CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
LARKIN
Ford: Are you back?
Larkin: Headed to the Bed and Breakfast right now. Everything okay?
Ford: Can you come to my room when you get here?
Larkin: Of course. Be there shortly.
“Everything okay?” Beau asks.
“I’m not sure.” I place my phone in my lap and chew on the side of my cheek. “Ford needs me to come to his room when I get back.”
“Oh yeah, he wants you to come to his room, huh?” Beau teases as he stops at a stop sign.
“It’s not like that, and you know it.”
“It’s not?” Beau asks as we close in on the bed-and-breakfast. “Because you spent the entire night talking about Ford.”
“I did not,” I insist. “I talked about my job.”
“I would say twenty percent of it was your job, eighty percent was him.”
My cheeks heat up. “That’s an inaccurate percentage split.”
“Really? Because tonight I learned about Ford’s workout routine, what he likes to eat on certain days, and how he pulls on his hair when he’s frustrated and can’t figure something out, so you’ve resorted to using a squirt bottle in the office to keep him from losing all his hair.”
“That’s just a funny anecdote. I get to spray my boss with water; how is that not entertaining?” I keep my eyes trained on the road in front of us as Beau drives slowly down Marina Ave.
“Level with me, Larkin. You like him.”
“I don’t like him,” I say as he parks in front of the bed-and-breakfast. Avoid eye contact—your brother can see right through you.
“Larkin . . .”
“Beau . . .”
Sighing, he shakes his head. “Fine, don’t tell me, but when you wind up in love with your boss, don’t come crying to me about how you can’t handle your feelings.”
“Hey, you’re all I have—no matter what happens, you always have to listen.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, I know. Don’t worry, when you do figure out that you love him, I’ll be here with an open ear.”
I poke his side. “Damn right, and you know it goes both ways. The listening ear, especially when it comes to looooove,” I draw out, making him roll his eyes.
“Don’t start with me.”
“What? You can harass me about my boss, but I can’t say anything about Palmer?”
“There is nothing to say.” He grips the steering wheel, as if he’s ready to drive off as quickly as he can to avoid the topic of Palmer Chance.
“You are such a liar, but that’s fine, that’s fine. It will all come out at some point.”
“Yes, it will all come out,” Beau says suggestively.
“You’ve lost it. Too many pierogis for you.” I open the door of his car. “Thank you for dinner, by the way. You didn’t have to pay—I am the older sibling, after all.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. And I’m trying to butter you up.”
“I told you: my job is in Denver. I’m not moving here.”
He sighs. “It’s because you’re in looooove.”
“I’m leaving now.” I get out of the car and then dip my head back in before shutting the door. “Text me, would love another dinner date with you.”
“I will, and good luck with whatever Ford needs. Hopefully it’s not anything to do with your obvious attraction to him.”
“You’re a family practice doctor, not a love doctor—now get out of here.”
He laughs as I shut the door. We both give each other a wave, and then I’m walking into the bed-and-breakfast with a little bit of pep in my step as I take the stairs and head straight for Ford’s room.
I’m concerned that the brunch didn’t go as well as he had hoped. His cryptic text message leads me to believe that I need to be prepared for an irritated Ford. Closed off, short, clipped—he doesn’t show that side of him very often, but when he does, it takes a while to calm him down. I might be in for a long night.
When I reach his door, I give it a few knocks.
“It’s open,” he calls.
I turn the knob and cautiously step inside. I scan the dimly lit room and find him over by the fireplace, sitting in a floral wingback chair, back curved, arms resting on his legs as he pokes at some burnt wood with a fire poker.
The room has an eerie feel to it—not what I was expecting. Honestly, I thought I was going to come in here and find him pacing the length of the space, hand in his hair, ready to fire off, but that’s not the vibe.
His shoulders are hunched over, he’s wearing a plain T-shirt and sweatpants, an outfit I’ve never seen him in before, and he doesn’t look fidgety or mad, more . . . sullen.
I quietly shut the door behind me and make my way toward the fireplace. “Hey, how are you doing?” I ask, taking a seat across from him in a matching wingback chair.
Eyes cast down toward the fire, he doesn’t bother to look at me. “Do you think I’m an asshole?”
“What?” I ask, confused, brows pulling together. “No, why would you think that?”
“Controlling?”
“Controlling in what way?” I ask, trying to be as cautious as possible while assessing the kind of mental state he’s in. “I think you’re controlling on the business front, but not in a bad way—in a way that holds your employees to a certain standard, and that’s the reason you’re so successful, why the company is so successful.”
“Do you like me? As a human, do you think I’m a decent guy?”
“Of course,” I answer, completely confused as he glances at my lips and then back up to my eyes.
“You like me as a friend?”
Uh, what’s happening?
“Ford, I—”
“Do you think I understand you?”
“Ford, where is this all coming from?”
He tilts his head to the side, the light from the flames of the fire bouncing off his hardened jaw. “Answer the question, Larkin.”
“Do I think you understand me?” I venture, uneasy. “I mean . . . yes. I think we’ve spent enough time together to know each other well.”
“No, do I get you? Or do you think I’ve only chosen what I want to hear about you, only scratched the surface.”
Something happened at brunch today, and it has shaken Ford to his core. I can see it in his distraught eyes, in the slight tremor in his hand, and the worried tone of his voice. But what exactly? What has made him question himself so much?
“I think you get me,” I answer honestly. “I think you are one of the few people who gets me, and do you know how I know that?”
“How?” he asks, staring down at the fire again.
“Because when I came to you for a job, all you had to hear was my story. You didn’t need to hear about my qualifications, or lack thereof; you heard my story and you understood. You knew I needed to feel close to my dad after his death, and working for the store would do that. You gave me a shot, and ever since then, not only have you given me the chance to stay connected to my dad, but you continue to challenge me, to grow my skills, and motivate me to grow professionally. You know exactly what I need and when I need it. You can anticipate my needs, and no one else does that like you do.”