Wild Love (Rose Hill Book 1)
Wild Love: Chapter 19

I’ve spent the last three weeks working my ass off to deserve the hundred thousand dollars Ford handed me, like it was a few bucks change to go buy a Slurpee at the corner store.

I create truly magnificent spreadsheets and projections and financial systems for Rose Hill Records.

I bring Ford a cup of hot tea anytime I make my own— especially since he stocked the kitchen at the office with my favorite blends from the Bighorn Bistro.

I help manage Bash and his timelines as the projects around the old-barn-turned-office-space carry on. In only a matter of a few weeks, he’s transformed the place with new drywall and modern light fixtures. The painting has yet to come, but I can already envision how beautiful it will be. Fresh but rustic all at once.

I pick Cora up from school every day—sometimes with Ford as a bitchy-faced chaperone—and try to play it cool when I see her wearing my scrunchie. We never talk about it, but she wears it daily, and it makes this pinching sensation pop up in my chest when I see it.

Ford and I are friendly. Too friendly. Too… bland. He keeps a respectable distance, never pulls my hair, and doesn’t say rude things like he has no plans for us to fuck. In fact, he swears more around Cora than he does around me.

On Sunday nights, I have dinner with my parents, West, and the kids—on the weeks that he has them.

Every other Thursday, I do pizza and a movie with Cora while Ford goes to Dads’ Night Out at the bowling alley. His team loses every time, but he always comes home smiling.

It’s nice to see him smile.

And every day I watch him fall a little more in love with the young girl he never saw coming.

On this Friday afternoon, I have my earbuds in while I work on an email to different soundproofing specialists who might have time to work in Rose Hill for a stretch. I’m trying to keep myself from stressing about Ryan’s impending visit this weekend. He messaged me last night and said he’d be making the trip on Saturday morning. Finally.

I’ve tried to get this meeting done and over with for weeks now. I even offered to make the nine hour drive myself. Hell, I could afford to fly back now. But he’s had an excuse at every turn. And wanting to get it over with doesn’t mean I’m not still dreading it. Losing sleep over it. It’s going to be awkward and sad and I find myself obsessively running through all the gentle ways I can break the news to him. Practicing out loud to get the delivery just right.

I hate hurting people’s feelings, and I know this will hurt for him. But I also know that touching Ford’s lips in a dark closet came dangerously close to something I’ve always sworn I’d never do.

If it weren’t a total dick move, I’d end it via text and go… I don’t know. I probably wouldn’t be doing anything that different from what I have been. Maybe I’d just enjoy my freedom.

Freedom.

I try to keep my eyes on my computer, but they keep drifting up to Ford and Cora. I wonder if being drawn to Ford the moment I think about freedom has some sort of deeper meaning.

I wonder what it means that I can’t seem to stop looking at him, period.

Right now, he’s showing her a record player that he unpacked today. Cora’s curled on the leather nailhead couch that’s pressed up against the wall, watching Ford open the record player with rapt attention.

They’ve been bonding over music every chance they get. The conversations are all Greek to me, but the way they both light up when they discuss a band they like is satisfying all the same. I’ve come to love watching them interact. I love the way Ford has thrown himself into being what she needs, and I love the way Cora has thrown herself into making the most of what has to be an incredibly hard situation.

I often feel like there’s a lot I could learn from each of them. Like the universe stuck me with them for that express purpose.

Which is why I pause the podcast on my phone, so I can listen in on them without looking like I’m eavesdropping.

“…who gave it to my dad, who gave it to me,” Ford says as he lifts the machine’s plastic lid.

“Why not your sister? Record players and names seem kind of sexist where your family is concerned, Junior.”

Ford coughs out a laugh and my lips twitch as I drop my gaze back to my screen. Cora is the fucking best.

“I don’t know. My sister got our grandfather’s guitar. Does that count?”

Cora shrugs. “I guess.”

I can see Ford thinking as he lifts the needle. For all his smug looks and biting words, he’s a sensitive guy. I’m willing to bet that the possibility his family traditions are sexist will keep him awake at night.

He pulls a record out of its cardboard sleeve, pressing his tongue between his lips as he carefully places the needle back down.

