The Reunion(23)

CHAPTER ELEVEN





FORD


Knock. Knock. Knock.

I ignore the beating my door is taking as I try to differentiate between two fonts. One has a thicker W, the other is more streamlined, modern, devoid of any sort of whimsical feeling. Why the hell is this so hard? Fonts shouldn’t take up this much headspace, and yet here I am, spending an hour agonizing between the two.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

And that incessant racket isn’t helping.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Jesus,” I mutter before getting up from the two-person table in my room and heading over to the door, where the relentless pounding continues.

Muscles tense, irritation at an all-time high, I fling the door open to see my sister on the other side, a crazed look in her eyes and her clothes in disarray. “Palmer, what the hell are you doing?”

She pushes past me and invites herself into the sitting area, invading my space without a single word. She huffs, she paces, she looks around. “Where’s Larkin?”

“Out for a run.” I close the door behind me. “Why?”

“We need to talk.”

“Can this wait? I’m kind of busy.”

She scans the room again. “Busy doing what?” She looks me over, her eyes skimming me from head to toe, taking in what I know is my disheveled hair and rumpled appearance. Her hand clamps over her mouth, some sort of realization taking over the stern look she was wearing when she stormed in here. “Oh my God, did I . . . you know . . . disturb your private time?”

“What? No,” I nearly shout. “No. I’m working.”

“Are you sure?” She glances over at my bed, the disorderly sheets and rumpled floral comforter. “Because I know you, and I know you like your bed made every day. Which leads me to believe . . .”

“Jesus, Palmer, no. I was not doing . . . that. I didn’t have time this morning to make my bed. I barely got any sleep last night thanks to you.”

She lightens up. “Aw, were you worried about me, Ford?”

“Yes,” I answer honestly while heading back to the table to take a seat. I’m worried because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Palmer like that. Like . . . something more than just losing her childhood home sent her into a tailspin. “Do you normally drink like that?”

“No. Yesterday was a special occasion. It’s not every day your parents decide to kick you in the crotch with their abhorrent news.”

“Is that why you’re here? To talk about them selling the house?” I ask, trying to read through the tough facade she seems to wear whenever she’s around the family. From the way her eyes don’t connect with mine, I just know there’s something deeper, something she’s not telling me.

She shakes her head. “I’m currently riding the denial train on the whole house thing until it’s absolutely necessary to accept what’s happening. They don’t even have a sign on the front lawn. I’ll believe it once I see it—until then, I’m not going to bother letting it take up space in my mind.”

“Probably a smart move, given your inability to compartmentalize,” I say, my gaze drifting back to the damned fonts.

“I’m not going to lash out at you for that comment.” She takes a seat across from me and lifts my chin up, forcing me to look at her. “I need you to focus on me.” She snaps her finger in front of my face. “Focus, Ford. Right here, you and me.”

I set my paper down and lean back in my chair. “What do you need, Palmer?” I fold my arms over my chest.

She rests her cast on the table and leans forward. “Dr. Beau . . . he’s . . . the Beau.”

Ah, she figured out who Beau was at her appointment this morning.

“Yes, that’s correct,” I answer casually, even though everybody on the island knows how much Palmer crushed on the guy back in high school. Not sure she knows that I know, but her feelings were evident just from one look through her yearbook.

“Did you know this last night? That he was a doctor here on Marina Island?”

“I did. You know, since his sister is my assistant and all. We do occasionally talk about our siblings.”

“How is he a doctor? I didn’t even know he wanted to be a doctor. I thought it took forever to get a medical degree. Doesn’t he have, like, eleven more years in medical school?” She throws her arms up in the air.

“Fast-tracked. Top of his class. Took him nine years to complete everything, including residency. He studied with Dr. Weazleton as well and then took over the practice and moved the office to where it is now. I’m surprised Mom and Dad never told you.”

“No one said anything. And, uh, can we talk about how different he looks? I mean, he’s all beefy and handsome with his manly man features.” I raise a brow at her. “And his hands were soft and large and . . . God, Ford, you have no idea the kind of embarrassment I put myself through this morning.”

“This morning?” I ask, surprised. “Can’t be any worse than last night.”

Her eyes widen. “What the hell did I do last night? Oh, dear God, I didn’t try to lick him, did I?”

I wince. “Is that something you normally do? Lick men?”

She rolls her eyes. “Just once, when I was in Italy. The chef who made me the most amazing pizza of my life smelled like the pepperoni he used, and for some reason I got caught up in the scent and ended up licking his arm. It was not my finest moment, I will admit that, but I found something out about myself. I tend to lick people that I think smell good, and Dr. Beau smelled heavenly. Oh God, did I lick him?”