Page 38 of Deal Breaker
And then the door closes between us.
Again.
SIXTEEN
Landyn
I press my back against the door like that might somehow keep everything out. The guilt. The nerves. Him.
My fingers are still tight around the file, which feels like a brick in my hands. My heart is hammering in my chest, loud and wild.
Ford looked at me like he knew something. Like he was about to ask a question I’m not ready to answer. I squeeze my eyes shut, thinking of how I practically pushed him off the porch.
He was at my house—ourhouse—and the swing was swaying, and Poppy’s sketchbook was still sitting out, and her painted rocks sat in a line at the side of the porch, and there was so much he could’ve seen. So many clues scattered around like little breadcrumbs leading to the one truth I’m not ready to tell him.
That he has a daughter. That she sleeps in the room down the hall. That her favorite kind of pie is peach, and she wrinkles her nose when she’s concentrating… just like him.
I drop the file on the living room table, walk into the kitchen and grip the counter with both hands until my knuckles turn white. When I saw the look in his eyes—soft, searching, maybe even forgiving—the truth was on the tip of my tongue so fast I almost let it slip.
Almost.
But if I tell him now, everything changes. Not just for me. Not just for Ford.
For Poppy.
And that feels too dangerous. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then I turn toward the hallway to get Poppy ready for her bath. I need to get her into bed, clean up the kitchen, put the laundry in the dryer, and then get to work.
For now, the truth stays locked inside me.
But the weight of it? It’s getting harder to carry.
The house is quiet.
Poppy’s been asleep for a few hours, and I’m curled up in bed with the lamp low and my phone in my hand, scrolling through absolutely nothing. I’m not even pretending to read anymore. I’m just waiting for the sleep that won’t come.
My phone buzzes.
Ford: You still stay up too late?
A smile tugs at my lips before I can stop it.
Me: Bold of you to assume I’m not already asleep like a responsible adult.
Ford: It’s 10:58. You never made it to bed before midnight when I knew you.
Me: Fair enough. I guess some things never change.
The dots appear, flicker, disappear.
Ford: Some do. But not everything needs to.
There’s a pause. The kind that feels loaded.
Ford: Can I ask you something?
Me: I think so.
Ford: Where were you living before you came back?
