Page 81 of Final Proposal

I don’t know why tears spring to my eyes, but they do.

“He’s not too shabby, if I do say so myself,” Millie says softly.

“No. Not at all.” I blink away the tears and hate how one escapes down my cheek that I wipe away as soon as it falls.

“It takes a good man to recognize when his girlfriend needs a break from the day-to-day.”

“I’m not . . . we’re not—”

Her laugh cuts me off. “You can I’m not, we’re not all you want, but if a man takes time out of his day to make a woman happy who isn’t his momma, then I’m thinking you’re more than just a friend.”

My cheeks flush, and I’m not sure what to say. I nod. “We’ll go with more than just a friend.”

“Well, it’s something all right.” She holds her hand out to me. “Phone, please.”

“Why?”

“Because if I have your phone, then you’ll have a valid excuse why you can’t respond to work questions. And because it’s what Ford asked me to do, and you know as well as I do there is no saying no to that fine specimen of a man.”

I reluctantly hand over my phone, almost feeling like I’m giving her an arm or a leg. As I do so, a text sounds off, but she just smiles and tucks it into a drawer and locks it.

“Now that that’s taken care of, let’s get that pampering started. Time’s a wasting.”

I spend the next ridiculous amount of time being treated like I’m royalty. When I ask if I’m supposed to drink water after my massage, I’m told “champagne is made of water so it’s okay.” When I’m asked what color to paint my fingers and toes, I choose red because I know how much Ford liked my red lipstick the last time I wore it. When I’m asked if I feel relaxed as I head out the door, the tears burn in my eyes as I nod and realize just how much I needed this decadent reprieve.

I tell myself I don’t deserve this, all this pampering and attention, but I’d be remiss to deny just how much I’m enjoying it.

Every knot in my shoulders has been kneaded. My skin is glowing. My body’s relaxed.

And all because he noticed I needed it when I didn’t even notice it myself.

The thought repeats as I walk up the front steps to the condo Millie directed me to.

I’m like a giddy teenager as I unlock the door and look at the luxurious bed and huge clawfoot tub to soak in. I run my fingers over paperbacks by some of my favorite romance authors and revel in thought over how whoever brought them knew what I liked. A charcuterie board is set up on the table. Beside it is a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, a bowl of Chex Mix without the pretzels, and a bottle of the cabernet I like. The doors to the balcony are open, looking at the same ocean our inn does, but for some reason—maybe it’s my relaxed state, maybe it’s the day I’ve had—it sparkles even bluer.

I dial Ford the minute I finish taking it all in.

“So, I take it you didn’t have any problems today picking up what I needed picked up?” Ford asks by way of answering.

“Ford.” My voice breaks. Why does this feel like the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me? Seeing that I needed a break. Giving me that break. Not being put out that he’s taking the brunt because of that break. “I don’t even know what to say. Thank you doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

“There’s no need to say thank you. I just hope you relaxed rather than thought of ways to escape.”

“Why would I escape?”

“Says the woman who put the capital A in Type A?”

“You’re so full of it.”

“I am? Because I bet you that bottle of wine you’re pulling the cork from right now that you struggled with giving someone else control for the day, even when that someone was me.”

I burst out laughing because he is so right. I did worry about not being there. About someone needing me when I couldn’t be reached.

“See, I know you well. That’s why I had Millie take your phone away.”

“Apparently.” I pause and it dawns on me. “Oh my God. Something happened today, didn’t it?”

“Stop frantically scrolling through your texts. Nothing happened. And if it had, do you not have any faith in me?”