Page 28 of Deal Breaker
She turns her head, surprised. “Maybe we are.”
She looks out the window, a small furrow between her brows giving her away as she drifts deeper in thought. “I didn’t expect any of this. I didn’t come back to stir up the past.”
“Then whatdidyou come back for?”
Her voice catches slightly. “To build something new.”
I glance at her again. “What are you running away from, Lan?”
She meets my gaze, and there’s that flicker of hurt, the quiet kind that comes from too much time spent carrying things alone possibly. “I’m not running, Ford. I just needed to be back closer to my parents.”
“How are they doing?”
She fills me in, telling me her dad still works the same government job, her mom slowing down in her retirement years.
I nod, remembering them clearly. “Your mom always made the best shepherd’s pie.”
Landyn smiles. “She still does. She actually brought me some the other night.”
I look back at the road. “I always envied that. Your house, your family.”
She doesn’t say anything right away, but I know she remembers. The house I grew up in never felt like a home.
“You used to say my family felt like too much sometimes,” she murmurs.
“It was,” I say. “Too busy, too much structure. Too… perfect.”
She’s quiet for a beat. “But you liked it anyway.”
I nod once. “Yeah. I liked it because it was yours.”
I can feel her watching me, like she’s trying to piece together who I am now, to find the parts she used to know, the parts that are new. I don’t look at her. If I do, I might not be able to stop the past from sinking its claws into me, drowning me in memories I swore I’d buried for good.
TWELVE
Landyn
Ford’s elbow rests casually on the door, his hand at the wheel, his gaze focused but relaxed. I keep sneaking glances at him, trying to remember if this is how it used to feel…before everything between us fell apart.
The road winds in long, slow stretches, the fading sun bleeding through the windshield in soft pinks and purples. He takes the bends quickly, his foot barely touching the brake. Ford drives like he does everything else—confident, in control. It’s so hot. His right hand is wrapped loosely around the wheel, fingers long and tan and dusted with faint calluses. There’s a small scar at the base of his thumb that I don’t remember, a faint reminder that he’s lived a whole life I wasn’t part of.
His profile is sharp—strong jaw, faint scruff, his mouth set in that familiar but unreadable line. His nose is straight, a little too perfect, like the universe gave him one lucky break after dropping him into a childhood that would have none. His dark hair is longer than I remember, curling just a little where it brushes thecollar of his shirt, messy in a way that still looks flawless.
He sits with this quiet, commanding confidence, like nothing in the world could rattle him.
Except maybe me.
I shift in my seat and look out the window, not wanting to stare too long, but eventually my eyes drift to the radio. “Since when do you listen to country music?”
Ford’s mouth curves, barely there, his eyes still on the road. “I know it’s what you like.”
My chest squeezes. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
He flicks me a quick glance, something unreadable in his expression. “I haven’t forgotten a thing.”
His admission wraps around me, soft and sharp all at once. I turn back towards the window, hoping he doesn’t notice the way my throat tightens. Trees blur by outside my open window. The sky’s washed with pale purples. “Thanks for not making today weird,” I say finally.
Ford glances at me, brow raised. “Weird?”
