That being said, I am still nervous as all get out for the tasting on Saturday. I bribe my entire family—Mom, Dad, and Alex—with jalapeño margaritas to help me prep the day before, the four of us dicing and mashing and stirring in my parents’ kitchen while John Cougar Mellencamp plays in the background (Mom’s always had a big thing for him and Rod Stewart).
Dad takes the next morning off, too. He drives me to Luke’s barn in one of the ancient trucks Lacy’s BBQ owns, the refrigerated cab stuffed to the gills with enough grits casserole, beef brisket, and Pastel Azteca to feed a small army.
“You think it’s going to go over well?” I say, glancing up at the rearview mirror.
Dad looks at me and grins.
“I know it’s going to go well. Better than that. This is the kind of food people love, Evie. Why do you think I haven’t changed up our menu all that much at Lacy’s all these years? Because my customers always order the same things—pulled pork with a side of something smothered in bacon or cheese. It sticks to your ribs and puts a smile on your face. Same as all that food you made back there,” he says, tilting his head toward the cab.
I fidget with the hem of my shorts. “I appreciate the vote of confidence. Especially coming from you. That means a lot, Dad.”
“I’m proud of you. You’re smarter and more talented than I’ll ever be.” The truck gasps when he shifts gears. “I’ll admit I was a little worried about you when you first arrived back in town. You weren’t yourself. But over the past week—you look happy. Really happy. Not to pry, but your mother said you were hanging out with that guy you dated back in college.”
My lips twitch. “Ford. Yeah. He’s helping me out with the cookbook. We ran into each other at Julia’s baby shower and”—and I think I’m falling in love with him—“he’s the one who arranged this whole thing. The brunch. It was his idea.”
Dad smiles. A small smile, but a proud one. It’s the same smile Ford wears when he’s talking about Bryce.
“Y’all just went for it. Evie, I admire that.”
Swallowing, I grab his hand. He smiles again when I give it a squeeze.
Dad isn’t perfect. I really hate the way he treats my mom sometimes. But then there are things that I really love about him. Things that make him excellent in a way that few fathers are. I’m lucky to have him, even though he really drives me nuts sometimes.
Maybe that’s family in a nutshell. The good comes with the bad. And maybe taking a step back from them as an adult, choosing to live your own life on your own terms, allows you to focus more on the good.
My heart is in my throat as Dad pulls up to Luke’s barn. The big main door is flung open to the muggy morning. I see Gracie and Luke inside, along with a little girl in jean shorts and pink crocs.
Dad and I are unloading the food at the back of the truck when Ford appears. He takes in the food, practically mummified in yards and yards of plastic wrap, and smiles.
“Y’all,” he says, rounding the truck to stand next to me, “this is gonna be amazing.” He grabs the top of the back door with his hand. Leans into me, my arm brushing his side as he leans in to kiss my cheek. “Morning, E.”
My body electrifies at the simple touch. The whole nine yards: skin tingling, knees going numb, heart thumping. He’s wearing a broken-in white tee, shorts, and sneakers. As casual as it gets, but he looks—and smells—so damn good.
I can’t help but check him out as he straightens, towering over me. The tee clings to his broad pecs and biceps. Combined with his smile and his Saturday morning scruff—it’s a little more unkempt than usual—and stick a fork in me, I am done.
It’s been almost a week since I last saw him. On some level, I knew I’ve missed him, as evidenced by the Ford-laden fantasies I indulge in every night with the help of my vibrator. But now it hits me that I’ve missed him. The kind of longing that kills your appetite and gives you that magical floaty feeling.
I’ve been looking forward to seeing him again all week.
I still don’t know what I’m thinking in terms of the whole kid/parenthood idea. But I am thinking about it. I am feeling more optimistic about my career and life and family in general. I have a long ways to go, but I’m moving in the right direction. Away from fear, toward…
Courage? Taking risks?
Ford?
“Good morning,” I say with a smile. Because right now, with Ford Montgomery standing next to me, his whiskey brown eyes soft on my face, it’s physically impossible not to. But I do manage to slide my hands into the back pockets of my shorts, lest I surrender to the impulse to paw this man in front of my dad. “Thanks again for having us out here. I’m excited. And nervous.”