Chapter Nineteen
Summer
“For a long time I was scared I'd find out I was like my mother.” -Marilyn Monroe
My heels thunked against the hardwood of the The Barn’s wraparound porch. Friday nights were usually reserved for dances or football after-parties for the high school, but once a year, The Barn—a custom-designed banquet hall with a country twist—vetoed the high school’s agenda in favor of one woman: Cathy Stafford.
Over the years, my mother’s birthday parties had grown more and more extravagant, and this year, she’d outdone herself once again judging from the sheer number of cars being valet parked on the extensive front lawn. Behind the wood-paneled, A-frame building and currently blocked from view was a large lake. I knew from past visits it would be lined with paddleboats and canoes for partygoers to take out for a romantic ride. Last year, Frank had gotten drunk and tipped over trying to disembark his little skiff. He’d fallen face first and come up with a mouthful of seaweed. Casey and I had been helpless with laughter and Frank had tried dragging us in with him as payback.
Lots of good memories here.
Out beyond the edges of manicured lawn, pines and oaks bordered the property, pausing only for the narrow gravel drive—the only way in and out on four wheels. Beyond that, so far the edges were hazy in the dying sunlight, mountains rose up in the distance like a purple, pointed hedge. The Barn was a location unto itself: secluded, beautiful, resort-like.
My prison for the evening.
I smoothed my skirt, wondering for the millionth time since leaving my house how I’d ended up wearing something so tiny twice in one week. Because it worked out so well for you the first time, a voice in my head whispered. That and Leslie had threatened to beat me over the head with her three-year-old’s Wiffle ball bat if I didn’t. I’d relented. Again.
“I can’t believe I’m here,” I grumbled, sidestepping the front entrance in favor of a deserted spot near the corner railing.
“I think it’s great.”
I eyed my date for the evening. “I think it’s a disaster and we haven’t even walked inside.”
“You look slexy as hell. Nothing can be a disaster when you look this good.”
I bit back a smile. “Leslie, stop trying to make me have fun. It’s offensive.”
“If you didn’t want to hear it, you shouldn’t have brought me.”
“I needed a plus one.”
“You could’ve brought someone else and done a lot less talking.”
“If that’s what it takes ... Want to make out?” I deadpanned.
She laughed and I gave in to the curve of my lips and smiled at her. “It’s going to be fine,” she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the entrance. “But let’s go get a drink just in case.”
I allowed myself to be led inside and we cut a path straight for the bar. Across the room on a raised stage, a live band whose lead singer was a dead ringer for Brad Paisley but everyone called Boots belted out a popular country song. I waved at him and he gave me a chin-raise as a hello, never missing a note on his guitar.
I tried not to make eye contact with anyone else as I crossed the room. That only invited conversation. Between my lack of enthusiasm for the guest of honor and the mud fiasco last weekend still making the rounds, conversation was the last thing I wanted. Instead, I kept my eyes on a martini being poured as I wound my way through mingling guests. A hand closed over my arm just as I stepped up and caught the bartender’s eye. “Martini. Dry,” I snapped, tensing as I turned. I hadn’t had nearly enough to drink yet to face her.
“Oh. Hey, Dad,” I said, relief coloring my words.
He kissed my cheek. “You look beautiful tonight, sweetie.” He leaned over and whispered into my ear, “I’m so glad you came.”
“Thanks.”
He straightened and smiled at Leslie. “And I see you brought a date.”
Leslie rose on her tiptoes to kiss my dad’s cheek. “Mr. Stafford, handsome as always,” she said, patting his jacket lapel.
“Christmas and birthdays, I shine up good,” he said.
“And your date?” Leslie asked.
“I’m stag tonight.”
“You don’t have a date?” she asked, her eyes wide in mock innocence. “Well, then, you must dance with me. You’re way too dressed up to stand against the wall.”
My dad laughed and took Leslie’s hand, sweeping her gracefully onto the dance floor as they took up the two-step rhythm. I gulped my drink, eyeing them both. Apparently I wasn’t too dressed up to stand against the wall. Traitors.
