Page 6 of Deal Breaker
Ford doesn’t know about Poppy. All he knows is that one day I was there and the next I was gone. No explanation. No goodbye. He just never saw me again. Until yesterday, when he looked at me like he hates me. Like I took something from him that he couldn’t name.
I did.
I took everything.
And I’ve had to live with that every single day for the past seven years.
I cradle the coffee cup between my hands, letting the warmth chase away the chill in my bones. My brain won’t stop spinning. Ford’s voice, sharp and low. The flicker in his eyes when he saw me. I wasn’t expecting him to look so… angry. Hurt, maybe. Closed off, sure. But that fire—that simmering fury under all that control? That caught me off guard.
I’d forgotten how Ford Winters could silence a room with just a look. Even back in college, when he barely had two dollars to his name, he carried himself like he owned the world. He didn’t talk much, but when he did? People listened. I used to think it was hot—okay, incredibly hot—how he could command a space without raising his voice.
Now?
Now it just terrifies me.
Because if he knew, really knew, why I left, or what I’ve been hiding…
The bell above the café door chimes, and when I glance up and see a tall, broad-shouldered man in the entrance, my breath suddenly catches in my throat. But it’s not him. Of course it’s not him. Ford wouldn’t come here. This place has too much charm, not enough sharp edges. The Ford I saw in the conference room yesterday is all straight lines and efficiency. He probably drinks double espressos. He has no time for frothy oat milk or still-gooey cinnamon rolls. No room for nostalgia or the past or messy things like old girlfriends who left without a trace.
I press my hand to my chest, trying to slow the pounding behind my ribs.
Breathe.
Just breathe.
He doesn’t know.
And that’s the only reason I’m still sitting upright instead of curled into a ball on the floor.
I fish my phone back out and pull up the last photo I took of Poppy yesterday. She’s sitting cross-legged in a field of grass at the edge of the beach. Her tiny hands are stuffed full of pebbles, her smile lopsided. Dark blonde curls, almost brown, wild around her face, sand on her jeans. Theeyes that stare back at me are the same eyes as the man I faced in that conference room.
Storm-gray. Too knowing. So much like him.
I drag my thumb across the screen, heart aching with something fierce and maternal and guilt-soaked.
She’s six. And she’s everything.
I didn’t leave Ford because I stopped loving him. I left because I didn’t know how to tell him we were having a baby. Because I was scared. Because he wasn’t ready.
I thought I could outrun the truth. I was wrong.
And now we’re here.
In the same town.
In the same building.
Back in each other’s lives.
I blow on my coffee and take a sip, my mind already turning to what comes next. I need to finish my research, then meet with Jesse, since apparently, he’s my new supervisor. Most of all, I need to keep my head down and stay focused. No drama. No distractions. And definitely no falling back into the arms of the man I never really stopped loving.
Even if his daughter has his eyes.
By the timeI get back to the little rental cottage at the edge of town, the late afternoon sun is spilling gold across the mountains. Poppy’s laughter echoes off the porch as I walk up the path to the house. She’s chasing a bubble. One perfect, translucent orb, drifting just out of reach.
My mom sits on the steps, smiling as she watches Poppywith her mug of chamomile tea balanced on her knee. She lifts a hand in greeting when she sees me.
“Mommy!” Poppy squeals, abandoning her chase as she flies off the porch and into my arms.
