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“You sound breathless with surprise.” Ford’s voice grows husky down the line. “Have you missed me?”
“You have a stunning amount of confidence, Ford.”
“It’s part of my package.”
“I’m busy.”
“I can wait.”
“I hope you have somewhere to stay.”
“I’d hoped—”
“Ford!”
“It’s only one night.”
“It’s not my place.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that because your place is waiting for you to come back to Port Ratapu.” Before I can protest, he rushes on, “I’ll call Bennet. I want to invite him out for dinner to thank him for all his incredible edits.”
“Ford . . .”
“Fine. I’ll book myself a hotel room. No ulterior motives here, okay? I just want you to meet me at Te Papa, realise how much you’ve missed me, and tell me you’ll come back with me.”
I shake my head, but my belly is hopping too. I’m starved for real information. Ethan’s texts have gotten more and more vague, and the selfie of him and Cress (grinning) on Facebook has made it near impossible to sleep the last three nights. “Give me an hour.”
We meander around the museum exhibits, pretending to look and read, when we both want other answers.
“So. How’s your sister?” I ask nonchalantly, staring at an information screen.
Ford is quick to deliver the blow. “She’s been staying with me at this cute place I found. Ethan is dragging his feet organising things so she can move in.”
The hope is painful. “Really?”
“Hmmm, but I offered to pick up a bed with a trailer next weekend, so he’ll have no excuse.”
I’m quiet.
“They get on so well. Even better since you . . .” Ford stops himself.
Since I left.
“What about you?” he says quickly. “You’ve been here a month.”
I smile weakly. “Four weeks since I left Mansfield.”
A laugh. “So pretty much a month.”
When every day feels like five, it’s easy to understand the difference.
“I know you’re running away from certain people,” Ford says, “but Port Ratapu is big enough to avoid him.”
I look toward a gaggle of kids crowded around a giant greenstone, their small hands caressing it gently. I feel my own at my chest, the carving like a stamp against my heart.
It roars inside, how much I miss Mum and Julia.
I arch a brow at Ford. “Wasn’t it only a few months ago you didn’t know what to do with yourself in our small town?”
“The quaintness got to me.” He winks. “Or maybe it was the company?”
I chuckle.
He stops me, taking my hand. He pulls something out of his pocket and plants it on my palm. There’s a cold bite as he wraps my fingers round it. It’s smooth with jagged bits, easy to guess. A key.
“It’s the perfect place for us. Two bedrooms, so you don’t have to jump into my bed right away—though the offer is definitely there. Whenever you’re ready, you have a home to come to.”
I open my hand and blink at the key as he tells me about the views and the quirkiness of the place. Sometimes the front door sticks and it’s better to use the back one. “It’s also way across town, on the other side of the university. Far from . . . You’d rarely bang into one another. I can go see Cress on my own. Or have her come to us.”
I feel sick.
I don’t want to see Cress and know she’s living with Ethan.
But having another line of connection to Ethan other than Mum . . . to know how he’s doing even if it’s too hard to talk to him. To be doubly sure that he’s okay. That he’s happy . . .
Ford waits for me to respond, bright green eyes hopeful.
“If I took you up on the room, it wouldn’t mean we’re—”
He doesn’t wait for me to finish. He grabs my free hand and hauls me close, laughing. “Step one of my evil plan to steal your heart!”
He’s so happy, so joyous, it echoes in me too. It’s bright and sudden, and for the rest of the day, I can imagine what it might be like to be with him. So energetic and confident. For the rest of the day, I like the idea.
For the rest of the day, I think about it.
And, after dinner, when he’s padding into Bennet’s living room to camp on his couch, when he catches me by the hand and pulls me into him, when he asks if it’s okay to kiss me . . .
I say yes.
In the morning, I bury my head in my pillow and groan.
At the airport, my stomach is so tightly knotted I can’t stand it anymore. Before Ford heads to security, I buy him a coffee. We stand awkwardly sipping it near the counter. “About last night,” I blurt.
Ford’s smile eats up his face and it makes the nausea worse.
I shake my head. “It was wrong of me to do that.”
