Page 41 of Falling for a Grumpy Hero

“Great,” he muttered sarcastically. Somewhere behind him, Rook was whining. He sighed but stepped out of my way and let me in. “Fine. Come on, then. I can’t take it when he moans like that.”

“Thank you.” I saw Rook as soon as Ford stepped aside, smiling at the friendly ball of fur and his happy little face. “Good morning, beautiful boy. How are you? How is he? You know he’s not going to tell me the truth, but you will, won’t you? What’s that? He’s feeling pretty… ruff?”

Ford didn’t smile. What did he know about comedy, anyway?

As I strode into his foyer, I was immediately struck by how starkly empty his house was. Off to one side of the front door was a huge living and dining area, but he had exactly one couch, a TV mounted against the wall, and a small coffee table.

Nothing else.

The stone walls were empty and so was the entire spacious room to my left. Ford tried to take some of the groceries from me, but I shook my head and half-turned my upper body away from him. “You shouldn’t even be on your feet. Just point me in the direction of your kitchen. I’ll be fine.”

He grumbled under his breath but jerked his head down a hall past the empty room. “It’s through there.”

I nodded and took off to find it, hearing Rook’s nails clicking against the bare hardwood floors behind me. There wasn’t a rug or a carpet in sight, no sign of even a poker next to the fireplace. An unfamiliar uneasiness crept through me.

Why does he live like this? With everything so sparse and empty?

The guy made a killing. His company, as far as I knew, was super successful and just that truck must’ve cost him a bundle. All his clothes—those he wore to work, anyway—were tailored and looked brand new.

This isn’t a money issue, is it?

Rook offered me quiet companionship as I finally found the kitchen and headed directly for the fridge. As with the rest of the house, there were only the bare essentials in there. A coffee maker and a toaster on the counter next to the stove. The fridge and microwave were on the opposite side of a large, center island that had exactly one pot and one pan hanging from copper rails above it.

Sadness bloomed deep in my chest as I looked around, realizing that this was where Ford cooked all his meals. The kitchen was supposed to be the heart of the home, but this heart was cold. Empty.

Otherwise, the kitchen was gorgeous, with light yellow and white paint on the walls and a huge window behind the sink that looked out on an expansive backyard. Modern, quartz countertops or something that looked similar to it. Beautiful white cabinets.

It was light and airy, but the blinds hadn’t been opened all the way and there was a stillness in the air in here that told me he didn’t spend much in this particular room. Glad that I’d brought groceries when I opened the fridge to find it as bare as the rest of the place, I unpacked before I started cooking lunch.

Doesn’t he have family who can help him out? Or does he push everyone away just like he’s tried to do with me?

As I dropped some chicken into the sole pan and watched it sizzle in the splash of oil I’d added, I heard him on the phone setting up his first PT appointment. “Yeah, I know the drill. Thank you, yes. I’ll be there.”

After a brief pause, he said goodbye and I wondered if he’d come see what I was up to, but he never did. I made our chicken wraps and managed to track down two plates, then brought lunch to him where he was sitting on the couch.

The TV was off and it looked like he’d been jotting down something in a spiral notebook he snapped shut when I walked in. His leg was up on the coffee table, that short dark hair naturally messy instead of styled, like he’d climbed out of the shower and just let it dry without touching it.

I sat down beside him and held out his plate. “It’s not gourmet, but I promise it’s edible.”

“Thank you.” He didn’t smile but took the plate and leaned back against the couch. Staring straight ahead, he picked up the wrap. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”

Rook trotted into the room and I expected him to go sit with Ford, who was very clearly uncomfortable, but he came to sit next to me instead. I smiled. “Rook must not think you need him right now.”

“I don’t.” His jaw clenched, a faint flush streaking across only the very tops of his cheeks. I wonder what that’s all about?

When he shot Rook a frown, I realized that he might just be a little offended that his dog preferred me and I chuckled. “Maybe he thinks I need him more.”

He shrugged. “Maybe you do.”

“I’m not the one who’s about to start physical therapy,” I said. “How are you feeling about it?”

“Fine.”

I sighed. “Come on. I know you can do better than that. How’s the pain today?”

“Better.”

“Jeez. Even Rook is a more expressive conversationalist than you, and he can’t actually speak.”