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Luke’s head spun so fast it nearly did a one-eighty.
Ford swallowed his smile as the woman running toward them let out a whoop and jumped the last few feet into her man’s arms.
“How are you here?” Luke’s words were thick with emotion as he buried his face in her hair.
“I managed to get away a few days early.”
Quinn Harper was away a lot with her role in the Air Force. But soon that was changing, and she was relocating closer to home. Ford was pleased for both of them even if seeing all that emotion was making him twitchy.
He kept walking, allowing the lovebirds time. Some other voices got his attention.
“I am not wearing that, Mrs. L., and unlike the rest of this town, I will not be manipulated!”
“I don’t manipulate people!”
The raised voices were coming from a knickknack-type shop. It was a place Ford, in the normal course of a day, would avoid. He looked through the open doorway and found the outrageous Mrs. L., short with a big attitude, having an argument with Albert, the French dude from The Chocolate Place. They stood toe-to-toe, eyeballing each other.
“You two need a referee or you got this?” he asked.
“He”—Mrs. L. jabbed a pointy talon in fiery red into the man’s chest—“says I manipulate people into buying my Christmas sweaters.”
“Um, look. I’m not a local, but I’ve spent enough time in this town to know that you do that, but it’s in the nicest possible way,” he added quickly as she glared at him. “So Albert’s not really wrong.”
“Thank you, Ford.”
“Welcome. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a good person. It just means you are an excellent salesperson. Now, I think you need to take what Albert said as a compliment, Mrs. L.”
She wore a long black dress that came to her ankles. Her hair had black with silver streaks that he was pretty sure was a wig, because when she shook her head, it never moved. It had a Halloween-witch vibe, but as they’d celebrated that a few months ago, he wasn’t sure where she was going with it. He wasn’t about to ask.
“It was a compliment, right, Albert?” Ford added.
The man clearly did not want to concede, but he knew when to back up a step. “Of course.”
Mrs. L. harrumphed. “Well, you go on back to your shop then, and I’ll forgive you if you save me one of those pan o things.”
“Pain au chocolat,” Albert and Ford said together.
“That.”
Albert headed for the door, and Ford stepped back to let him pass.
“That woman,” Albert muttered. “Thank you for the mediation, Ford. I have a passionate need in my blood to argue when I feel I’m right, and she brings it out in me.”
“All good, and I completely understand. I have people in my life I feel like that about daily.”
Albert made his way back to his shop, which was across the street.
“I have the perfect sweater for you, Ford,” Mrs. L. called.
“We just discussed the fact you’re a manipulator, Mrs. L. I’m not buying into it. Now you have a nice evening, and no doubt I’ll see you at quiz night.”
He walked away before she could lure him into her lair. He’d heard the stories. The woman could sell wool Christmas sweaters year-round without breaking a sweat.
AS was filling up when he entered. It was nice in here, a natural feel with the wood and a wall lined with black-and-white prints. The restaurant was good, and often they had excellent entertainment.
He searched for his brother and found him at a table. Ford pointed to the bar, and Nash nodded to indicate he’d take a drink. Ford moved into line behind a brunette wearing a denim skirt that sat a few inches above her knees and showed a lot of really nice leg. She had on a floaty white top that set off a pair of equally nice shoulders. Her hair was in a big clip, and the ends went in several directions. Not overly tall, but curvy. His eyes took in that denim-clad ass again. He was a guy after all, and she didn’t know he was checking her out. Plus none of the women in his life were nearby and couldn’t give him shit for it.
Ford liked to study people—it was a favorite pastime of his. Especially when he had a lot going on inside his head. That and his models all kept him sane.
