Page 79 of Deal Breaker
“I’m sorry, Lan,” he says quickly. “This just got dumpedon us. Believe me, I hate having to leave you after everything we just did.”
“I get it,” I say, even though my heart is thudding with everything I didn’t get to say. Everything still sitting in my throat.
He stands, pulling on his jeans and grabbing a Cove polo shirt from his closet. “Will you wait for me until I get back?”
I hesitate. “I should probably head home.”
“Already?” he asks, sounding deflated.
I offer a small smile, hoping it reassures him. “I have a few things I need to do today.”
He watches me for a long moment, eyes narrowed slightly, like he wants to press but he doesn’t. “Okay. I’ll call you later?”
I nod. “Yeah. Call me.”
He closes the space between us, his fingers brushing my cheek, then tilting my chin just enough to press a soft kiss to my forehead. “Last night was perfect,” he says, before kissing me slowly.
And then he’s gone.
The house is quiet after Ford leaves, and for a while, I just sit on the edge of his bed, the sheets tangled around my waist, trying to remember how to breathe. Eventually, I gather my clothes from where we dropped them, get dressed and wander into the kitchen, the hardwood cool under my bare feet. Stella instantly greets me, and I crouch down to stroke the soft fur behind her ears.
I putter around the house for a few minutes under the pretense of tidying up—not because the place is messy (this is Ford, after all), but because I’m curious. The kitchen is spotless. No coffee cup left in the sink, no leftover toastcrumbs scattered across the countertop. I move into the living room, noticing the large, polished wood bowl on the coffee table, the soft, heather-gray blanket folded neatly on the end of the couch.
Stella follows me as I walk down the hall, past the closed door to his office, past the framed photos of him alongside his brothers. I stop when I come to a picture of Ford standing beside a Cove van, caked in dirt with the biggest grin on his face.
A lump forms in my throat.
Suddenly I can see it all—how easy it would be to exist here. It’s like watching a movie in my head, envisioning how this place would stretch and grow to become a home for us. A second coffee mug on the counter. Poppy’s crayons in a drawer. Her sparkly, pink rain boots beside his rugged black ones in the closet.
I press my fingers to my lips and will the tears not to fall. This house feels like somewhere we could build a life together. If I could somehow find the courage to tell him what he deserves to know.
The door creaksopen as I knock lightly and push it open. “Hey, it’s me,” I call into the familiar entryway.
“In the kitchen,” my mom answers.
I toe off my shoes and step inside my parents’ modest home. Poppy’s giggle comes from somewhere down the hall, likely her makeshift playroom. I find my mom sitting at the kitchen table in a robe, her hair still damp from a shower, an untouched cup of tea in front of her. She looks pale, tired.
“Are you okay?” I ask instantly, setting my purse down and crouching beside her chair.
She waves me off. “It’s nothing. Just been feeling off a little this morning.”
“You should’ve called me. I would have come earlier to pick up Poppy so you could get some rest.”
She shrugs like it’s nothing, but the tightness in her eyes tells me she’s not being entirely truthful.
“What do you need? I can stay,” I offer. “Or take you to the clinic.”
“No, no,” she says, gently squeezing my hand. “Go home, sweetheart. Take care of your girl. I’ll rest. If I start to feel worse, I promise I’ll call.”
I nod but worry curls in my stomach. I stand up just as Poppy barrels into the kitchen, arms stretched high. “Mommy!”
I scoop her up, burying my face in her curls. “I missed you, Poppyseed,” I say into her hair. “Are you ready to go?”
“Can we stop for a donut?”
I laugh. “Yeah, baby. We can get a donut.”
I gather our things and kiss my mom’s forehead on the way out, still not able to unravel the knot of worry that formed as soon as I saw her. There have been a couple of times since I’ve been back that she’s seemed confused, her hair is thinning, and she has been getting increasingly sluggish, which is not like her at all. She tries to brush it off, but it’s obvious now that something is wrong. My mom is always on the go, always vibrant and full of energy. My dad admitted to me not long ago that he’s worried she’s developing early onset dementia. Today she seemed small, almost frail.
