“Your job sucks,” she said as she stood up and then took her empty bowl and spoon over to the sink that was no longer trying to drown her.
“That’s a negative.” Ford followed her to the sink, bowl and spoon in hand, and left his dishes in the corner of the sink with hers.
“What is it that you like so much about it?” Because, for the life of her, she didn’t get it. It was all black and white, and the world had so much more color than that.
Ford turned to face her. The morning sun coming in through the window above the sink highlighted his strong chin and the lighter brown strands in his dark brown hair. The urge to let her imagination go lower to wonder if his chest hair poking out of the shirt had the same variation in color was so frickin’ tempting, but she held strong. Okay, she didn’t. She pictured it in her head. The hair dusting his pecs would totally do the same thing. What could she say, she was human and he was a very good-looking man standing in her kitchen. What kind of underwear was under those jeans of his? Boxers? Briefs? Questions to ponder another time, not when Ford was looking at her with a serious expression that made her insides a little fluttery.
“I like to figure things out. I like order. I like to know that someone is out there making sure people follow the rules. I like the idea that those rules are keeping people safe.”
Now, Gina was a woman who liked her spreadsheets, and walking into The Container Store gave her the happy sighs, but getting locked into following a set of rules devised by someone else? Yeah, totally not her game. It’s why she liked yoga. There were set steps and guides, but it was all about listening to her body and knowing what it needed. Some days, she could do the shoulder-pressing pose where she balanced her entire body on the palms of her hands while her legs were wrapped around her arms. Other days, it was all she could do to make her warrior fierce.
“Life is too crazy to always follow the rules,” she said. “Sometimes you have to adapt and be flexible.”
“Flexible,” he scoffed.
Fine, Mr. Rule Follower, time for a demonstration.
“Yeah, you know…” She took a few steps back, inhaled, and as she exhaled let herself stretch into a standing split, with her nose nearly touching one kneecap and her other leg pointed up toward the ceiling. “Flexible.”
Oh, she was definitely going to regret going straight into that pose without a warm-up first, but it was totally worth it for the stunned look on Ford’s face when she put both feet back on the ground. She had a feeling it wasn’t very often that he got that fish-out-on-dry-land gobsmacked look. Victory is mine.
“There’s no way in hell my body is ever going to do that,” he said, his voice raspier than it had been moments before.
“You never know.” She shrugged. “Come to a few yoga classes and you might surprise yourself.”
The doorbell bonged. The plumber. She was going to owe Huey his weight in cannoli for getting out here so quick. She started toward the foyer, but Ford’s voice stopped her.
“I’m gonna have my gun, Gina. It’s part of my job, but you won’t see it.”
She stood in the doorway but didn’t turn around. She didn’t like guns. Hated them. But he had a point. The story about someone coming back to clean up after Grandpa was suspicious, but if it was on the level…
“Fine,” she managed to get out through clenched teeth. “But I don’t see it. Ever.”
“Not unless you’re in danger.”
Now she did turn around. Ford was standing by the sink looking like a model but in well-fitting jeans instead of…briefs. Yep, he was totally a briefs guy. They were probably white and saggy tighty whiteys and OMG she couldn’t even lie to herself about it, judging by just how low his jeans were riding this morning, making her imagine those V lines that made smart people do very dumb things, she liked to think that he didn’t have any underwear on.
Focus, Regina! You’re about to tell him off. Remember?
Oh yeah. That. Questionable threat story. Cop sniffing around. All thoughts of Ford’s undies—or lack of them—faded to the background.
She crossed her arms and gave him what she hoped was a snarky smile. “And we don’t really expect me to be in any real danger, now do we?”
One eyebrow went up before he mirrored her posture. “Like you said, you never know. That’s why it’s important to be flexible.”
The doorbell rang again. Huey was a good guy, but he wasn’t going to wait forever on her front porch with its creaky boards that dipped and shimmied even when a squirrel ran across them. Letting Ford have the last word grated, especially when they were her words, but she wanted to take a shower today and that wasn’t happening until Huey worked his magic. After shooting her uninvited if totally hot guest one last dirty look, she strode out of the kitchen and answered the front door.
They would pick this conversation up later, though. She hadn’t missed the way his gaze had shifted away from hers in that last second.
Ford was definitely hiding something.
Chapter Seven
Donna Taylor and Scott Drake were the sweetest couple, but Gina was going to kill them, and considering that there was a cop just outside her door, that would be equally bad for her business and her determination not to be a Luca that ended up behind bars.
“I don’t know. The pink is so pretty but I love yellow.” Donna looked up, her big blue eyes filled with a silent plea for help. “I just can’t make up my mind. Scott, honey, what do you think?”
Scott glanced down at the envelopes—not the actual invitations, just the envelopes they’d come in, and got a deer in the headlights look.
It had been like this with every decision—every decision—these two had to make as part of the wedding planning. Oh sure, Gina had dealt with brides who changed their minds, control freak mothers, and soon-to-be grooms who showed up drunk, but nothing like Donna and Scott, who wanted to make every decision themselves but spent hours analyzing each and every choice. How these two had actually managed to make up their minds enough to get engaged was a mystery to Gina.
Luckily, after five years of dealing with the chaos of wedding planning, she knew exactly how to steer the happy couple so they made forward progress. Gina let out a breath and framed herself in the big bay window that looked out over the Victorian’s backyard—the one that someday would be the perfect location for intimate weddings—and turned her attention to Donna and Scott as they looked between the envelope samples as if the fate of the free world was at stake.
She had no more than opened her mouth, though, when the door between the front room and the foyer opened up, revealing her not-exactly-invited house guest in all of his tight-fitting-jeans glory.
“I don’t mean to interrupt,” said the man who’d just opened up the door to her at-home office without knocking. “But it sounds like you might be having a little trouble.” This part came through while he was looking right at Gina before he looked over at the couple. “Maybe I can help.”
Donna’s shoulders sagged with relief. Scott seemed to grow an inch or two from not being the only one with a Y chromosome in the room. As for her? It took just about everything Gina had not to let her Sicilian out. What in the hell did he think he was doing, walking in on a client meeting like this? It was beyond very not okay.
“Ford, can I have a word with you out in the hall?” she asked, digging her nails into the palm of her hand to help keep her voice steady.