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For trailed his fingertips along my spine beneath the quilt and blankets heaped around us like a giant nest. My entire apartment still smells like Christmas.
"That goddamn bet." Ford groaned.
“Was it with the other boys?”
“No, against the bridesmaids." He paused for a moment. “Who mentioned it to you?” he asked cautiously.
I closed my eyes. "Your ex."
"Fucking Jess. Am I never gonna be free of her?"
“I mean, we can concoct a plan,” I added hopefully.
Ford tapped my nose. “Sassy." He drew me up in front of him until we were looking straight down the bridges of our noses. "What do you need to know?"
It wasn't said with resignation, more a serious question, like he really did want to alleviate my fears.
What did I have the right to ask? This was the temporary fixture. He couldn't be here after tomorrow. The day after.
Still...
"I just wondered what the bet was."
"We had to have a date for the wedding. Originally we were going with the bridesmaids, but that turned out to be a bad idea, and then there was a bit of alcohol and a mother of the groom involved.”
"So... You just made it out to be something painful right?" My voice rose a little at the end. I closed my mouth and stopped speaking.
Ford’s hand clasped around the back of my head and he never lost his sombre expression. "I didn't ask you because I needed a date. I asked because I didn’t want to spend time without you. We crashed into each other and I didn't want to lose the chaos that follows you around to stop. Nisha, I exist in a strictly organised world. I haven't had a break in over a decade and you're just," his eyes ran to my face, and he tugged me a little closer until his lips grazed mine when he spoke, "perfect."
"So are you," I said, without thinking, and closed my eyes. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't –”
"We both shouldn't, Nisha, but I think this is gonna happen." Ford gave me a goofy grin I was starting to warm to when I peeked at him. “Whether we want to or not. Though three days is a record for me.”
"Two days." It was the point I couldn't get past. “If you come back to America more often, maybe we could...”
Outside my bedroom, Pickles honked.
"Privacy. Have a thought and go back to your newspaper," I called the alpaca.
Pickles waffled in the kitchen and I wondered how much of the leftovers remained.
Ford’s fingers rub circles at the back of my head. "We can make it work," he insisted.
"Can we?" I offered a soft laugh that did not hold any humour. “I don’t fit into your world, Ford. No matter how much I want to.”
My door pounded, or someone on the other side of it did.
“Will this always happen, too?” he inquired softly.
I dropped my forehead to thump his chest. "Most likely."
"Nisha, Ford!" Denise shouted. “Get your butts out here."
I lifted my face from the warmth of his chest, reading the resignation there, but my brain wasn't in gear enough to process anything. I scrambled to my feet, grabbing my yoga pants and a sweatshirt and threw a hoodie over the lot. "Is it Sally?" I puffed, sliding into the kitchen. "Is she okay? Christ, did she die?"
It took me a hard kick and a few tugs with Denise pushing on the other side until she tumbled into me, breathless and red-faced, but eventually the door did open. When she looked up, her eyes were wide and excited. "No! It's the media. There's a camera crew camped out the front and more arriving."
"Really? Did we break a law or something?"