Beside me, someone cleared their throat. My body’s reaction was enough to identify him even before I looked, right down to the small hairs on my arm standing on end. “Hello, Ford,” I said, trying not to sound like the sight of him automatically made me think of mud and roaming hands and heat in places no one in this room had ever seen.
“Kitten,” he said, by way of greeting.
My brow rose at the pet name, but I said nothing. I took another gulp of my drink, regretting it has soon as the liquid fire hit my throat. Drinking always made me warm. Ten seconds of standing next to Ford and I was already hot enough to light the lanterns on the porch with a single touch.
“Nice party,” he said after a moment.
I wondered how he was here. I hadn’t invited him. I’d barely spoken to him since last weekend. “Are you here with someone?” I asked, suddenly terrified at the thought of Ford on a date with someone else.
“Casey. He needed a plus one. Something about Mazie putting him down for a double on the invite.”
I stared out over the dance floor and did something I’d never done in my life—cursed Mazie Pagonis. Then again, why was I even surprised? Of course she’d arranged it. Once she’d heard I was bringing Leslie, she’d probably run right to Casey and bribed him to bring Ford. Although why she was taking such an interest in my love life was beyond me. She’d never done it before.
“Sounds familiar,” I muttered. Ford gave me a look but must’ve decided to let it go. He waved at the bartender and ordered a beer. When he’d taken a drink, he said, “Haven’t seen you around the past couple of days. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s good. Just been busy with work. Dad cut a lot of corners these past few months. Every time I think I’ve caught us up, I find another hole in the records.”
“Is it serious?”
“Not really. Just paperwork. The last thing is inventory. What Dad ordered and what we’ve sold for the season aren’t even close to matching. He ordered a ton of retail plants but we haven’t been able to properly man that area so it’s been closed most days. I need to figure out what we can save and what we need to sell off. That’ll probably take up my whole week.”
That last part was the truth. Inventory was going to be a bitch, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit the other part. I had absolutely no clue what came next with Ford. He hadn’t called since our date. Leslie would say something about it being the twenty-first century and women could call too, but it was all so open-ended. We hadn’t even slept together. Maybe he didn’t want to anymore. Maybe he’d changed his mind about being “friends” as he’d called it.
“Well, I’m happy to help if you want.”
I gave him a blank look as his words registered.
“With inventory. Next week,” he supplied.
“Oh. You don’t have to do that.”
“I know. I want to. Besides, until these latest seedlings sprout, I’m sort of waiting around anyway.”
“Oh, well ... sure.” My heart did a little flip inside my chest. Shut up, heart.
He gave me a small smile, and I couldn’t help but feel he knew a secret he wasn’t willing to share. “Good. I wasn’t sure what to think when you didn’t come around again after Saturday.”
I looked up at him sharply, trying to gauge whether he was serious. “Me not come around? You didn’t call.”
“Why would I call? You live next door. I
work on your property.”
“Precisely,” I agreed.
“Ah,” he said finally understanding what I meant. “I see. You thought I didn’t want to see you again.”
I made a face. “You make me sound so ... worried about it.”
He arched a brow. “Weren’t you?” I opened my mouth to argue but stopped myself when a familiar figure stepped in front of me.
“Summer.” My mother beamed at me, her painted smile matching the red in her flower-print halter dress. Her hair was up, its usual style, but she’d woven baby’s breath into the twist. She looked so pretty. Classy and elegant. Strong and independent—and happy. “You came.”
“Hey, Mom.” It was all I could manage. I didn’t bother trying for a smile; it would’ve been a wasted effort. At least I hadn’t addressed her as “Cathy” again. Mazie would be proud.
“And who’s your friend?” she asked, her gaze shifting to take in Ford.
“This is Ford O’Neal. He’s working with Dad for the summer. Ford, this is Cathy Stafford, my mother.”
“The birthday girl,” Ford said, smiling down at her. “Your party is lovely, Mrs. Stafford, as are you. I can see where Summer gets her looks from.”
