses every time, but he always comes home smiling.
It’s nice to see him smile.
And every day I watch him fall a little more in love with the young girl he never saw coming.
On this Friday afternoon, I have my earbuds in while I work on an email to different soundproofing specialists who might have time to work in Rose Hill for a stretch. I’m trying to keep myself from stressing about Ryan’s impending visit this weekend. He messaged me last night and said he’d be making the trip on Saturday morning.Finally.
I’ve tried to get this meeting done and over with for weeks now. I even offered to make the nine hour drive myself. Hell, I could afford to fly back now. But he’s had an excuse at every turn. And wanting to get it over with doesn’t mean I’m not still dreading it. Losing sleep over it. It’s going to be awkward and sad and I find myself obsessively running through all thegentle ways I can break the news to him. Practicing out loud to get the deliveryjustright.
I hate hurting people’s feelings, and I know this will hurt for him. But I also know that touching Ford’s lips in a dark closet came dangerously close to something I’ve always sworn I’d never do.
If it weren’t a total dick move, I’d end it via text and go… I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t be doing anything that different from what I have been. Maybe I’d just enjoy my freedom.
Freedom.
I try to keep my eyes on my computer, but they keep drifting up to Ford and Cora. I wonder if being drawn to Ford the moment I think about freedom has some sort of deeper meaning.
I wonder what it means that I can’t seem to stop looking at him, period.
Right now, he’s showing her a record player that he unpacked today. Cora’s curled on the leather nailhead couch that’s pressed up against the wall, watching Ford open the record player with rapt attention.
They’ve been bonding over music every chance they get. The conversations are all Greek to me, but the way they both light up when they discuss a band they like is satisfying all the same. I’ve come to love watching them interact. I love the way Ford has thrown himself into being what she needs, and I love the way Cora has thrown herself into making the most of what has to be an incredibly hard situation.
I often feel like there’s a lot I could learn from each ofthem. Like the universe stuck me with them for that express purpose.
Which is why I pause the podcast on my phone, so I can listen in on them without looking like I’m eavesdropping.
“…who gave it to my dad, who gave it to me,” Ford says as he lifts the machine’s plastic lid.
“Why not your sister? Record players and names seem kind of sexist where your family is concerned, Junior.”
Ford coughs out a laugh and my lips twitch as I drop my gaze back to my screen. Cora is the fucking best.
“I don’t know. My sister got our grandfather’s guitar. Does that count?”
Cora shrugs. “I guess.”
I can see Ford thinking as he lifts the needle. For all his smug looks and biting words, he’s a sensitive guy. I’m willing to bet that the possibility his family traditions are sexist will keep him awake at night.
He pulls a record out of its cardboard sleeve, pressing his tongue between his lips as he carefully places the needle back down.
“Will you show me how to do that?” Cora leans forward, watching him as though he’s performing some super impressive procedure.
Me? I can’t stop staring at the definition in his forearms. The way the veins in his hands bulge when his fingers flex.
“Of course.” He flicks the needle up and steps back, gesturing her forward with one hand. “Come here, I’ll show you. And you can listen to music on this whenever you want.”
Cora looks shocked as she approaches. “You’d let me use it when you’re not here?”
Ford shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, it will probably be yours one day. If you fuck it up, that’s on you.” He talks about how to line the needle up, but I’m not sure Cora is listening. She’s watching him, adoration and confusion warring on her doll-like features.
