Novel Sweet
52
I knew I was inviting myself to stay in the kitchen rather than go right to bed.
And I had known how risky that was, how out of character that was, what kind of challenges that would create for us.
But unlike Ford, I didn’t regret a thing.
And maybe-just maybe-he would realize that he shouldn’t either.
Me: We’re in the middle of making paper flowers and clay vases. Your island is covered in construction paper and glittery pens and stardust. She’s having a blast.
Ford: I’m going to have the smartest kid in LA because of you.
Me: Her intelligence has nothing to do with me, but thank you for saying that. Seriously, she’s doing fab. After going through one of my cookbooks, she’s decided she wants this fancy egg salad with pickled onions on a brioche bun for lunch. We’re very busy over here.
Ford: I don’t have the peanut-butter-and-jelly kid.
Me: I can’t tell you how happy that makes me. How’s the trip going?
Ford: That was a really cute picture you sent earlier of Eve on the hiking trail. Seeing her face makes the time go by faster. Keep sending more.
Me: You sound … stressed?
Ford: One state down already, three to go. I’m headed to a meeting now and then jumping back on the plane. It’s all good.
Me: Take photos. This way, Everly and I can follow your trip and have a little geography lesson while living vicariously through you.
Ford: Everly would love that. Did you document your travels?
Me: Hold. I’ll show you.
I could feel the tension in his messages. I didn’t know the cause, but I wanted to try to lighten his mood even if it was with my silly, nonsensical photos. So, I opened my Photos app and flipped through the more recent shots, sending him three different ones from the Turners’ private plane. The monitor behind our seats had tracked our location, so I’d always known our whereabouts and which country I was photographing from the sky.
Me: First was in Switzerland. That’s the Alps beneath us. The second, Germany-somewhere around Munich. The third, Finland. I remember how badly I wanted us to land, so I could go explore.
Me: And so I could have all the wine.
Just as I was setting my phone down, Ford texted a picture. The shot could have been any downtown city, but there was no question in my mind that it was Manhattan. Of course, I could have looked at the itinerary his assistant had sent, each of his stops broken down along with the hotels he was staying in. But I didn’t need to. New York had a certain feel, and he’d captured that in the photo-a slight blur of buildings, followed by more prominent tall ones. A yellow cab in the next lane. Smoke billowing from the subway grate ahead.
I could close my eyes and smell that city.
Me: Oh God, I miss New York so much.NôvelDrama.Org owns this text.
Ford: You’d better not miss her too much … you can’t leave me.
A heat whipped across my face, my skin warming to the point of sweat.
I knew he was talking about my employment, but I couldn’t stop my mind from thinking he meant it in a personal way.
That he was replaying what had happened in the kitchen.
That he wanted it to happen again.
Me: I’m not going anywhere; don’t worry.
Me: Have a good meeting.
Ford: Good morning. How’d she do last night?
Me: Aside from kicking me in the face, she did fantastic.
Ford: Wait … I thought you weren’t going to be persuaded to sleep in Eve’s bed? Isn’t that what you said last night on the phone before she went to sleep?
Me: Your kid has expert negotiating skills. I’m talking EXPERT LEVEL.
Ford: Her father is a lawyer, so this shouldn’t surprise you.
Me: The only thing that made up for the fat lip she almost gave me was that I woke up to her asleep on my chest. So freaking cute. I took a pic … if you want to see it.
Ford: Of course I do.
Me: Okay … incoming.
Ford: Look at you two. Her little leg wrapped around you. Sydney, you guys are adorable.
Me: She’s a great cuddler. She definitely kept me warm.
Me: P. S. Today’s agenda: getting your little lady to like asparagus.
Ford: Good luck with that. Craig has tried and tried.
Me: Ford, don’t doubt my skills. I’m not saying Craig isn’t good. He’s superb, but he’s not me. Look what she ate for breakfast …
I sent a second photo, this one of Everly eating an omelet that had mushrooms, onions, and roasted tomatoes inside.
Ford: Are those mushrooms?
Me: She loves them now. She wants them on her homemade pizza that we’re making for dinner.
Ford: All right, you win that round. Damn …
Me: 🙂
Me: How are your meetings going?
Ford: I’m in Vegas this morning. Check out this view.
A picture came through after his message, showing the skyline of the Strip. The sun was peeking out from the top of the mountains in the distance, the glass of the hotels glistening from the early morning rays.
Me: Absolutely gorgeous. Everly is going to love this one.
Ford: Kiss her for me.
Me: Always.
Me: Don’t panic, but Everly has a fever. I promise she’s fine. I have everything under control. I’m watching her like a hawk. I just wanted you to know.
Since we’d spoken this afternoon, I knew he was at dinner with a client, so I’d debated about sending that message. I also knew the moment he got out of the restaurant and checked his phone, he’d see my text and call right away.
I just hated to alarm him, but telling him was the only thing that felt right.
Less than a minute after I hit Send, my phone was ringing, Ford’s name on the screen.
I held my cell to my face and said, “Ford-”
“Is she all right?”
“One sec,” I whispered.
Not wanting my voice to wake her, I carefully climbed off her bed and tiptoed into the hallway, closing the door most of the way so the sound wouldn’t travel.
“She’s okay. I was just lying with her in bed, and she fell asleep. Her temp was at 102. 2. Since I knew you were with a client, I called your mom, just to be on the safe side, and she agreed that I should give her some Motrin. I gave her some about forty-five minutes ago.”