She shivered slightly and not because it was cold. What was his best quality? she wondered. And would knowing about it make things better or worse between them?
Before she could decide, Ford slipped on his glasses again and led her toward the area with all the food stands.
“Let’s get some sugar into you,” he said. “You’ll feel better.”
“Are you being sexist? Are you saying women like sugar?”
“You’re defensive this morning.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I’m nervous. What am I supposed to say when your mother walks up and asks about our relationship?”
“I’m keeping an eye out for her and will do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
“Using your million-dollar SEAL training to avoid your mother? The navy would be so proud.”
He bought her a lemonade. Isabel hated to admit it, but sipping the drink did make her feel better. She could do this. She’d practically been a pretend wife to Eric. Being Ford’s pretend girlfriend couldn’t be more difficult than that.
He put his arm around her as they continued walking.
“How are the brides?” he asked.
“They’re good. I dealt with the interfering mother, talked another bride out of a pale green gown that made her skin sallow and averted a bridesmaid mutiny. All in a day’s work.”
“See, you’re impressive, too.”
His arm made her feel secure, all tucked in against him. He was just tall enough that she fit against him perfectly. She could feel the muscles of his body shifting, bunching, releasing as they walked. Eric had been in decent shape, but leaner than Ford. He had narrow shoulders and a much smaller chest.
Ford exuded power—both physical and mental. It wasn’t that he was a brainiac so much that he was determined. Mental toughness, she supposed. Something that had never been her forte.
“You know what you’re doing in the store,” he said. “You’ve been away from it for a long time. Did it all just come back?”
“Mostly. I have my grandmother to thank for that. I spent weekends with her and she was usually in the store. I learned by watching her. She was so great with the brides. She knew exactly what to say. Or not say. Sometimes she spent the whole afternoon keeping the mother-of-the-bride occupied. She kept games and toys in a box in the office in case there were younger kids.”
His hand tightened on her shoulder. “You loved her.”
“I still do. It was hard when she died.”
“I remember.”
His words surprised her. She glanced up at him. “The letters. I mentioned her passing.”
“You were sad a long time. I remember how I felt when my dad died. It was like everything changed.”
“Did me talking about my grandmother remind you of that? I didn’t mean it to.”
“No. I understood what you were going through and I hoped it would get easier.”
“How come you never answered my letters?” They walked past a display of seed-filled pillows that could be heated in the microwave and placed on sore muscles. “You probably need one of those.”
He glanced over and smiled. “Or twenty. Depending on the workout.”
She had a brief image of massaging him, her hands moving against his warm skin. Her fingers tightened reflexively on the cup she held as the imaginary Isabel bent down to kiss a shoulder.
What on earth? Fantasizing about Ford? Sexually? It would be one thing if she was picturing them out to dinner or walking on a beach, but touching? Maybe she’d been out in the sun too long.
She jerked her mind back to the present and retraced their conversational footsteps. But Ford got there before her.
“At first it was because you were a kid and Maeve’s sister. I was over her, but pouting. I thought if I answered, you’d both think it was because I was trying to get her back.”
“I would have assumed you were madly in love with me,” she said with a smile. “Or at least hoped.”
“You were jailbait.”
“Right. Because that was the only thing keeping us apart.”
“You did okay without me.”
“I had some disastrous relationships.”
“That first prom didn’t go well, but I’m proud of how you handled yourself.”
“Kicking Warren in his you-know-what? It made him throw up.”
“It wasn’t the kick—it was the alcohol. And he deserved it.”
“It wasn’t a great night,” she admitted. “And Billy wasn’t smart, either.”
“You had a great time with Billy. You got highlights.”
She stopped walking and faced him. “Seriously, you remember my hair?”
He grinned. “I didn’t know what highlights were. I had to ask around. Then you sent a picture and I saw what you meant.” He removed his sunglasses. “I liked the pictures. Watching you grow up.”
“It was dorky to send them.” She wrinkled her nose. “When you didn’t answer, I nearly stopped writing. But it was almost like a diary. I figured if you wanted me to stop, you’d tell me. Or that you were throwing out the letters and what did you care if you got a couple more?”
“I didn’t throw them out.”
“It can’t have been interesting. I was such a girl.”
“The paragraphs about nail polish colors were kind of long.”
She grimaced. “I feel like I have to keep apologizing.”
“Don’t.” He shook his head. “Things happened while I was gone. I had to go to hard places and deal with tough situations. You kept me grounded. You made me laugh and sometimes you got me through very long nights. You have nothing to feel bad about, Isabel.”
His voice was so gentle, she thought, swaying toward him. “Do you ever talk about it? What you did and saw, I mean?”
“No. I was debriefed. It’s enough.”
How could it be? “Do you have a group or something? A place where you talk?”
“Do I look like a guy who talks about his feelings?”
“You probably should. Or you could get a therapy dog. I’ve read about them. Oh! Your sister raises them.”
He leaned his head back and laughed. A full-throated belly laugh that made her both smile and want to punch him.
“I’m being serious,” she told him, when he’d stopped chuckling.
“I know.” He kissed her on the tip of her nose. “I don’t need a therapy dog.”
“I’m just saying if you need support, you should get it.”
“I already did.”
She wasn’t sure what that meant, but before she could ask, they were walking again.
“You really going to be able to leave all this?” he asked, motioning to everything going on around them.
“Yes, I’m sure.” She drew in a breath. “Don’t tell anyone, but I sort of am liking living here. I’m not staying, of course. My new business is going to be in New York. Sonia and I have plans. But this has been nice. I’d forgotten what it was like to be this integrated into a community.”
