Page 55 of Deal Breaker
“Maybe I just wanted to keep you in my orbit a little longer.”
That same old spark flickers in her eyes. “You’re impossible,” she mutters, but there’s no bite in it.
“You didn’t seem to mind, back then.”
“I didn’t. That’s the problem.”
Her eyes glisten as she pulls in a breath and I feel it in my core. For a while, we just sit there, letting the quiet do what words can’t. The tension’s still there, but it’s gentler now. Less like a wound, more like a magnet.
“Ford,” she says, voice low, serious now. “What are we doing?”
I meet her gaze. Steady. Unflinching. “Having a drink. Taking a detour.”
“I know you, and you’ve always got a plan,” she says, andthere’s a spark there now. One I haven’t seen in a while. She taps her fingers in time to the music, a habit I remember.
“You want to dance?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
Her eyes flick to mine, defiant. “No.”
“Liar.”
Her lips curve, betraying her. “There’s no dance floor.”
I stand, hold out my hand. “We’ll improvise.”
She stares at me, weighing the offer. With a dramatic sigh, she sets down her drink and takes my hand, letting me pull her from her chair. Her fingers slip into mine, warm and certain, like they never forgot the shape of this.
“Always reckless, Winters,” she says as I pull her gently toward the open space near the edge of the patio.
“Only when it’s worth it.”
The guitarist shifts to a slower, bluesy rhythm. Just enough to move to. I rest a hand on her waist, feel her tense—just for a breath—before she melts into it. Her other hand finds my shoulder. Familiar. Natural.
We move slowly. Just the rhythm, the press of her body against mine, the faint sounds of conversation from nearby tables fading into the background.
“You’re surprisingly good at this,” she says, tilting her head back to look at me.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” I reply, spinning her slowly. “You’re just good at making me look like I know what I’m doing.”
She shakes her head, smiling up at me, “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”
She’s laughing now, breathless as we move, and it knocks something loose in my chest. For a few perfect moments, it’s like we’re twenty-one again. No walls. No wounds. Just this.
We keep dancing. It feels good, effortless. Like breathing.When the song winds down, I spin her one last time, pulling her back in, closer now. She doesn’t step away and neither do I.
“See?” I say softly. “Detours aren’t so bad.”
Her smile could bring me to my knees.
“You might be right, Winters.”
“I missed you, June.” Her fingers tighten against my chest, right over my heart, like the words hit her physically. “I missed you so much it still pisses me off sometimes,” I add, my voice dropping lower, meant only for her.
She doesn’t look away. For once, she lets me see it. The way her walls start to crack. The way her chin tips up like she’s fighting to stay steady.
“Ford…” she whispers. My thumb brushes her side, slow and reverent, as if reminding both of us that we’re still here. Still breathing.
“I’m not asking for anything from you tonight,” I tell her quietly. “I’m not expecting you to fix what broke. I just needed you to know… losing you never stopped hurting.”
