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Ford grabs silverware and plates from various drawers and cabinets, handing me the forks so I can help him set the table for dinner. Moose follows us the entire time, always appearing as if he has a big smile on his canine face. He seems to have a special bond with Ford, and Ford always has a hand on him. Like Moose is a life source for him.
Ford is lighter here in his home, like there’s an invisible weight pressing on him at school that isn’t here when he’s in his own space. He’s happier here in his element, here with his dog.
By the time the table is set, a man walks into the kitchen. He looks like a giant version of Ford, and it makes me wonder if Ford will be this tall someday.
The man sneaks behind Ford and ruffles his hair. Ford doesn’t tense or shy away from the touch, like I’ve seen him do when kids at school get too close. Instead, he turns and tries to mess up the man’s hair. It’s an impossible feat since the man is so much taller.
“Who’s our guest?” The man asks in a deep voice, shooting me a grin.
“This is my friend from school, Amber,” Ford tells him, then looks at me. “This is my dad.”
“Welcome to the Remington house, young lady,” his father says before striding farther into the kitchen and planting an unabashed kiss on his wife’s lips.
I look away quickly and notice Ford is wrinkling his nose.
“They’re so gross,” he whispers.
A moment later, Ford’s parents call the girls, and we all sit at the table for dinner. The Remington’s dining room is warm and full of conversation and laughter, flirtatious touches between Mr. and Mrs. Remington, and little spats between the girls. This simple house is full of life, and it makes me feel like something is missing at my house. Not because I don’t know my dad, or because I don’t have siblings, but because my mom and I don’t laugh and talk like this. We don’t have fun or sit down to eat together. The Remington children are cherished, but my mom probably thinks I’m a nuisance.
“You okay?” Ford whispers from his seat beside me. He has an uncanny way of knowing when I’m feeling down. He always finds me when I’m having a bad day, and I suppose I do the same for him.
“Yeah,” I lie.
We finish our food and Ford makes a psst sound and jerks his chin toward a sliding door at the back of the house. I glance at the rooster clock—it’s just after six, so I can stay a little longer.
As I follow him to the backyard, he leads me to a swing that’s just a slab of wood held up by two ropes tied to a high branch in a tall oak tree. The tree is surrounded by a pretty garden with many different types of flowers. I can see where Ford’s mom spends her time when she’s not caring for her children or cooking meals. I smile at a particularly pretty pink flower. Ford goes straight to the swing and sits down, but I’m too distracted by the flowers to join him.
“What’s this?” I ask, gently cupping the bright flower in my hand.
He studies it for a second. “My mom calls those Pink Piano roses.”
I grin. “Pink is my favorite color,” I say, feeling my smile fall slightly. “My mom says it’s not a good color for me, with my red hair.”
Ford pouts, his face scrunching in an adorable but angry scowl. “I think you have the prettiest hair I’ve ever seen,” he says, his voice sounding cool and calculated. “And you’d look nice in any color.”
I stare at him, a little stunned by how defensive he’s being. And even more surprised that it makes me want to smile. “Thank you.”
CHAPTER
TWELVE
FORD
Two days. It takes two days for Amber to call me—frantically. Her name appears on my phone just as we’re exiting the Eagles’ private plane at the Thunder Bay airport. Dressed and ready for game one in a stint of three away games.
“Ford, I have to use my tiny bit of savings on my car. It won’t start. According to the passive-aggressive mechanic, who thinks I’m a moron, the transmission is on its last leg.”
It sounds like she’s holding back tears, or perhaps even a full-on emotional breakdown. I wish I was there with her—not that I’d be brave enough to pull her into my arms, but just to be nearby. To help somehow.
“Let me Venmo you some money, Ambs. Please. It’s not a big deal,” I offer.
Bruce is walking with me, both of us towing our carryon suitcases behind us, and dressed in our game day finery. Me in a navy suit with a houndstooth print, and Bruce in a dark purple suit that only he could pull off. Bruce arches an eyebrow, obviously wondering what Amber and I are talking about. I look away and slow my pace for more privacy.
Amber clears her throat. “If we got married, would it actually help you somehow?” she asks, sounding breathless, as if she’s forcing herself to say the words out loud.
I sigh. “Of course it would. My mom would stop fretting over me, and I’d get to see my best friend every day.” Lowering my voice to a whisper so Bruce can’t hear, I say, “Amber, getting married was just an idea so you wouldn’t worry about paying me back. I’d add you to my insurance now, but I checked my policy, and we’d have to be married. I’m not trying to blackmail you into anything.”
She huffs a laugh. “You’re not capable of blackmail. You’re too pure of heart.”
