“Yeah.” I sigh. “It seems as though we’ve kind of lost that along the way.” I fork a piece of pasta. “I guess I don’t remember Cooper and Palmer helping out as much because I was always in the back.”
“Cooper was the folding king.” Larkin plops some pasta in her mouth, her eyes focused on the fire. “He told me that once, when I was in the store. He was folding an endless pile of shirts and refused to use the folding board; said he was better than any board because he was the folding king. I remember that day specifically because my dad bought a shirt and knocked over a large pile that Cooper had just finished folding. His face turned bright red, but he reassured my dad it was okay because, like he said, he was the folding king.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. I know our families never mingled, but I had small moments with your family as a customer. From behind, I always thought Cooper was you and that I was about to catch a glimpse of the elusive Ford Chance, but when he turned around and I saw his younger face, I knew it was Cooper.”
That surprises me. “You were trying to catch a glimpse of me?” Kind of like how I try to catch glimpses of her at the office.
She opens her soda and takes a sip. After a roll of her eyes, she says, “Come on, every girl in town was trying to catch a glimpse of you. You were Ford Chance, with the devastatingly light eyes and contrasting black hair. Both you and Cooper were so different from anyone else on the island; everyone was hoping for a sighting.”
“And if you had caught a glimpse, what would you have done?” I ask, my voice defying me when it cracks.
Her eyes bounce to mine, and I catch the flicker of the fire in her pupils. “Blushed, probably, and then told my friends about how I saw you. How you emerged from the back for a second and graced us with your presence.”
I chuckle. “Are you saying that you might have had a thing for me back then?”
I don’t know why I ask it.
But hell, now that it’s out there, I really want to know. Did she have a thing for me?
And why the hell does it matter so much?
Why am I holding my breath?
Why am I leaning a little closer to her now?
Why the hell did I just wet my lips?
“Had a thing for you?” she asks, all of a sudden looking nervous, and I realize from the tic in her jaw that I’m her boss, she’s my assistant, and I should never have asked her that. What the hell was I thinking?
“Sorry.” I clear my throat and stab a piece of pasta. “I shouldn’t have asked—”
“I wouldn’t say a ‘thing’ necessarily,” she starts. “More just fascinated. You might not know it, but the town was very enamored with the Chance family.”
“Because of the store?”
“Because of the dynamic. You’re a blended family, but you never would have known—it was beautiful to see. Beautiful to see all these personalities and circumstances come together to show that love really does win out . . . every single time.”
“Yeah, I guess I never think of it that way.”
“Because it’s your family; why would you? And it’s not different, by any means, just beautiful. Ugh, I don’t know if I’m making sense or being offensive.”
“Not offensive at all,” I reassure her. “You’re making perfect sense, and I’m sure my parents would really love to hear that. They always prided themselves on the family they raised, more than the store they built.”
“It shows.”
I sit back, my right hand propping me up. “If my parents heard the way my siblings and I spoke to each other yesterday . . . man, they would be upset.”
“You know, the more I think about it, the more I wonder if maybe it was a good thing.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as she motions for me to eat more. I take a big scoop and plop it in my mouth.
“Maybe you needed to get all of that out in the open, off your chests, you know? You’re never going to move past something if you just let it fester.”
“But none of us are talking to each other.”
She shrugs. “Takes time. Which means you should take the time to loosen up as well.” She grips my shoulder and shakes it. “Enough of this depressing talk. Tell me something exciting.”
“Something exciting? I’m not sure if I have anything exciting to tell you.”
“Okay, then just tell me something, anything. Something that makes you smile.”
The first thing that comes to mind is her. She makes me smile. Seeing her cooking in the kitchen, swaying back and forth, looking completely comfortable in her surroundings. That makes me happy.
Seeing her wearing my sweatshirt, that also makes me happy.
Sitting here in front of a fire, the fire blazing while rain pelts the house outside, Larkin by my side—that makes me happy.
“I can see you’re thinking of something,” she says, gesturing to my eyes with her fork. “What is it?”
I look down, avoiding all eye contact. Hell, what would she say if I actually told her the truth? Probably run for the hills. And that’s exactly why I’m not going to tell her. If I’ve realized anything over the time we’ve been here on Marina Island, it’s that I need her. I need her professionally—she’s like the glue that holds me together—but I also need her mentally and emotionally. She makes me tick, she helps propel me forward, she helps me relax.
Yeah . . . she’s . . . she’s everything I need.
“Uh . . . I like this blanket.” I rub my hand over the blanket, knowing precisely how lame and unbelievable that statement is, but it’s better than the truth.
And it doesn’t slip by Larkin because she pokes me and frowns. “That is so not what you were thinking.”
“Yes, it was.”
She sets her fork in the nearly empty pot and then places it in front of us, out of the way. “So, you’re telling me that this blanket, this run-of-the-mill flannel blanket purchased from Target, is what makes you smile?”
“Yeah,” I say, sticking to my story. “It’s soft.”
“Ford.”
“Hmm?” I look up at her, those fucking eyes boring into me.
“You’re lying.”
I set my fork down. “How can you accuse me of such a thing? How do you know this blanket doesn’t mean a lot to me? That there isn’t a story behind this wonderfully woven blanket?”
“Is there?” she asks, eyebrows raised.
“There is.”
Facing me, she crosses her legs, her knee butting up against my thigh. “Okay, then please, delight me in the significance of this blanket.”
“I will.” I stretch my legs out and lean back on both hands. “It was a snowy, wintery day—”
“I bought this blanket for your parents when they were visiting you in Denver last winter. Your dad told me it kept his crotch warm. Your mom told me she likes how it felt against her unshaven legs.”
I stare blankly at her.
Why the hell do my parents think it’s okay to be that creepily open with my assistant?
Larkin smirks.
Larkin puffs her chest.
Larkin looks so goddamn breathtaking that the mere act of pulling her close feels inevitable, and it’s terrifying. I’m not sure I’ve ever looked at her like that. I’ve never had the urge to pull her into my chest, to hold her hand, to find out what her lips taste like. Yes, I’ve always thought Larkin is beautiful, there’s no denying that, but I’ve never let myself consider the romantic possibilities—until now.