“Will you show me how to do that?” Cora leans forward, watching him as though he’s performing some super impressive procedure.

Me? I can’t stop staring at the definition in his forearms. The way the veins in his hands bulge when his fingers flex.

“Of course.” He flicks the needle up and steps back, gesturing her forward with one hand. “Come here, I’ll show you. And you can listen to music on this whenever you want.”

Cora looks shocked as she approaches. “You’d let me use it when you’re not here?”

Ford shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, it will probably be yours one day. If you fuck it up, that’s on you.” He talks about how to line the needle up, but I’m not sure Cora is listening. She’s watching him, adoration and confusion warring on her doll-like features.

Ford doesn’t realize he just told her he plans to be around for the rest of her life, but Cora heard it loud and clear.

My eyes slice away, and I turn my podcast back on to keep from intruding. A few minutes later, I peek over again to see Cora back to sitting on the edge of the couch. Ford sits down too, and she edges closer.

The music’s beat echoes through the office, and I vaguely hear Ford talking about Fela Kuti, an artist from Nigeria who I’ve never heard of. Cora listens, eyes wide as he speaks passionately.

The sight makes my stomach flip and my heart beat faster.

It’s possible my ovaries twinge.

And when I hear a knock at the door, I shoot out of my chair to give myself a breather from the stifling sweetness of the moment.

I expect to be greeted by Sebastian’s grumpy fucking face.

Instead, I’m staring at Ford’s little sister, Willa.

Standing right next to Ryan.

“Rosie, hi,” Willa says, hands on her hips, wild mane of red hair flowing down around her face. We don’t know each other that well. Sure, she spent time out here, but she was younger than the group of kids I roamed with in the summer.

She looks good. Sunkissed, well-rested, and thoroughly pissed off. “Sorry to barge in here like this, but I need to talk to my asshole brother.”

I blink, trying to wrap my head around whether she flew here and rented a car or just drove from her home in Chestnut Springs, a small town one province over. I quickly recover when she tries to move past me and step to the side to block her entry into the office.

She moves to the opposite side to pass.

And I cut her off there too.

Cora and Ford are having a moment inside, and if she thinks she’s going to storm in and lose her shit on him, she’s got another thing coming. Willa has one eyebrow cocked like she can’t believe I just cut her off. Twice.

“Hi, Willa. Maybe I can help you first?”

“Rosie, get out of my way. I have some words to exchange with the dickhead who failed to tell me he has a daughter.”

Oh, she’s mad.

I smile sweetly at her, completely ignoring Ryan. No fucking way am I letting her in here right now. She can have whatever sibling freak-out she needs with Ford—away from Cora.

“I’m so sorry. That won’t be possible at this time. But if you wait a moment, I can go retrieve him for you.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Retrieve him? I’ll pull him out by the hair myself for not telling me I’m an auntie.” She tries to step to the other side, and I block her again. “Rosie, what do you think you’re playing at here?”

“Willa.” I inject all the pleasantness I can muster into my voice. “I’m not playing at all. You’re in my town. This is my place of work. He’s my boss.” I leave out that the little girl in there feels like she’s mine in some ways too. “If you think you’re going to barge in here and throw a tantrum because you weren’t privy to something you feel you should have been, you’re wrong. You can have your fit out here, and I’ll bring Ford to you so he can watch.”

Willa stares at me, and I stare back at her. I can see Ryan’s head swiveling between us as we face off. And then… Willa laughs. She’s smiling when she says, “I forgot what a bitch you can be.”

“Years of practice with an older brother. We become well-honed, don’t we?”

I give her a wink, and she sighs, dropping her chin to her chest. “I’ve been stewing the entire way here. I just ranted at your boyfriend here on the walk up to the front door. I’m gonna go”—she hikes a thumb over her shoulder—“pace around on the hill while you retrieve him. I bet he loves that you talk all fucking fancy like that.”

“Yes. It’s practically Downton Abbey around here.” I give her a subtle curtsy and turn to Ryan as she rolls her eyes and walks away. “Ryan. You’re here early.”

His smile wobbles, and he seems uncertain. I’m not sure he’s ever seen me like that. I’ve always been agreeable, studious, eager-for-a-fancy-city-job Rosie.

Rose Hill must bring out the feral side of me.

