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I pop my head around the side of the easel, finding Ford casually leaning against the jamb of the door. His hands are resting in his pockets as he takes in the room before his eyes finally land on me.
“Glad to see you finally found it.”
“How did you know…” I trail off, gesturing around the exceptionally well-stocked studio.
I can’t help grinning when he winks. “Let’s just say, it’s my business to know.”
“Thank you.” My words are softly spoken and from the heart, and he tips the brim of his hat in acknowledgement before stepping farther into the room.
His face lights up in a smile when he comes around to check out my canvas.
“What kind of flower is that?”
I smile softly, thinking of the decade-old one that’s pressed in my old flower press at home in South Brook. “It’s a purple coneflower.”
He shakes his head with a shrug. “Never seen one of them before.”
“They grow in the soil of the cemetery where my father and my nonna are buried.” I tip my head to one side, taking in the painting before me. Silently acknowledging the significance of these flowers and the person they remind me of. “They’re…special to me.”
“It’s beautiful, Miss Caputo.”
My flushed cheeks are my only response. Never having shared my attempted painting with anyone aside from Mom before, I’m unsure of what to say.
I stand, preparing to leave, when Ford speaks again. “I’m under orders from Mr. Burton that you’re my number one priority for the foreseeable.”
My forehead puckers as I begin to pack up. “Why? Where is he?”
“I have no idea.” Ford’s face is guileless, betraying no hint of bullshit, meaning he’s either an excellent liar or he genuinely doesn’t know where his boss is.
“It’s past your curfew—” He snorts at my grimace. “I’m here to escort you upstairs.”
I loop my bag across my body, glancing around the room one last time before I follow the cowboy. My stomach growls, reminding me I’ve not eaten since breakfast.
“I’m so hungry, I could eat my own cooking!”
Ford chuckles when he side-eyes me as we cross the manic floor of the staff quarters. “Lucky for you, Luciano’s delivers quickly. And their subs are out of this world.”
My nod is enthusiastic. “I’ve had their meatball marinara a couple of times now. It’s—”
His laughing voice cuts me off. “Vaughn’s favorite, too.”
Of course, it is.
Ford hits the button for the elevator, turning to face me. “For both our sakes, no breaking curfew tonight, okay?”
The doors open, and I step on with a huff, gently patting my sore rear. “Don’t worry, cowboy. I got the message loud and clear last night.”
The apartment is emptier than usual as I quickly order a pizza from a place a couple of blocks over. Luciano’s has been forever tainted, thanks to Ford’s remark.
Nice knowing you, meatball marinara.
While I wait, I decide to check my emails for a reply from Mrs. Porter. Despite both Detective Fratelli and Matty confirming that my job will still be mine when my time in the city has come to an end, I’d still prefer to hear it from my boss.
I roll my eyes when I open my inbox. Another email from Prince Charming.
“Elodie Rivers, you are an asshole.”
I click on it, purely out of nosiness, and quickly skim it.
