Page 50 of Deal Breaker
No new messages. No escape.
“Hey, Pops?” Mom tickles her tiny foot. “If we want to make those pancakes we talked about, we need to get moving.”
Poppy’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Let’s go!”
My mom chuckles softly. “Then Tessa wants to take you to the pool.”
I shoot her a grateful look. She catches it, says nothing.
“Shoes, go,” I say, motioning toward the door. Poppy bounces off the couch and hurries to grab her sneakers. She’s still humming as she wriggles into them, blissfullyunaware of why I’m herding them out the door like it’s a fire drill.
Ford can’t see her.
Not today.
This conference is important to Ford and to Cove. He can’t afford to be distracted.
“Landyn, it’s not a bad thing to be nervous,” my mom says quietly as she shrugs on her coat. “It just means it matters.
I nod. She’s right and that’s exactly the problem. It matters. It’s everything.
I open the door, my heart hammering.
“Alright, girls,” I say, forcing a smile. “Have fun. Text me later, okay?”
Poppy lunges in for a quick hug. “Love you, Mama.”
My throat tightens. “Love you too. I’m going to miss you, my Poppyseed.”
I watch them walk down the path, Poppy’s backpack bouncing with each step. My mom throws me a last look over her shoulder—half-encouragement, half-warning. I close the door before it can settle.
Not five minute later, the sound of tires crunching on gravel has my pulse spiking. Ford is here.
There’s a knock on the door. Solid. Sure. Just like him. I take a deep breath, placing a hand over my stomach to calm my nerves. Then I open it.
Ford stands there in faded jeans, a Cove jacket over a fitted black Henley, sunglasses hooked in the collar. His hair still has that just-showered look, like he ran his hands through it and every strand fell exactly where it’s meant to. It suits him.
“Morning,” he says, voice low, eyes scanning mine. Hehas this way of looking at me like he’s cataloguing every thought I’m trying to hide.
“Morning.” My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag. “You have a Porsche.”
He reaches for my duffle. “I do.” Of course he does. “But I prefer my truck.”
He glances past me into the entryway, like he’s checking for signs of life. My heart stutters. But there’s nothing to see. Just me.
“Ready?” he asks.
As ready as I’ll ever be. “Yeah. Let me lock up.”
When we reach his car, he opens the passenger door for me. Chivalry, or maybe habit. Either way, it makes my breath catch. Once we’re both inside, he starts the sports car and the engine rumbles to life. The car is quiet—not awkward, not tense as the ocean flashes in and out of view, the forest around us growing closer and denser.
“Thanks for agreeing to drive up with me,” he says, glancing at me. “I know you’d been planning on taking your own car.”
“You’re the boss,” I reply with a teasing smile. “Is there a reason you wanted to travel together? What’s your plan?”
“I just figured two hours in a vehicle with you would get me further than three months of board meetings,” Ford says, eyes steady on the road, mouth curving in that infuriatingly subtle way.
“Is that so?” I glance sideways at him, already suspicious.