“I got an earlier flight, so figured I’d head straight here and surprise you.”

I give him a wobbly smile back. He takes a few hesitant steps forward, opening his arms, and through no fault of his, I internally recoil.

I knew he was coming. Later. At this moment, I realize how badly I needed those last several hours to amp myself up. I could have practiced a few more reassuring things to say. Googled a few more synonyms for it’s over. I had a plan to hit him with a compliment sandwich and now all the words flee my head, leaving me with only a full-body sense of dread.

I knew it would be uncomfortable seeing him again. But looking at him now, standing in front of me with open arms, makes me realize I may have underestimated just how uncomfortable.

The last man I hugged was Ford, and I melted into him.

When I raise my arms and step forward, the moment is plain awkward. My hips stay pushed back, and Ryan pats my back.

Fuck me, this is going to be painful.

When we step away, he’s already peeking over his shoulder toward Willa. “You should go grab your boss. Then we can talk. You almost done for the day?”

“Yeah.” I sigh. I don’t want to be done for the day. I want to spend my entire Friday night listening to Nigerian funk while watching Ford and Cora talk about different instruments and complex drum beats and how to use a record player. “I can be done.”

I turn and walk back through the entryway and round the corner into the main office space. When I face the brown leather couch, Ford and Cora are both sitting straight up, staring at me with almost identical expressions on their faces. Thick brows, high cheekbones, and the same almost feline-shaped eyes—just in slightly different colors.

Their alarm is clear.

“So, you both heard all that?”

“Willa isn’t exactly quiet,” Ford deadpans.

My cheek twitches. “No, she isn’t. She’s pacing on the hill, waiting for you. And Ryan is outside.”

“Ryan is here?” My gaze shifts to Cora, who asked the clarifying question I wish she hadn’t. Her eyes are narrowed now. Arms crossed. Shoulders held up tight.

“Yes.”

“For how long?”

“I’m not sure.”

I’m not going to lie to her, but I’m also not going to tell her I plan on sending him packing before I’ve even told him.

When I glance at Ford, the intensity of his gaze scorches my skin. I feel the telltale itch that always comes when his eyes trace over me with that intense, almost displeased look on his face.

I used to wonder if I was allergic to him. It seemed feasible enough.

But in the past few weeks, I’ve come to realize that’s not what it is at all.

“Well, I’m getting out of here,” Cora announces, slapping her thighs as she pushes up from the couch. She marches right past me, avoiding eye contact. And when she gets to the front door, I hear, “Move it, fuckboy,” followed by the door slamming behind her.

My eyes widen right as Ford clamps a hand over his mouth. His eyes shut and his shoulders shake.

“That was rude,” I say with a chuckle, biting the inside of my cheek to keep from falling into a fit of giggles.

“Oh my god,” Ford practically wheezes before running his hands through his hair. “How did I end up with you all? You’re like a fire-breathing dragon. Willa is a rabid dog, and Cora is no better.”

I smirk and cross my arms before giving a casual shrug. “Seems like you’ve got a type.”

Now his eyes are back on mine, and he’s not laughing anymore. My body warms as his eyes take a leisurely slide from my face down to my feet and all the way back up.

“Yeah. I do,” he says.

Then he’s up, his tall frame striding toward me. His big hand lands on the small of my back, making me squirm in my own skin as we walk side by side to the front door. He rubs his thumb in gentle circles, and I almost cry.

I don’t know why. The pressure. The stress. The impending conversation I’m about to face.

Before we turn into the short hallway that leads to the entryway, Ford stops. One finger hooks into the thin leather belt wrapped around my waist.

A soft gasp leaves me as I come to a screeching halt and turn to face him.

“Are you okay?” His low voice is rough and gritty as it rumbles in the air between us.

All I can offer back is a nod. “Are you?”

His head tilts, and the motion brings to mind the calculated movements of some sort of apex predator. Reminding me, like he always does, of a lion stalking around a cage. Sleek and powerful and ready to pounce. The way he looks at me sometimes is almost animalistic.

A shiver runs down my spine as he murmurs, “No.”

Such a simple word, yet it hits me in the chest like a ton of bricks.

When he turns and walks away from me, he takes my breath with him.