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Crispin pats me on the head. “There’s our Ford. I hope Orson knows your first love will always be cars. Nothing can compete withDarleen.”
For years, I thought that was the case. Cars, work, volunteering here. It all made me happy.
But now I have another piece to fit into my life, and he’s jumped in like I’ve always been waiting for him. Like the space was open and ready for him to walk into. Nothingcouldcompete with my love of cars.
But I get the feeling Orson wouldn’t try to.
And as I watch him laughing with one of the littlies, I also know … well, he wouldn’thaveto.
21
Orson
I wakeup to Ford’s hand in my face and his other elbow in my back. Not the morning of lazy cuddles I’d been imagining.
Trying not to wake him, I shift away, letting his heavy arm fall onto the mattress. He’s breathing loudly, not quite snoring, morning wood pressing against the sheet thrown over us. His tattooed chest rises and falls in a comforting rhythm, and I lie there peacefully, still marveling that I’m here at all.
A familiar guilty pang hits my chest, but I push it away. I know it doesn’t mean anything. Tara would never have wanted me to mope forever, but it’s hard to shake the feeling I’msupposedto be guilty, supposed to be constantly mourning. I’ve accepted that I was powerless in her death, that there was nothing I could do, but it doesn’t help the waves of frustration that hit occasionally at how unfair the whole thing is.
And then I look at Ford.
And emotions stir in me that I haven’t felt in years. It scares me. I can’t fuck this up.
Last night, we came back here and got to work on Rita. It’s been a lifetime since I worked on a car—multiple versions of myself ago—but it was familiar and comforting in the way a happy dream is. It reminded me of Dad.
Rough fingers brush my arm. “What are you thinking about?”
I turn toward his sleep-rough voice, and my smile is automatic. “How surreal this all is.”
“Which part?”
“Moving on with my life, working on the cars last night, how relaxed we are together, and the fact you showed up at the perfect time. I haven’t been interested in anything that even remotely resembled dating. Then I met you and just … wanted to be around.”
Ford rolls onto his side and pushes up onto his elbow. “What about the man thing?”
“Hmm … that’s less surreal, more … I’m wrapping my head around it. Like an adjustment period.” I shake my head at how ridiculous that sounds. “Sorry, I wish I could jump in and be totally fine with it—and I am; there’s nowhere else I’d rather be, don’t get me wrong—it’s just my brain struggling to add this new information. It’ll get there. I guess I’m like an old dog.”
It’s a complete relief and not at all surprising that Ford doesn’t seem offended or irritated by any of that. I’m probably more frustrated than he is.
“Don’t worry, sweetheart. When you get there, I have atonof new tricks I can teach you.”
Relief sweeps over me, and I roll so I’m facing him. “Thanks.” I lean in for a lingering kiss.
“Mm, thank me like that every time and I’ll be the most understanding guy you ever met.” He smacks another kiss against my lips right as his alarm goes off.
I groan and drop my head onto his shoulder. “I don’t want to get up yet.”
“I know, but if I don’t, I’ll be late for work.”
“You start too early.”
Ford laughs. “It’s only an hour before you, and most of my grease gremlins are there before me. I’m the lazy boss.”
“I don’t think you’ve ever been called lazy a day in your life.”
“Surprisingly, you’re right. That’s one of the few insults I haven’t heard.”
My gut tightens like it does every time he jokes about that. I have no idea if the rumors about him are true, but I’m finding it hard to care. Maybe he was arrested at some point, but that was a different version of him, too, because the man in front of me would have to be one of the best people I’ve ever met.
