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I snicker. “That was amazing.”
Ford is unamused. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” I huff a laugh at his concern.
The bell rings, and our teacher passes out an algebra packet and tells us we will work through the new material as a class this week.
Ford stares down at his paper, his entire body tense. His face starts to pale, and I know he’s holding his breath.
I place my hand on his desk, not touching him but letting him know I’m there. He exhales the breath he was holding and glances over at me. “This looks like hieroglyphics,” he whispers.
I offer what I hope is a reassuring smile. “We’ll get through it together.”
His throat works as he swallows, and he looks doubtful. “I read an article the other day that said people with autism are usually really good at math and science. I’m apparently the only dumb person with high-functioning autism.” His deep baritone is hushed, not wanting to draw the teacher’s attention.
“That’s ridiculous.” I roll my eyes. Ford is smart. Just not in the typical sense. He’s smart in the way he thinks before acting, in how he cares for others, in how his brain processes hockey strategy, and in how much effort he puts into taking care of others. Intelligence isn’t always about grades.
But I can’t tell him that now because the teacher is narrowing his eyes in our direction.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
AMBER
Ford finally comes home this evening, and thank heaven my heart is fixed, otherwise I’m not sure it could withstand the excitement. My heart is fluttering today even more than it did when I received the most gorgeous bouquet of Pink Piano roses I’ve ever seen. Along with a sweet note from the man who seems to be the cause of all the fluttering.
I’ve been jittery all day, waiting for his SUV to pull into the garage. I even washed and curled my hair. My incision is still slightly sore but not enough to keep me from looking good today. I slipped on some cute black joggers and a fitted white, V-neck tee. I feel comfortable but put together.
Even though Ford has been away for half of our two-week marriage, I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping next to his big, warm body. Something about knowing he was there with me made me feel extra safe and cared for. Sleep hasn’t come as easily since he’s been away, especially last night when I was so excited, anticipating his return today.
“Amber, you’re wound tighter than a twister this evening.” Ford’s mom chuckles as she pours herself a glass of water from the filter by the sink.
Farrah joins in her laughter. “It’s honestly really cute.”
I smile at Ford’s sister. I feel like we’re closer now, after our conversation a few nights ago. We bonded. “Doesn’t it feel like he’s been away more than a week?”
Both of them burst into giggles again.
“You’re a woman in love,” Sally says with a wistful sigh. She takes her glass into the living room and smiles down at Nella on her playmat before peering out the window. She gasps. “I think your wait is over, sweetheart!”
My stomach does a goofy flip at the knowledge that Ford’s Land Rover is pulling up the driveway—and also at the word love. Sure, I’ve always loved Ford, and I think he feels the same. But the love she’s referring to is a totally different type, and I’m not quite ready to think about.
I run to the side door that leads to the garage. Ford parks his vehicle then opens the driver’s side door. I rush, barefoot, to greet him. I’m sure I have the dumbest smile on my face, but I can’t seem to suppress it.
His brow is furrowed, and his glasses are sliding down his nose. He opens the passenger door and grabs his suitcase, but as soon as he turns and sees me, his expression softens. His mouth pulls up into a smile, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think he looked unsure.
Ford has always been confident on the ice but not so much in every other aspect of his life, so I make the first move and step into his space, wrapping my arms around his trim waist. I hear the suitcase drop onto the cement floor as his arms wrap me up tight. I’ve never really felt at home anywhere unless I was with Ford. But the muscular arms attached to this man feel a lot like home too.
He lays his head on top of mine, and we rest in each other’s embrace for a full minute. He smells so good, the way he always does—a scent so enveloping that it drowns out the smell of dust and gasoline from the garage. The scent I’ve missed all week. And his grey suit is smooth to the touch, pressed to perfection. One of his hands moves up my back and folds gently around the back of my head. I’m not as slim as I was before having a baby, but the sheer mass of Ford’s hands makes me feel so small and dainty.
Ford’s head lifts away from mine and I can practically feel his gaze. I pull away from his chest and look up at him. Our mouths are only a few inches apart, the way we are holding each other, and I take a second to appreciate how plump and soft his lips look. When I lift my eyes to meet his, I find his beautiful brown eyes on my lips as well, and a current of heat shoots down my spine.
His eyes finally move up to find mine, and those warm brown eyes are aflame, molten-hot. He’s looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. He’s looking at me like he’s never looked at me before…with desire. With want. With yearning.
Ford Remington is looking at me like he missed me as much as I missed him. And maybe he did. Maybe those flowers he sent were to show me just how much he missed me.
I’ve never been the shy one here, so I lift my chin in invitation, a silent decree: here I am, kiss me.
