Page 34 of Deal Breaker
“I used to think,” he says quietly, “that if I ever got you back here, I’d know what to say.”
His words hit like an echo of something I’ve tried hard to bury.
“And now?” I ask.
He drags a hand down his jaw, like the words are caught in his throat. “Now I’m just trying not to ruin it.”
My heart plummets to my feet, a free fall I can’t stop. I press my palm to my chest, enthralled by the wild, frantic pounding beneath my hand.
“You still do that thing with your hand when you’re nervous.”
“What thing?”
“You flatten your palm over your heart.”
I freeze, caught in the middle of doing exactly that.
His mouth lifts in the faintest smile. “You did it the first time I kissed you.”
My breath catches. His gaze drops to my lips, and my whole body goes still. Ford steps in closer, slowly, like he’s afraid I’ll run. At the same time, his hand lifts, fingers brushing a strand of hair from my face. The back of his knuckles skim across my cheek. “I’ve wanted to kiss you all night,” he says.“I feel like I’m drowning in you.”
My heart is thudding so loudly I’m afraid he can hear it. I lean in without meaning to, pulled by gravity or history or maybe just the ache in his voice. Our faces are inches apart. So close I can feel his breath, but I stop, then I pull back. The moment snaps like a rubber band stretched too far.
“I can’t,” I whisper. “Not tonight.”
His hand falls to his side. The air between us cools instantly, but the heat of what almost happened clings to me. Ford doesn’t look away. He doesn’t push. “Okay,” he says, voice low and even. “But I mean it when I say it, June. I’m not walking away.”
I nod, but I can’t speak.
Not with the weight of the secret between us.
Not when I have to be home to kiss Poppy goodnight.
Not when he doesn’t know that I’m not just a ghost from the past, but the mother of his daughter.
I take a shaky breath and turn back toward the street, the sound of the waves behind us echoing through my chest.
“Landyn,” he says softly.
I stop.
“I want to see you again.”
I don’t turn around.
“I want to see you again,” he repeats, slower this time.Like he means it more than he’s meant anything in a long time.
Still, I say nothing. Because if I open my mouth, I’m not sure the truth won’t come spilling out.
“Saturday night. My house, I’ll text you the address. Eight o’clock. I’ll be waiting.”
Exhaling a long breath, I keep walking. I don’t look back, because if I do, I know I might run to him and tell him everything, shattering the fragile space I’ve tried so hard to keep between what was and what is.
By the time I reach my car, my hands are shaking. I sit for a full minute with the door closed and the engine off, forehead resting against the steering wheel.
Poppy.
Our daughter.
