The Sweetest Thing

Ford raised a brow in Tara’s direction. She pretended not to notice as she walked her date out. When she came back into the kitchen, Ford was waiting for her, clearly amused. “You used me to dump your date.”

“Dumped is … harsh.”

“It’s accurate.”

“It’s accurate,” she agreed, and sighed. “He had bad breath.”

“Well then.”

“This isn’t funny, Ford. I needed a damn date.”

“That’s not what I would have guessed.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he said with a faint smile. “That I remember how you get when you’re uptight and anxious. I also remember the only that would relax you.”

She had a flash to a long ago night, on the docks after a fight with her mother that had left her shaky and alone. Ford had found her, and in shocking little time had her forgetting both her troubles.

Naked therapy, Ford style.

It’d worked, and at the memory, she felt heat flood her face. “Yes, well, sex isn’t on the table at the moment.”

Now he flashed her his bad boy grin. “I was talking about how we used to lie on the marina dock and count stars, but your idea has merits too. Come here, Tara.”

Said the spider to the fly. “I don’t think so.”

He smiled again and poured her some wine, looking comfortable in his own skin as he leaned back against the counter, his own glass dwarfed in his big hand.