Page 140 of Renegade Rift
“Good morning,” he rasps, and presses a kiss to my forehead. “I like having you here.”
“I like being here.”
It’s wild to admit, but I do. This feels right. Or at least what I think right feels like. I’m still learning, but just like Ford and Lodhi, it’s progress.
Ford cranes his neck, presumably looking at the clock on his nightstand, and lets loose a weighted sigh. “The bus will be here in less than an hour.”
What he really means is,it’s tomorrow and reality is here.
He pulls me tighter against his naked torso, breathing me in, and I will this moment to last just a little bit longer.
“If you want to wait, we can?—”
“No, Ford.” I know he’s going to give me an out. I just don’t want one.
I press a kiss to his chest and lift my head so he can see me when I speak. “I’m ready to talk. I already know how I feel.”
“You do?”
“Mmmhmm.” I smile and I swear the moment he sees my lips lift, his own twitch with the need to do so too.
But he waits—just like he always does—for me to meet him where he is.
Maybe Willow was right. Maybe we are idiots in love. Neither one of us willing to put it out there until we were sure the other was ready to hear it.
The sound of buzzing fills the space between us as Ford’s phone comes to life on the nightstand.
“Shit,” he mutters. “I really need to hear what you were going to say next, but I should make sure it’s not my agent with information on the article.”
Untangling myself from his arms, I roll away so he can grab it.
“Fuck.”
Well, that doesn’t sound good. Couldn’t reality give us just a little break this morning so we could figure things out?
“Who is it?” I ask, shifting under the covers so I’m sitting up.
“I—” Ford chews his lip like he’s unsure if he should tell me, but ultimately decides to spin his phone around so I can see the name.
Mariana Cruz.
My mouth goes dry and all the butterflies that were flying high seconds ago fall flat with a thud into the bottom of my gut.
“Why is my mother calling you?” My voice is barely a whisper, low and deadly.
“Juliet I—let me explain.” Ford stumbles over his words, which only makes me think he’s guilty. Of what? I’m not sure, but it involves my parents. The parents he knows I haven’t been ready to speak to.
My eyes dart from the phone back to his concerned stare. “You better do it fast, because if I know my mother, she’s not going to stop calling until she gets to say her piece.”
It’s one of the lovely qualities I’m happy I didn’t get from her. I can’t count the number of times I wanted space or needed time to think but was awarded none. My mother was always there, insisting she had the right answers.
“She hasn’t stopped.” Ford winces. “She calls every other day.”
Every other day. He gets calls from her. Every. Other. Day.
My jaw tightens and my words come out harsh and gritted. “Why?”
“Because I’ve been dodging her calls.”
