Page 70 of Deal Breaker
Every night this week, after I’ve kissed Poppy goodnight, after I’ve set my phone aside, I’ve lied in bed and tried to convince myself that maybe I can keep this going just a little while longer. Maybe the secret I’ve been carrying for all these years doesn’t need to be dragged out into the light just yet. Maybe I can just enjoy this thing—whatever it is—between us and wait and see what it could grow into.
But as hard as I try, I can’t delude myself into thinking any of it could work.
Not anymore.
Not when he’s talking about date nights and weekend getaways and things that sound dangerously like a future.
Ford is back tomorrow, and I have to tell him. I have to look him in the eye, and finally say it out loud.
You have a daughter.
Her name is Poppy.
She’s six years old.
She has your eyes.
The thought of it makes my stomach twist, but I’m done running. If Ford and I have any shot at a future together, it has to start with the truth.
I just worry that the truth could be the thing that breaks us.
He lands today.
I’ve checked the clock at least 20 times since I woke up this morning, and I’ve read the text he sent me a couple of days ago at least as many times.
Ford: Friday night. Just us. Dinner. No desks, no takeout. I want to see you, June.
God. I stare at the message on my phone like it’ll disappear if I look away.
I worked from home all morning and am curled up on the couch in sweats, coffee going cold on the table in front of me. Poppy’s at school so the house is quiet. A little too quiet. I’ve tidied up, put in a load of laundry, paid some bills, and watered the small vegetable garden my mom and I planted in the yard a few weeks ago. There’s nothing left to distract me from the conversation I know I can’t avoid any longer.
I’ve rehearsed it at least a dozen times, but I still don’tknow how I’m going to get through it. I’ve imagined every possible version. One where Ford yells. One where he walks away. One where he says nothing at all. And then there’s the worst one of all—where he looks at me like he doesn’t know me, with hurt and betrayal in his eyes.
But there’s also a version where he listens. Where he looks at her photo and doesn’t just see the time I stole from him—he just sees her.
Us.
When his flight finally lands, my phone buzzes with a message that knocks the breath right out of me.
Ford: Home. I want to see you. You free in a couple hours?
I close my eyes and press the phone to my chest, then I text him back with shaking hands.
Me: I’ll be ready at 6pm.
I stare at the message for a long moment, heart thudding so loud I can hear it in my ears.
I don’t deserve him, not when I’m still keeping this secret from him. I know that I could lose him once he knows the truth, and I’m not ready for that. After a week apart, and after what happened between us in his office the last time we were together, my entire body hums with anticipation at the thought of finally seeing Ford again.
I can’t survive the weight of this secret for much longer, but there is a part of me that wants just one more night. One night to feel what it’s like to be his again.
My phone buzzes in my hand with his response.
Ford: Not sure I can make it that long. Make it worth the wait, June.
My cheeks flush, and a slow smile tugs at my lips. God, this man.
TWENTY-SIX
