Page 42 of Deal Breaker
Well, it’s here.
I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, still wearing leggings and a T-shirt, hair half-dry from the quick shower I took after Poppy left with my dad.
It was a great day. Poppy had her dance class this morning. She wore her sparkly pink leotard and twirled through the studio; her little face lit up like the sun breaking through on the first warm day of spring.
After class, we got ice cream—chocolate for her, vanilla for me. We sat on the curb outside the café, our kneesbumping, and she told me about a kid in her class who can do a cartwheel and how she thinks she might try it tomorrow in the living room, but only when Grandma isn’t looking.
My mom texted not long after, asking if Poppy wanted to stay over at their house for the night. Her response? A very enthusiastic, jumping-on-the-couch “yes!” My mom assured me she was feeling good today, that she actually slept through the night for once, and Dad would be home to help keep Poppy entertained.
So now I’m home, alone, trying to ignore the voice that keeps whispering that maybe it’s a sign that my mom offered to take Poppy tonight without me even needing to ask. I pull my knees up, rest my chin on them, and read Ford’s text again.
Dinner. His place.
Eight years ago, I wouldn’t have hesitated. Eight years ago, I would’ve run to him. But tonight, I keep asking myself the question I’ve been avoiding all week.
If I go to his place… how much of me is going to come back different?
Thirty minutes later I’m behind the wheel, not quite sure how I ended up here, trying to think of nothing other than the directions coming from my GPS.
The road winds away from the center of town, each turn pulling me deeper into the quiet stretch of mountains and trees. I pass the shops, the school, the old gas station, and then I’m on the highway before turning up the mountain, the town eventually fading away behind me.
The drive steepens as pine trees press in on both sides, tall and dark and swaying in the evening breeze. Homes occasionally dot the rugged landscape, long, paved drivewaysleading to sprawling properties. I grip the steering wheel a little tighter.
It’s a far cry from where Ford grew up, but I’m not surprised he ended up here. Even when we were young, he always had his eyes on the finer things. This part of town isn’t really town anymore. It’s vaster, quiter, harder to reach. And the privacy that lends owners doesn’t come cheap.
I know Cove does well, but this?
This is another world.
My little car feels out of place as I follow the final turn, climbing into a neighborhood of sleek, modern estates, all glass and cedar, the ocean glittering below them like a million scattered diamonds.
When I spot his driveway—long, sloped, carved into the mountainside—I have to double check the address before turning in slowly.
His house sits at the top, tucked behind a row of towering spruce trees. The sun’s just starting to set, painting the sky in soft lavender and gold. The home itself isn’t flashy but it’s still stunning, with clean lines and big windows, and a dark wood exterior that blends into the landscape. A place built for someone who’s done running. Someone who’s rooted now.
I park, cut the engine, and take a deep breath to calm my nerves. I’m still not sure I should be alone with Ford, but there’s no backing out now. I grab my purse and step out into the cool evening air, tinged with salt and the faint scent of pine. I tug my sweater more tightly around me, suddenly aware of how quiet it is up here. No traffic. No chatter. Just the wind through the trees and the distant, steady crash of the ocean below.
I glance down at myself as I make my way up the stone path. I didn’t overthink it—at least, not too much. Myfavorite jeans, ankle boots, a soft cream sweater that falls off one shoulder without meaning to. Casual but not careless. Comfortable but not lazy.
My hair’s down in loose waves. At first, I had pulled it back into a loose bun, but when I looked at my reflection it felt too… controlled. Tonight, I don’t want to wear armor. I want to see what happens when I don’t.
I pause at the front door, heart thudding, then I lift my hand and knock before I have a chance to second guess what I’m doing here. A breath later, I hear movement inside, and then the door opens to Ford.
He’s standing barefoot in faded jeans and a fitted charcoal Henley that clings to his chest and arms like it was made for him. His hair’s a little messy, like he ran a hand through it one too many times, and he holds a half-full whiskey glass in one hand. At his feet sits a black and white dog with the sweetest face and curious eyes.
“Well, hey there,” I say, crouching instinctively. “Who are you?”
“Stella.” Ford says. “She’s friendly.”
Stella’s whole body leans into my touch when I scratch her behind her ears and she gives me a soft little huff of approval. With a final pat, I straighten to find Ford watching me.
He looks like he’s been pacing. Or brooding. Or both. He’s breathtakingly handsome. His eyes land on me, and for a second, neither of us says anything. Then he speaks, voice low, soft around the edges. “I’m glad you came.”
“I can’t believe this is where you live.” My gaze drifts to the view of the ocean behind me, the perfectly manicured lawn.
“Shocking I know,” he deadpans. “Half the time, I stillfeel like a kid who shouldn’t be parking in this neighborhood, let alone living here.”
My heart tugs. “Ford…it’s beautiful. You deserve it.”