My mother, always the hostess, warmed to the attention. “Why, thank you,” she said, beaming at him. “I’ve heard about the work you’re doing on the farm. Dean says you’re on the edge of something over there with your homeopathic creations. I’d love to hear more about it sometime.”
“I’d be happy to fill you in,” he said.
My mother glanced at me as if about to say something and then seemed to think better of it. “Come to think of it, I could use some air right about now,” she said to Ford. “How about you and I take a walk?” She looked back and forth between the two of us, her smile faltering. “Unless the two of you wanted some time alone ...?”
“No,” I said, quickly. “You go ahead,” I added, waving them off.
Ford followed my mom and they disappeared into the crowd. I ordered another drink. Halfway through it, Casey showed up. “Did I just see your mom on the patio with Ford?” he asked.
“I don’t know, did you?”
“Ouch. Someone’s a little sensitive around the edges tonight.”
“I’m not sensitive.”
“Really? Then why did your chest and neck get all red when I asked you the question?”
“I’ve had a couple drinks.”
“Nuh-uh. It just turned three shades of forest fire when I said it. Are you actually jealous of him talking to your momma?”
“I’m not jealous,” I hissed. “I’m perfectly fine.”
“Uh-huh. And I’m the Biebs.”
I didn’t respond. Casey must’ve taken the hint because he shut up although he stayed where he was, pretending to watch the dancers while we sipped our drinks.
“Pretty nice party this year,” he commented after a few minutes.
“Yup.”
Silence.
“You planning on leaving the bar tonight?” he asked halfway into the next round.
“To go home.”
Casey grunted. We went back to our drinks.
“Is that Leslie on the dance floor with Dean?” he asked.
“Yup.”
Another grunt from Casey. We sipped some more. “You cross him off the list yet?” Casey asked finally—and all at once I knew this was the real question he’d come to ask.
Instead of snapping a retort—which was what the alcohol in me wanted—I thought about what he was asking. About whether I’d decided to do as he’d asked and take a chance. Live a little. Not be so tied down to a plan. And I thought of my mother. Of the way I’d perceived her and the way she’d actually turned out to be.
Ford was nothing like anyone I’d ever met. In fact, he was the complete opposite, and in a few months he’d be nothing more than a ghost. In the meantime, he incited feelings in me I never knew existed. And now Casey was asking whether I was brave enough to do anything about it.
“The list is void,” I said, setting my empty glass aside.
“What do you mean?” Casey asked.
I didn’t have time to explain it all. The decision had already been made the second Ford walked into the kitchen that night for dinner. All I had to do now was put it into action. And I didn’t want to wait any longer to do it. I didn’t want to lose my nerve. Or my buzz.
“Tell Leslie I’ll get my own ride home,” I said, pushing my way through the crowd toward the back doors.
“Where are you going?” Casey called after me.
“To take a risk,” I called behind me. My words were lost to the music but it didn’t matter. Casey would figure it out soon enough. I hoped he’d driven here on his own and not with his “date.”
I found Ford outside underneath a spray of white string lights, holding a red carnation in his palm. He looked deeply involved in whatever explanation he was giving my mom and her friend as he gestured to the different parts of the flower.
They all three looked up at me as I approached. My mom’s face lit up, but I ignored it. And her. “Can I talk to you?” I asked Ford.
He looked back and forth between my mother and me before answering tentatively, “Sure.”
“I’ll catch up with you another time,” my mom said to him, waving her hand like it was no big deal. I purposely avoided her eyes in case there was anything in them that would incite guilt for my slight. Anger was easier. Her friend, a woman named Edna I’d met a few times at my mother’s women’s group, nodded a polite hello at me. I returned it before leading Ford down the steps and onto the grass.
“Everything all right?” Ford asked when we’d left the lights of the party behind.
I kept walking, veering away from the lake and keeping to the unlit paths that wound closer to the trees. “Fantastic,” I said. “I just want to talk.”
“Okay,” he said uncertainly. “What’s up?”
