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“I’ll text Beau a reminder. I’ve already set three alarms in his phone, but he was in hyperfocus mode when I left. Didn’t even register when I kissed his head goodbye.” There’s a dopey amount of affection in Payne’s tone that immediately makes me glance over at Ford.
He’s grinning back like he can read my mind. It’s not like I make it hard on him. I’m either thinking about sex, how happy I am, or that he needs to get his damn empty mugs off the counter.
It’s pretty easy to pick the difference.
“We all know you’ll end up having to pick him up,” I say to Payne.
“Without a doubt.” Payne walks out, phone in hand.
Art and Ford both collapse onto the couch. “Yeah, don’t get too comfortable. There’s still lots to do.”
Art groans. “Why did I volunteer for this?”
“Because you like to pretend you’re an asshole, but the people in this room know the truth.”
He mutters something under his breath, but I don’t bother getting him to repeat himself. He’s being a surly shithead today, which I’m sure has nothing to do with him finding out that Joey has a girlfriend. Instead, I head through to the kitchen, grab a beer out for him and Ford, and hand deliver. Ford barely drinks at all anymore, and when he does, it’s only one or two.
I’m excited for tonight. For this part of our lives. All my DMC friends will be here, and Ford’s invited Barney, some people from the garage, and Luke, who we met in Springfield forever ago. He only called Ford for the first time last week, and once I’d made sure I wasn’t going to have another Molly on my hands, we all got along great.
This happiness is still something I’m thankful for every day.
No more going with the flow and waiting to see. No more letting the universe make decisions for me. Ford and I have plans for our lives. Travel, volunteering, maybe even foster parenting. He wants to expand the garage, and I want to buy more cars to work on with him.
Large, warm arms wrap around me from behind. “You took away my view,” Ford says.
“Let me guess: my ass?”
“Damn right.” His hand runs down to squeeze my ass cheek. “And your arms. Your legs. Your cock imprint.”
“I don’t have a cock imprint.”
“Hmm … maybe I’m just that good at picturing it now.”
“You have given it a lot of study time.”
“Not my fault it’s my favorite subject.”
I laugh and turn my head so we can share a quick kiss, but my gaze catches on something on the counter.
A picture of Tara.
“What’s that doing here?”
Ford bundles me up tighter. “Found her hidden away in a box in your closet. Thought she might like the view from out here better.”
“My late wife. On our kitchen counter.”
“She’s family.” He kisses my cheek. “I want her here with us if you do.”
My eyes get all blurry, overwhelmingly grateful that I’ve found someone who accepts every little part of me. No hiding. No pretending to be okay on the days that I’m not.
Losing someone is something you never get over, but Ford makes it easier. He makes everything easier. When I’m struggling, he pulls out the nail polish, holds me tight, and murmurs filthy things in my ear until I’m relaxed again.
I feel bad for all those people who judge him just by a look because if anyone is close to perfection, it’s him. Which reminds me of an idea I had.
“You know how you’re always struggling to hold on to an assistant?” I ask.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
