Three Little Words (Fool's Gold #12)

“I liked spending time with him,” she continued. “It was easy.” She paused. “But it wasn’t love.”


“Doesn’t sound like it,” Ford said quietly.

She looked at him, then away before putting her wine down on the outdoor table. She was holding the glass so tightly she was afraid she was going to break it.

“He fell in love with someone else,” she admitted, still remembering the shock when he’d told her. He’d sat her down, taken her hands in his and admitted he’d fallen in love.

“He was so excited. So happy. There was an energy I’d never seen before. I think that shocked me more than the infidelity. The enthusiasm. He’d never acted that way about me.”

“He was g*y.”

She snapped her attention back to Ford and struggled to keep her mouth from falling open. “How did you know?”

“No straight guy goes to estate sales.”

She managed a strangled laugh. “Of course they do, but you’re right. He’d fallen in love with another man. He said it had never happened before, but I didn’t know if I could believe him.”

How could he not have known? How could he have lied to her for all those years? She’d been forced to grapple with the end of her marriage and worry about her health. If Eric had cheated with one person, who was to say there hadn’t been others?

All the tests had come back fine and she was able to relax about sexually transmitted diseases, but then she’d still had the end of her marriage to get through.

“I missed him,” she admitted. “We were friends and then he was gone. I had to figure out what to do next. Sonia and I had always talked about opening a store together and suddenly we were making real plans. I came here to help out my folks, earn some money and deal with everything.”

She drew in a breath. “I never saw it coming. That’s what I wrestle with. I had no clue. I mean we rarely had sex, but I figured everyone was different. He wasn’t that interested and I was good with that. Only, what if it was me?”

“If he’s g*y, then it’s not you. It’s every woman.”

He watched her with friendly concern. If there was judgment, he was keeping it hidden, which she appreciated.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said. “He wasn’t honest with you or himself. You had no part of that.”

“I guess.”

He lightly touched her under the chin, forcing her to raise her head and meet his steady gaze. “There’s no ‘I guess’ on this.”

“What if I turned him g*y?”

Ford smiled. “You didn’t.”

“You can’t know that. Maybe I was so horrible in bed he had to go be with a guy.”

“I don’t think it works that way. Isn’t sexual preference biological? Sorry to disappoint, but you don’t have that much power.”

He was being so kind, she thought. Gentle and sweet. The unexpected support made her want to lean into him. “I feel stupid. Like I should have known.”

“You trusted him, Isabel. You believed in him and he used you.”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is.” The smile returned. “I’m always right.”

“Oh, please.” She felt herself start to smile back at him.

“Better,” he said, then leaned forward and lightly touched his mouth to hers.

The kiss was brief. More comfort than seduction. Even so, she felt a distinct jolt deep in her belly. She told herself it was a combination of wine—even though she’d barely had a sip—and embarrassment. No one knew the truth about Eric. She’d been too humiliated to share what had really happened. Now she wondered why she’d been so reluctant to trust the people who loved her.

“Thank you,” she said when he straightened. “For listening and not laughing.”

“Your story wasn’t funny.”

“I was thinking more of being laughed at rather than with.”

“Not my style,” he told her.

What was his style? Who was this man who drove a ridiculous vehicle and claimed to be God’s gift to women, yet offered comfort and knew the exact right thing to say?

Before she could ask, he turned away and checked on the steaks. “They’re about done,” he said.

“I’ll get the potatoes and salad.”

She walked into the house and drew in a breath. She felt better for having told the truth. As if the secret of why her marriage had ended had been weighing on her.

What she hadn’t said, what she wondered if Ford or anyone else would guess, was that the sadness she felt was for the loss of a friend. Not of a husband or a lover. She didn’t feel as if she’d ended things with her one true love. Which meant the marriage had been a fake from the beginning and somehow she’d never noticed.

* * *

FORD LEANED BACK in his chair and propped his feet on the desk. “Two more accounts,” he said, nodding at the folders on the desk.

Consuelo pushed his boots off the desk. “You’re smug. I hate smug.”

“I’m good at my job,” he corrected, then drank his coffee.