“You won’t be here when Lauren gets married. You won’t get to see her in her dress.”
“I know.”
Her voice was wistful as she thought about the “memory wall” in the office. Another tradition of her grandmother’s. Each bride brought back a picture. Some were of just her on her wedding day; some were the bride and groom or the whole wedding party. The photographs filled one entire wall and were now creeping onto another. She wouldn’t be adding to them, nor could she be sure the new owner would continue the tradition.
“I’ll make new memories in my new store. What about you? Except for your mother’s desire to get you paired up, how is it being back?”
“Good. I like being around my family.” He shrugged. “Mostly. My sisters can be intense. Except for Kent and me, everyone’s married. Mom’s with Max.”
“That’s right. The new guy. Have you met him?”
“A couple times. He’s crazy about her and seems like a good guy. I’m glad she’s happy. She’s bugging me for grandchildren.”
Isabel came to a stop and the cup nearly slipped from her hands. “You’re not expecting us to—”
His mouth twitched. “Didn’t I mention the kids?”
She shoved away his arm. “You’re horrible. Don’t tease about that. I lie awake nights thinking how much harder my divorce would have been if Eric and I had had a child.”
He removed his glasses again and took the cup from her. After tossing it in a trash can, he squeezed her fingers. “I’m sorry. I won’t joke about having babies with you.”
She was going to snap at him again, but suddenly she couldn’t speak. Because the second he said “babies” she found herself enveloped in a longing so deep and profound it nearly brought tears to her eyes.
She was divorced. Not that she regretted the breakup of a marriage that had been a mistake from the beginning, but here she was. Twenty-eight and single. Starting over. While she’d never thought much about having kids, she’d always assumed they were in her future. She was traditional enough to want a husband in the picture. She’d worked hard, thought she’d done everything right, and now she was divorced, living in her parents’ house, without a real job and only a few wisps of dreams to sustain her.
Ford grabbed her other hand. “What? You’re having a crisis. I can see it.”
“I’m fine,” she said automatically. “It’s not about you, so don’t worry.”
“You’re my girlfriend. Of course I’m worried.”
“Pretend girlfriend.”
“You get worry perks. Come on. Tell me. What is it?”
She opened her mouth, then closed it. “I’m a failure. It’s been six years since I graduated from college and look at where I am. Back in my same bedroom, with nothing to show for how I’ve spent my time.”
“Is this about missing Eric?”
“What? Of course not. He and I should never have gotten married. I mistook great friendship for love. I’d never felt passion, so I wasn’t expecting it. I didn’t notice the guy I was marrying was gay. How is that possible? I loved my job, but I was going nowhere. Now I’m here.”
“Not for long,” he told her. “You and Sonia are going to open your store and take the fashion world by storm.”
Despite her sense of failure, she managed a smile. “Do you even know what the fashion world is?”
“No, but you’ll do great.”
He was trying. She would give him credit. “Thanks. Sorry to dump this on you. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure?”
She nodded. Eventually she would be. Maybe she hadn’t been spending enough time on her business plan. She would call Sonia next week and touch base with her. They should talk more, she decided. Make sure everything was in order.
“I need to distract myself,” she said. “Maybe you’re right about the sugar thing. We could get an elephant ear and share it.”
“Or we could do this.”
Without warning, he dropped her hands, which was sad, because she was liking the feel of his fingers against hers. Only instead of stepping away, he wrapped his arms around her and drew her against him.
She went because, well, she wasn’t sure why. But when she got there, she found it was really nice to be pressed up against Ford. Before she could lean in against all those muscles, he lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers.
The touch was unexpected. Hot and tender at the same time. Almost teasing as if this were a game. If so, she wanted to play, she thought as her arms settled on his shoulders and her fingers found their way to the back of his neck.
Without meaning to, without thinking, she tilted her head. His mouth settled more firmly on hers. The next logical step was for her to part her lips, so she did. He moved his tongue against her lower lip before slipping it into her mouth, where it tangled with hers.
Several things happened at once. The sensible part of her brain pointed out that not only were they in the middle of town, standing on a street during a festival, but he was only doing this because he was trying to fake out his mother.
The rest of her quickly smothered the information with a flurry of impressions. The coolness of his hair against her fingers. The way her br**sts flattened against his chest. The pressure of his palms rubbing against the small of her back.
A liquid sensation seemed to flow through her, stealing her strength and leaving her pliable and willing. Wanting stirred—nearly unrecognizable in its unfamiliarity. But the need to get closer, to climb into him and be completely a part of whatever it was they were doing, was inescapable.
He kissed her deeply, stirring her with every stroke. She answered in kind, wanting to arouse him as much as he aroused her. She felt heat on her cheeks, tightness in her ni**les and stirring between her thighs. For the first time in her life, she was faced with burning sexual need. It both frightened and empowered her.
She felt less controlled and more driven by need. She had always regretted when the foreplay came to an end and things got serious, but not today. Today she wanted Ford’s hands on her body. Every part of her body. She wanted him touching and rubbing and nipping until she... Okay, that part was less clear, but one thing was certain. The kissing wasn’t getting it done.
This was what her friends were talking about, she thought as she hung on to him. This desire to be na**d and touch and taste. She wanted to explore all of Ford, to discover where hard planes led and caress the unexpected tender valleys. She wanted to breathe in the scent of him, to have him hold her and fill her over and over again as he—