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I’ve only had a few boyfriends, and they progressively became worse through the years. My last one, Caden, was the fucking worst. He was a neglectful cheater who wouldn’t even pick up the check. Sometimes, he insisted I pay for his friends.
What the hell was I thinking? I must have been out of my mind.
“You cooked, so I’ll clean up. It won't take long. Take a seat and talk to me.” Ford grabs my pink apron off a nearby hook and fastens it around his waist. It looks tiny on him, like a child's bib, but he wears it well. He looks yummy no matter what he has on.
“What do you want to know first? I'll answer a question, and then you answer one. We’ll go back and forth.” I climb onto a stool overlooking the kitchen and watch him clean up.
“Okay, that sounds good. We’ll start small.” Ford scrubs a pot with his glove-covered hand and asks, “Are you an only child?”
“Yes. I’m the only child of parents who were only children. I don’t even have any cousins.” That thought depresses me every time I say it out loud. Siblings would have been nice, but it wasn't in the cards. And truthfully, it's for the best. I wouldn't wish my parents on anyone.
“What about you?” I ask, expecting him to have a better story than mine. He seems better adjusted, warmer, and kinder than me. He must have gotten it from someone.
“I have an older brother but haven’t seen him in years. We don’t get along. He made my life miserable when we were kids.” Ford’s expression grows serious, but he manages a bland smile. Maybe siblings aren’t as great as I believed.
While he cleans the stove, Ford changes the sad subject and unknowingly dives deeper into the abyss of despair. “You seem close to your grandparents. Are you close to your parents too?”
“No, not at all,” I murmur while sipping my wine. “My parents didn’t want children and couldn’t be bothered to raise me. They reappear in my life periodically, but I learned long ago to stop begging for their love.” The weight of my words nearly brings me to tears, but I wouldn’t be me if I couldn’t keep them at bay.
“I’ve lived with my grandparents since I was two years old.They’remy parents and have always given me unconditional love. The couple who gave birth to me are virtual strangers.” I blow out a shaky breath and realize it may be the first time I’ve admitted that out loud.
A pensive frown hardens his features, and his full lips thin into a tight line. “I’m sorry, Wren. Is that why you’re obsessed with perfection? Did you make yourself believe if you were good, your parents would come back for you?”
My jaw drops, and I stare, stunned by Ford’s words. “Maybe,” I whisper, my eyes cast down with the fresh sting of their lifelong rejection. “I never thought about it that way. It’s hard to admit that your parents never loved you because if the people who should have a primal instinct to love you, don’t, then who will?”
“That’s nonsense, little bird. I’ve never met anyone like you. You reeled me in like a stunned fish the moment we locked eyes. You never need to be perfect with me. You’re more than enough.” He moves closer and stands on the opposite side of the counter, his gaze so intense I feel it pierce my soul.
I take a deep breath and try to smile, feeling strange about this conversation's direction. “Are you close to your parents?”
Ford’s brows furrow into a straight line, and I instantly regret my question. “My mother passed away when I was ten. She got sick and never recovered. We were close, and after twenty-eight years, the pain has only now begun to shrink. My dad was always an alcoholic, but after she died, he grew worse and became abusive. My brother was his favorite, so my dad took his anger out on me. After graduating high school, I ran away and joined the army. I haven’t seen him since.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that. My problem feels trivial in comparison.” I place my hand on my chest and feel the beat of my racing heart. This discussion is much deeper than I anticipated.
“Don’t be sorry. Your pain is valid. You have a right to feel disappointed.” Ford pauses and somersaults in a different direction. “Is that why you don’t have a boyfriend? Because you don’t believe you’re loveable?” His deep, silvery voice implores me to answer another question I’d rather avoid.
I shrug my shoulders, then lean forward and place my elbows on the counter, lifting them briefly when Ford wipes it down. “I did, until recently. Caden was horrible, never really liked me, and made me feel like everything was my fault. He dumped me in a crowded restaurant and then stiffed me with the bill. A day later, he had a new girlfriend,” I sigh, then chuckle softly, wondering how I ever perceived him as a catch. Good riddance.
Ford’s dreamy smile disappears as he stares at the pathetic girl before him. Why did I give him so much information? I don’t want to be remembered as someone else’s castoff. “It was two months ago, and we were together less than a year. I’m not grieving the relationship, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
He shakes his head and hangs the dishtowel near the sink, his casual indifference making him difficult to read. “That didn’t cross my mind. You don’t appear stricken by grief. Was this boyfriend the same age as you?”
I chew my lip and nod, muttering faintly, “He was a year older than me. We met in college, and it probably shouldn’t have gone past the first date. But you live and learn, and spending time with a narcissist taught me much more than I ever wanted to know.” That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. I hate clichés and catchy phrases, but if I don’t categorize last year with Caden as a learning experience, my pain served no purpose.
Ford angles his head and studies me, a slight smile tipping the corner of his mouth. “There you have it.”
I blink rapidly, confused by his reply. “Have what?”
“Your ex-boyfriend was a kid. He was too immature to understand that a woman like you only comes around once in a lifetime. You’re not meant to be a rich man’s trophy. You were born to be a real man’s prize.” Ford offers his hand and helps me off the stool. I hop down, facing him, my bare feet inches from his boots.
He wraps his powerful arms around me, one hand on the small of my back and the other resting between my shoulder blades. In my bare feet, the top of my head barely grazes his chest. “His loss is my gain. And I plan on taking full advantage of his mistake.”
“What are those plans?” I ask, my gaze trained on his lips, hoping he continues what we began upstairs.
“Let’s get more comfortable, and I’ll tell you all about them.”
CHAPTERELEVEN
We’re not making love tonight. It’s too soon to lay claim to something I haven’t earned. Wren deserves to be wooed. She’s bright, caring, witty, beautiful, and humble. No matter what she believes or has accepted in the past, she deserves to be chased and won by someone who cherishes every lock of hair on her head.
