While I waited for him to arrive, I tidied things up.
My gorgeous timber loft in River North was more like a big studio than a proper apartment, with twelve-foot ceilings, exposed beams, and these amazing, massive windows that made the place ideal for independent photo shoots. Instead of separate rooms with walls, the loft was split into areas—a kitchen area, a living room area, an office nook where I edited photos.
It had been love at first sight—I still remember the first time I stepped foot across the threshold, after a long, fruitless day of apartment tours with a real estate agent. The second we walked in, I gasped, grabbed her arm, and told her I’d take it. What had sold me on the spot was the huge open floor plan, the all-original, banged-up, hundred-year-old wood floors, and the cute little bedroom tucked off to the side of the long entry hallway. And that was before I’d even seen the master bathroom with its big soaking tub that was tucked away in the corner of the space.
Ford appreciated the loft, too. It’s where we’d always hung out, since his apartment was such an obvious bachelor pad. At least, until Claudia started “decorating.” Between the flowery rugs she’d put in the bathroom, the ruffly curtains she’d hung up in the kitchen, and the piles of overembellished, girly throw pillows she’d added to the sofa, the place had gotten a lot more Claudia than Ford over the years, and no way did I enjoy being over there. Luckily, it had never caused an issue. Ford was more than happy to kick back at my place.
Speaking of which, even though I knew we’d be talking in the living room or the open kitchen area, I still cleaned my bedroom from top to bottom. Still made the bed, fluffed the pillows, adjusted the blanket tossed over the end. Just in case he glanced in as he walked by. I didn’t want him thinking his potential new wife was a total slob.
My doorbell rang, and Munchkin took off to investigate. He must have known it was Ford, because instead of yipping and yapping, he sat down in front of the door and anxiously waited for me to open it. Which I did right away, only to find my favorite version of my best friend standing there. This was the casual, Saturday afternoon Ford, in a pair of jeans, a tight gray T-shirt, and with his hair adorably tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed.
“Well. If it isn’t my beautiful wife-to-be and my furry little future stepson,” he said, crouching down to pat Munchkin before sweeping me into a hug.
I savored the feel of his arms tight around me for a moment, then forced myself to focus and step back.
“None of that from you,” I chided him. “We’re here to talk business.”
“Ooh,” he said, giving me a wink. “I love it when you’re all stern and tough.”
Ignoring the teasing, I gestured for him to take a seat on the sectional in the living room area. I’d made a fairly comprehensive list of the things we needed to go over, and Ford raised his eyebrows when he saw it on the coffee table.
“Wow,” he said. “This looks serious.”
I gave him a look. “You said we’d have a contract,” I reminded him. “So I figured we’d better get together and hammer out the details to this lie.”
“You’re the boss,” he said. Then he looked down at my dog, who was sitting on the floor gazing at Ford with eyes of love, his stump of a tail wiggling. “Come here, bud, it’s been a while,” Ford said, hoisting Munchkin onto his lap and scratching him behind the ears.
It was hard not to melt at the sight of my two favorite dudes enjoying each other’s company. “You want a drink or something? I have your Pappy whatever in the cupboard.”
“Little early for bourbon,” he said, “but I appreciate that.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to sound detached and professional. “Let’s get down to business.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ford said, even giving me a cheeky salute.
I bit back a smile and read the first item on my list. “First off, what is the length of our arrangement?”
“A year? Year and a half?” Ford bit his lip as he considered, and I stared at his mouth, remembering how it had felt to kiss him. If I agreed to this, I’d be kissing him a lot more. I had no idea how I was going to protect my heart from getting broken once this whole thing was over.
I cleared my throat. “Let’s split the difference and say fifteen months. I actually thought we were only planning for a year.”
“We are,” Ford said. “One year of marriage and three months of engagement.”
“Ah. Right.” I wrote that down.
“It’s perfect,” he added. “After a quickie engagement, people won’t be as surprised when we get divorced a year later. In fact, we can use that as part of the excuse.”
“Because we rushed into things,” I said.
“Exactly!”
He didn’t seem to notice that I didn’t have any of the same excitement in my voice as he did in his.
“Living arrangements?” I said, moving on to the next item on my list.
Ford was scratching behind Munchkin’s ears. “We’ll live at my place, of course,” he said.
“Ha!” I blurted out. “Are you joking? No way am I giving up my loft.”
