Butterface

By the time Ford finished his single beer and gotten into his car for the short drive home, he wasn’t even thinking about Gina anymore. Which was what made it even more of a mystery as to how in the world he’d ended up parked outside of her house wondering if she’d answer if he rang the doorbell.

…

Gina had to stop staring at the couch in the front room that had the Ice Knights blanket folded perfectly and resting underneath the pillow Ford had used. Really, it was getting creepy.

She needed to go in there, pick them up, and stuff both back in the storage closet. That’s really what she should do.

Instead, she did a one-eighty and walked to the front door and picked up the watering can so she could water the plants out on the porch. She swung the door open and stopped dead in her tracks. Ford was standing at the bottom of the porch stairs, looking damn good for a man whose facial expression said he couldn’t decide if he should turn back or go forward. She knew how he felt. Her heart was going a million miles an hour, but her feet weren’t moving an inch.

“Hey,” she finally managed to get out. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again.”

Why oh why couldn’t she have found the extra time to wash her hair today? The frizzy mess was contained in a bun on the top of her head, but strands kept escaping and sticking to her lip gloss. Add to that the well-worn jeans and a shirt that declared to all she didn’t do mornings, and she was definitely not looking her best.

He did that slow, half-smile thing that made her lungs go tight. It wasn’t fair. “I wasn’t expecting to be here.”

Okay, that took some of the tingly excitement out of her metaphorical sails. “Then why are you?”

He shoved his fingers through his hair but, because it was him, it all just fell back into perfect place instead of looking a mess. “I wanted to see you.”

And BAM she was back up to teetering on the edge of something fantastic. Why did he do this to her? He made her feel excited and scared and nervous and sparkly—yes, it sounded dumb, but it was true—and at home all at the same time. She didn’t understand it, just like she couldn’t quite grasp why after everything they’d agreed to he’d shown up on her porch saying he wanted to see her.

He climbed the first two steps, his hand on the recently sanded banister and all of his intense focus on her. “Can I ask you a question?”

If there was a time in her life when she’d ever wished she was a Rizzo from Grease, this was it. To have that confidence and bravado and chick balls. Instead, she was a Frenchie, forever the goofy sidekick. She knew this. Still, she dug deep to find her badass inner Rizzo. “Depends on what you want to know.”

“Are you involved in anything illegal?”

And that was pretty much the last thing she’d expected him to ask. The preposterousness of it made her laugh out loud. “Well, I have a lead foot. Does that count?”

Ford didn’t laugh. In fact, his jaw seemed to tense even more. “So, no running numbers or delivering messages or wet work?”

“I don’t even know what that last one means.” She shook her head. She was a wedding planner, and the only kind of wet work she dealt with was being sure to keep extra tissues on hand for the mother of the bride. “Why are you asking me this, Ford?”

The stubborn man didn’t answer. Instead, he vaulted up the last three steps to the porch and strode toward her, right across the spot on the porch marked with a big red X so Juan would know which boards needed to be replaced.

“Wait, Ford, watch out for the—”

She spoke too late. The wonky board that always felt like it was about to give way when she stepped on it finally did. The crack sounded, then a snap, and then a crash as Ford fell through the porch up to his hips.

“Oh my God,” she yelled, dropping the watering can in her shock. It bounced once and fell over onto its side, all of the water inside spilling out and rushing right to Ford, soaking him. “Are you okay?”

He looked down at the boards surrounding him, a few of which had broken off into sharp points but none of which were close enough to pierce him. “I’m a little scraped up, but I’ll live. It looks like for the most part it was a clean break,” he said. “But don’t come any closer. I don’t want you to go down, too.”