“My God. You are so full of shit.” Ledger’s laugh grates on my nerves. “Do you think I don’t know you, Ford? Know your moods?”
I step into his personal space, my voice cold. “If that’s the case, why can’t you understand why promoting the book is a slap in my face? Why being made to feel like I didn’t matter is reason to be pissed?”
“Because it’s asinine, that’s why,” Ledger says. “We lived this life. We know Dad. We know how he felt about each one of us. That’s all that should matter. Isn’t that what Mom taught us?”
“Yeah, but he sure had a helluva lot to say about you, didn’t he?”
“Will you two stop acting like little old ladies? There are more important things to discuss, like how Ford here needs to get laid so he can chill the hell out.”
“Fuck off,” Ledger and I say in unison and then look at each other and start laughing. And despite everything—their trip to gang up on me, the biography, their requests for press—it feels so damn good for the pretenses to be gone and to simply laugh with them.
“Hallelujah!” Callahan glances at his watch. “We have a breakthrough. It only took five hours to get there, but we’ll fucking take it.” He grins like he’s the mastermind when he’s far from it. “So what’s the deal with Snaggletooth? Is it on? Is it off—”
“Have you stuck it in?” Ledger asks and then chortles like a teenager, proud of his lame joke.
It’s not lost on me that weeks ago I almost punched Diego for saying something similar. Now I’m laughing at my brother and flipping him off.
“How about no?”
“How about you’re a lying motherfucker,” Callahan says. And there’s the triplet telepathy. I don’t have to say a word, and they already know the goddamn answer.
And maybe I don’t want them to know the answer.
Maybe I want to figure this shit out on my own.
Besides, the minute they know anything has happened, it’s open season for them. The last thing I need is for Ellery to get spooked when she’s already skittish enough.
“I believe I only saw one bedroom. One bed. Tell me how exactly that’s working out for you,” Ledger says.
“One bed on the first floor. One bed up here. That’s how it’s working for us,” I chide.
“So you have variety. Beds. Tables. Floor. The sand. That’s always good for the sex life,” Callahan says and shrugs nonchalantly. “I mean, Sutton and I try to make sure we go somewhere new at least once a—”
“TMI. I do not need to know about Sutton’s and your sex life,” I say, holding my hands up in surrender. “Just like you don’t need to know about mine.”
“So there is one then?” Ledger asks.
“Go away, Ledge,” I groan.
“If you’re not going to answer, then I’ll just go ask her. You know me. I’m not shy.” Callahan stands up.
“Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Huh. That would be a yes.” Callahan flashes a gloating grin. The smug fucker. I can’t believe I walked right into that one. “Good to know I was right.”
“Look. She just came out of a relationship. We’re having fun. Can’t that be enough for now?” I ask but know it’s a bit more than just having fun.
Like I want her in my bed every night. By my side every day.
“He’s in deeper than he’s admitting,” Ledger says to Callahan like I’m not even in the room.
“Definitely deeper. He’s on the defensive, in protection mode. Definitely deeper,” Callahan says to him.
“Aren’t you guys the ones who said some shit like rebounds can be good? Great sex? No attachment? Did I miss something?” I ask.
“Yeah. You missed a lot.” Callahan snorts. “Hey, Ledge? When’s the last time Fordy here lied about any woman he’s dated?”
“That would be never, Callahan,” Ledger says in a mocking voice.
“Your point?” I ask.
“You’re already in over your head. Take it from a man who has been there.” Callahan raises his hand, and we all laugh.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Ellery
Maybe you, of all people, can make Ford come to his senses instead of doing something he’s going to regret.
Ledger’s parting words as he strode out of the inn, clearly frustrated with Ford, are on repeat in my head.
What exactly did he mean?
And why would he think that I, of all people, could help?
When I talked to the three of them, things seemed fine. They asked questions, they murmured approvals about how they really think this Sharpe Signature idea could lead to something, and they engaged in conversation with me as if I belonged as part of the four of them.
To say I was a little envious of their sibling bond is an understatement. I’ve never had that. Only rivalry. Only disregard. Only competition.
So that’s why Ledger’s comment when he left took me by surprise.
Maybe I should ask Ford what his brother meant? Then again, it’s none of my business. If he wanted to talk about it, he would. Besides, asking him means getting involved in things outside of this little universe we’ve created here at the inn. And I’m not one hundred percent sure how I feel about letting the outside in just yet.
“You were no help,” I say to the wooden stick in my hand, now devoid of the ice cream and chocolate that was on it moments ago.
Regardless, maybe there’s something going on and he needs . . . comfort? Space? Me?
Me.
Why would a man like him need me when clearly, he has a handle on everything himself?
Between S.I.N. business and the inn, the man works nonstop without complaint or fanfare. Some days he’ll take off in the chopper for the office in Manhattan at five in the morning, to return by noon, and then put in another eight or so hours here at the site.
He typically knows the answer to every question a contractor asks—even on issues or details I’m in control of—and I don’t believe I’ve ever heard the man ask for help.
He’s a one-man show, and it’s incredible to watch him from the sidelines and learn from him by standing at his side.
So what is it that Ledger thinks Ford might regret? What is it that he isn’t telling me?
Clearly he has the business side handled, so whatever it is, it must pertain to his personal life. Family, then. Because it doesn’t seem like anything else exists for Ford outside of work and family . . . and me.
I sit on that thought for a bit and am more than reminded of all the kind things he has done for me.
Of course, there was Millie’s salon and the condo. But there were also flowers left on the kitchen table after I mentioned how there was nothing alive in this inn. A meal delivered when I was sick of eating the same food we have stored in our makeshift pantry at the inn. A laundry service to come and take my dirty clothes. A walk down the boardwalk when Roddy pissed me off to no end and he knew I needed to cool off. Quiet nights when I read my book and he perused the Internet on his laptop where we found comfort in the silence.
Simple things that at the end of the day, make me smile. Make my day a little better.
It’s high time I do something nice for him. The question is what?