I stopped walking, grabbed him by the collar, and kissed him hard on the mouth. I knew the alcohol was responsible for my courage, but I didn’t care. That was probably the alcohol too. Martinis were like water to me. I always forgot that until after.
“Whoa. What’s this for?” He pulled back just enough to talk but not enough to end the embrace. I took that as a good sign.
“It’s for looking so gorgeous tonight,” I said, impressed with myself for the easy way I’d complimented him. “And for being such a poor aim at mud ball fights,” I teased.
His smile tipped higher on one side of his mouth, and I knew I’d hit the mark. “I can promise my aim’s better when it comes to other things,” he said into my ear.
I opened my mouth to answer but no intelligible words came. I made a small noise under my breath as his lips trailed their way down my neck and back up to some spot behind my ear. His arms around me tightened and I pressed against him—an invitation for more. His lips found mine again and his tongue massaged my own. The next noise I made wasn’t so subtle. Neither was his body’s reaction.
“Ford ...”
“Yes?”
I hadn’t realized I’d said his name until he prompted my unfinished sentence. Half-formed words came to mind. I brushed them off in favor of more kisses. Then, slowly, the words themselves coalesced. I sighed and took a step back, putting some distance between us while still resting my hands on his toned chest. I wanted this. My body wanted this. And something in my mind—I wasn’t ready to admit my heart—wanted this. But I needed some answers first. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I’d become someone I wasn’t, simply because I wished it to be.
“What are we doing?” I asked before he kissed me and the question was lost in a sea of lust.
He leaned forward, nuzzling my ear when I turned away from his mouth. “Why does it need a label?” he asked quietly. He pulled away and frowned at me. “Are you worried what people will think?”
“No, it’s not about them. It’s for me.”
“But why?”
&n
bsp; I fumbled for words, unsure of an honest answer when I hadn’t fully admitted it to myself yet. “Ford, with you ... I feel. Something I can honestly say I haven’t done much of in the last six months. And on this scale, well, I haven’t ever felt this way. It’s bigger than I ever thought it would be. It’s too much to take and still keep a level head.”
“Passion has never been about keeping a level head.”
“Is that what this is? What you feel for me? Passion?” I desperately wanted an answer that resonated with the two warring parts of me: logic and lust.
“Yes.” He bent so his nose was only inches from mine. His breath tickled my face as he spoke. “Don’t you feel it too?”
“Yes, but ...” My eyes searched his. “Is that enough?”
“If all you had was this moment, would you still live it?”
His question surprised me. And challenged me. And somehow I knew my answer decided everything that happened next.
My parents had been such an example, a blueprint almost, for love and life and what to seek out in a mate. I’d seen—perceived—what it was they’d had and tried to get it for myself. It hadn’t worked for any of us. Now it was time to figure out what happiness meant to me. And this is how I’d start—by experiencing moments.
“Yes,” I answered firmly.
His lips curved into the softest of smiles. “Thatta girl,” he whispered. Then he kissed me.
***
I kicked off my heels at the door, adding them to the pile of shoes that littered the entryway. I’d been inside Casey’s living room enough times to lose count. But this time felt different. In this moment, it wasn’t Casey’s living room. It was Ford’s. The nightlight illuminating the way to what I knew was Ford’s room softened the ambience and made my heart pound. I led the way with my chin high, suddenly too nervous to let him see my face.
Once inside, he tugged on my hand and when I turned, he captured my cheeks with his hands and brought his mouth down to mine. After the heat between us at the lake, the softness of the kiss surprised me. His lips moved against mine cautiously, as if asking a question.
The alcohol had run its course. Now, it was “sober me” trapped inside my thoughts. For a split second, I hesitated. I knew once this happened there’d be no going back. What if I got hurt? What if I hurt him? The only truth I knew about love anymore was the pain it caused. And the gentle way Ford held me only magnified my doubts. If it’d been the sizzle, the almost crazed passion that was usually there, I wouldn’t have given it a second thought.
The XOXO New Adult Collection: 16 Full Length New Adult Stories Page 236