The Reunion(103)

Larkin goes straight to the table where we’ve been working, grabs her computer and charging cord, and then turns toward me, clutching both items to her chest. “If there’s anything you’d like me to work on today specifically, just let me know. You can shoot me an email or text.”

I nod, and she starts to walk toward the door. “Is this how it’s going to be now?” I ask.

She pauses and glances up at me. “What do you mean?”

“Between you and me. That’s it? Last night was all it took to lose you?”

“You didn’t lose me, Ford. I’m just not sure you’re ready for me.”

“I am.”

She shakes her head. “You’re not. That was evident last night. You couldn’t set everything to the side to just spend the night with me.”

“You were getting in on the conversation too,” I say.

“I know. I take the blame for last night as well, but I tried more than a few times to get you back to the date. And it didn’t happen.”

“It was impossible,” I say, growing agitated. “You were there. You saw what it was like. A goddamn circus.”

“But you could have risen above it all.”

“I don’t have the power to do that. I don’t have it in me.” I push my hand through my hair in frustration. “I’m exhausted, Larkin. Not only do I have the business to worry about, but I have my parents too. Just from being here a few weeks, I’ve seen a difference in my dad. I’m killing myself trying to navigate my siblings’ needs—and then I have you to worry about.”

“You don’t need to add me to your burden, Ford.”

“I didn’t mean it like that. Jesus.” I let out a low, frustrated breath. “You know what, maybe you’re right: maybe I do need to get it together before we even consider an ‘us.’” I straighten up and push past her. “I’ll email you a list of tasks that need to be taken care of today. I have some things that have been piling up. Just email if you have questions.”

I feel myself close up, shut down.

It’s my only defense mechanism at this point.

I turn to my computer, wake it up, and hunker down in my chair, the comforting black hole of work taking over.

“Ford, don’t get lost in your work; you’ve made so much progress.”

I glance up at Larkin. There’s a softness to her voice, encouragement, but I ignore it. I’ve had enough. I’ve had enough of everything.

“I need to take a shower, and I have a lot of work to do, Larkin. Please excuse yourself.”

Her chin rises, and as she sets her shoulders back, I feel the intimacy between us snap. And in its place, a wall of professionalism separates us. “Sure. Let me know if you need anything from me.”

I don’t answer; instead, I turn to the hundreds of emails I’ve ignored over the last few days while I was trying to “find” myself. Yeah, lot of good that did.





CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN





COOPER


Palmer: Where are you?

I glance at my phone as the ferry docks.

Cooper: About to get off the ferry. I’m not late.

Palmer: You’re not early. Ford isn’t here either. The store looks normal.

Cooper: What do you mean normal?

Palmer: Like nothing is pushed out of the way.

Cooper: I’ll be right there.

I set my phone down and drive off the ferry. I give the workers a quick wave and then take off toward Watchful Wanderers, which is only a minute away.

I’m in no fucking mood to be on Marina Island today, let alone dressed in a button-up and tie, but here I am, uncomfortable, pissed, and worried that I totally fucked up everything with Nora last night.

Thank you, Palmer and Ford.

The last two people I want to see.

But the two people I have to work with tonight.

I drive up to Watchful Wanderers and pull into the parking lot, parking in the far back to give room to the guests. We have an hour until the anniversary party, which should give us plenty of time to set up. At least that’s what I hope. I didn’t want to come any earlier.

I put my car in park but don’t move. Instead, I stare out the windshield and try to pump myself up for this.

It’s for our parents.

We love them.

It’s only a few hours. Put on a smile and make them happy. Then it’s over.

I grab my phone and keys and get out of the car before going to the trunk and pulling out a box of potted flowers. I’m not much of a decoration guy, but the potted flowers are a nice touch, and guests can take home the pots as souvenirs. Mom and Dad will like them.

I lock up and walk to the front door, where Palmer is waiting impatiently, arms folded.

“What took you so long?”

“Literally, it’s been a minute,” I snap at her. “Hold the door open for me.”

She opens it, and I walk inside—only to make an abrupt stop.

I take in the store I grew up in. The racks of clothing, the rows of outdoor gadgets, the oak-log walls, and the kayaks hanging from the ceiling. And not a single table, chair, or any hint of a party.

Fuck.

“What the hell?” I set the box down by the door. “I thought Ford was in charge of the store. Didn’t he say he was going to make space in here?”