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Ford rounds the table and plants his hands on my shoulders. “You can meet the kids.Afteryou do cleanup.” He waves a hand toward the mess he made.
I pluck a chunk of potato out of his beard. “Should I start with you?”
He groans and takes a fast step back. “Nope. Because everything you say is innuendo, and my body can’t handle it.”
“Pity.” I turn and lean over the table, pretending to pick up the mess when my sole focus is on making sure my ass is at a tempting angle.
“I know what you’re doing,” he deadpans.
“Cleaning? Of course. Just doing what I’m told like a good boy.” I bounce my ass twice for good measure.
“You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”
18
Ford
Orson washesup by hand instead of using the dishwasher and refuses to let me take over drying any dishes. He’s whistling and relaxed, but I’m still keeping an eye out for any sign that he’s not comfortable with our situation. The fact he’s been researching all day and trying to understand himself instead of running from his feelings is a good sign.
It gives me hope that he isn’t going to run the second things get real. Orson’s gorgeous hazel eyes flick toward me. “What are you looking at?”
“Ah, I have a sexy man cleaning my kitchen. Tell me you’re gonna fix my pipes and it’s a porn video come to life.”
“Which pipe?” He winks, and then his gaze dips to my crotch and back up again.
“Someone’s playing games he’s not ready for.”
“We’ll see.”
“We will. In time.” I step forward and take the dishcloth off him. “But for now, you get to meet my babies. My pride and joys.”
“If that garage is empty—or full of, I dunno, Nissans or something—I’m going to lose every ounce of respect I have for you.”
“We better get this over with, then.”
When I bought this place, I did it with building a shed in mind. I knew I wanted something big, and I eventually wanted to fill it with cars, but so far, my collection is still small. Like, four cars small. There’s a lot of extra space to fill.
We walk in, and Orson lets out a long whistle. “This is … not what I was expecting.”
I laugh, planting my feet wide and stuffing my hands in my pockets. “Eh. I’m getting there.”
“Is thistheBug?” He walks toward the closest car. It’s in the best condition out of the four because I’ve had it the longest. “The one you and your dad worked on?”
“Yup.” I shrug. “Darleen has … sentimental value.”
“Sentimental value or not, you probably shouldn’t park her next to this beast. A ’68 Dodge? How do you go fromthattothis?”
“Hey, hey. She can hear you.” I hold out my hands like I’m soothing a spooked animal. “You’re not giving them a great first impression.”
Orson smirks and pats Darleen’s hood. “Sorry, baby. Just teasing Ford. I didn’t mean it.”
“Better,” I grunt. I pace toward the Dodge. “This little darlin’ came into my life by pure dumb luck. I’d just opened the garage, some out-of-towner was taking a cruise in her, and she broke down on him. Apparently, she did that a lot. Just one glance at her and I could tell why. He wasn’t looking after her, and she was throwing a tantrum because of it. He said she was costing him more than she was worth in repairs, so I paid him fifteen gs to take her off his hands.”
“Good price.”
“I’ve put a lot of work into her since then, given her a lot of love. Now she’s hardly recognizable.”
“Her name?”
