The Reunion(43)

I need to do the same for him.

“Ford, if anyone knows this company, it’s you. You live and breathe it.”

He shakes his head. “I know the business side of it. I know the accounting, the numbers, the logistics. But when it comes to the heart of the company, the heart of myself, the heart of my family, I’m disconnected. Hell, I can’t even come up with a new logo for a company I’ve known my entire life.”

I sit back and try to understand where he’s coming from.

He’s clearly had a rough day. Having the truth, even if it’s a semitruth, thrown at you, is tough to swallow. And I have a feeling this is going to haunt him. It’s going to throw him off, and he’s not going to accomplish everything he wants to accomplish while we’re here, especially the store branding.

But the fact that he doesn’t think he knows himself or the store—or his siblings, for that matter—makes me feel sad for him. That sense of disconnect can’t possibly settle well, especially not with Ford.

That needs to change. Right now, Ford needs to be reminded of the kind of person he is, and I very well might be the one to do that.

“Then let’s find out who you are,” I say.

He glances up from the fire. “What?”

I put on a smile. “Let’s find out who you are. If you think you don’t know yourself, you don’t know the company, what better place to look for yourself than the very place you grew up, where Watchful Wanderers originated? And while we do that, we can connect on another level with the company. Who knows, maybe it will spark an idea for the rebrand.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” he asks, his voice flat.

“I think it’s time we get earthy, Ford.”

“Earthy?” He raises a brow, and I hold my breath, hoping he might be coming back to me.

“Yeah, earthy. When was the last time you went into one of the stores and just . . . bought things to play with?”

He scratches the side of his cheek. “Probably never.”

“Never?” I ask, shocked.

“Yeah, never.”

“Well, that needs to change.” I glance around his hotel room and spot a pad of paper and pen. I quickly grab it and then sit back down. Pen poised, I say, “Okay, what should we do?”

He sits up. “Uh, what do you mean?”

“We need to make a bucket list.”

“A bucket list? How is that going to help?” He shifts up and turns toward me.

It’s working: he’s starting to come out of his funk—slowly, but he’s coming out of it.

“Well, if we make a bucket list of things to do, maybe along the way you’ll not only start to find yourself, but you’ll also start to understand the company on another level, the ground level, the customer level. And from there . . . maybe the perfect rebranding will come to you.”

He scratches the side of his jaw as he contemplates my idea. “What would this list entail?”

“Why, all the things you haven’t done, of course.” I smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll be right by your side to capture it all in my permanent memory bank, so whenever you need to be brought down a level, I can remind you of the time you went fly-fishing and ended up catching your own crotch.”

That grants me a smile.

He lifts his chin. “I have more finesse than that.”

“How would I know? I only know you in a suit and tie behind a desk. It’s time to get down with nature, Ford Chance.”

“Earthy.”

I nod. “Yes, earthy.”

He stands from his seat and starts to pace. Yup, this is exactly what he needed. Pleased with myself, I watch his wonderful mind start to churn with ideas. “Maybe we go to the store and walk down each aisle to assess what we think I should do.”

“That could work. We could also make a short list right now and add things to it when we’re at the store. But at least you would have a starting point, so you’re not overwhelmed.”

“That’s a good idea.” He continues to pace. “But we do need to make time for me to clean out my room at my parents’ house.”

“Clean it out?” I ask, an idea coming to mind. “That’s perfect.”

“What’s perfect?” he asks, his brow pinched.

“That’s exactly where we’ll start: in your childhood room. What better way to find yourself than to revisit your childhood. We can create the bucket list and then move forward from there.”

“Yeah, I guess that might be a good place to start.” He looks at me. “But there’s no way you’re helping with that.”

I stand from my chair. “Oh, I’m helping you clean out your childhood room. That would be an absolute dream come true.” I rub my hands together. “I can only imagine the little golden nuggets of blackmail I’ll find. Maybe old letters to childhood girlfriends. Maybe an embarrassing photo or two. Maybe a collection of stamps or coins, or something you never told anyone about but you cherish. I need to see all of these things.”

“That’s exactly why you can’t help me.”

“And that’s exactly why I will be helping you.” He grips his hair, and I point at him. “You’re going to go bald.”

He drops his hand and shakes his head. “Hell, what would I do without you, Larkin?” The adorable, needy look in his eyes makes my stomach flip, and Beau’s taunting comes to the forefront of my mind.