Three Little Words (Fool's Gold #12)

Consuelo walked up to him and poked him in the chest. Hard. With luck, she would leave a bruise.

“You’re in love with her, you moron. You probably have been for years. Don’t screw this up.” She poked him again. “She’s great. Ask her to stay. Get married and have babies. It’s what you want. It’s what you’ve always wanted.”

He shook his head. “I’m not that guy.”

“You were born to be that guy. You’re just like everyone else in this damn town. Accept your fate.”

With that, she turned and walked away. Her eyes burned, but she told herself it was from sweat and nothing else. She wasn’t actually crying. She didn’t cry, didn’t believe in tears. Or wallowing. She’d made a mistake and now she would move on.

The fact that moving on meant she would have to leave Fool’s Gold was a problem she would deal with later.

* * *

THE FALL FESTIVAL had been one of Ford’s favorites as a kid. It fell on the second weekend in October, when the leaves were turning and all the storefronts were decorated with pumpkins and scarecrows.

There were a lot of carts selling stuff nobody really needed, like honey soap and apple-scented candles. But the women in town seemed really excited about it all and were buying it by the truckload.

What he liked was the food. There were ribs and grilled corn on the cob. Corn bread, slow-cooked pulled pork and, his personal favorite, sweet-potato pie.

“Seriously, you have to try this,” Isabel said, offering him a bite of her S’More. “I don’t know how Ana Raquel makes it the best thing ever, but she does.”

He didn’t care about the dessert, but he was relieved to see Isabel smiling again. For the past week, she’d been kind of down. He knew she’d been thinking about what had happened with Sonia.

He tasted the S’More. It was sweet, but not too sweet.

“Nice,” he said, handing it back to her.

She grinned. “But not sweet-potato pie?”

“Not even close.”

“What is it with guys and pie?”

“Like you don’t want any?”

“I’ll have some to be polite.”

He chuckled and put his arm around her.

Now that she was feeling better, he could stop thinking about how to fix her, which meant he could put more effort into forgetting all the ridiculous things Consuelo had said the other day.

At first her words had made him uncomfortable. He didn’t want to lead Isabel on, which he wasn’t doing. They’d both been clear on the fake-dating from the beginning. As for him being in love with her—he wasn’t that lucky. If he could be in love with anyone, he would want it to be her. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t be.

He thought about how Leonard was secretly working out every day to impress his wife, and how his mom had mourned his dad for over a decade. His sisters were wild about their husbands, and when Ethan looked at Liz, he knew the rest of the world disappeared.

Why wouldn’t he want that? That intensity? That caring? Of course he did. But it wasn’t there. Never had been. He liked a woman for a while and then wanted to move on. That was who he was.

“I heard from Misaki and Kaori,” Isabel said as she finished her dessert and dropped the paper container into a recycling bin. “They’re really excited I’ve already sold two pieces. They’re making more. I really like working with them.” She smiled up at him. “Thank you. Bringing them to me was really thoughtful.”

“I know. You’re lucky to have me.”

She laughed and slipped her arm through his. “I am. I’m still confused about Sonia, but I’ll heal. I’ll learn from the mistake and move on.”

“I have no doubt. You’re strong with the Force.” He changed his voice to sound like Yoda from Star Wars. “There is much power in this one.”

She laughed again. “I appreciate the compliment, but I’m not sure it’s something I’ve earned.”

“Sure you have. You’re forgetting, I saw you grow up.”

They walked around a young couple with a double stroller. The little boys inside were obviously identical twins. An older girl sat on her father’s shoulders.

“Those letters,” she said with a groan. “I knew they’d come back to haunt me.”

“No haunting. You were a sweet girl. When you screwed up at UCLA, you took responsibility. You recognized what you’d done wrong and made amends. We can’t be perfect. That’s what I learned in my training. It’s not getting it right the first time—it’s learning to do it right and then not getting lazy. That’s what you did.”

“You’re giving me way too much credit.”

“No. It’s not just UCLA. You stopped writing me when you thought Eric was going to propose. There was nothing between us, but you wanted to do the right thing. I respect that.”

“I wasn’t sure what to do,” she admitted. “It’s just when I wrote you...” She shrugged, then smiled. “So you’re admitting you read them and liked them.”