Three Little Words (Fool's Gold #12)

He helped her load her groceries, which consisted of a single bag. Something she could have handled herself. Still, it was kind of nice to have a man do that for her. Eric had supported her desire for equality, letting her lug her half of the groceries when they went shopping. Which was perfectly fair, she reminded herself. If not especially romantic.

Ford followed her home. She couldn’t escape his hideously painted Jeep in her rearview mirror. Even a broken heart was no excuse to mutilate such a hardworking vehicle.

She pulled into the driveway. He parked next to her and climbed out. “I’ll go put the beer in my refrigerator,” he said. “Then be down to start the steaks.”

“Works for me.”

She went into her house and set everything on the counter in the kitchen. The sun had dipped to the other side of the house, leaving this part mostly in shadow. She flipped on overhead lights. The oak cabinets were only a few years old and the yellow tile she remembered from her childhood had been replaced with granite.

She thought briefly about dashing into her bathroom and fluffing her appearance. After a long day at the store, she was sure she had mascara under her eyes and very flat hair. Plus, her dress was plain. Not only had she worked in New York, where wearing black was practically the law, she now had a job in a bridal gown store. It was important to look professional while never, ever outshining the bride. She had a wardrobe of simple, stylish black dresses—the “office appropriate” kind, not the LBD kind.

Not that she was looking to slip into an evening gown or anything, but still. She settled on kicking off her heels and rolling up the long sleeves of her dress. That was plenty. She was only having dinner with her neighbor. There was no reason to spruce. Besides, until a couple of days ago, his last memory of her was of a fourteen-year-old girl, chasing him down the street while sobbing and begging him not to go. After that, nearly anything would be an improvement.

She unpacked her bag and slipped the ice cream into the freezer. Setting the outdoor table took all of three minutes. She was about to tackle the salad when he returned.

“I have three messages from my mother,” he grumbled as he walked to the counter and pulled open a drawer. He dug through an assortment of can openers, measuring spoons and spatulas until he found the wine opener. Next he pulled two wineglasses from an upper cupboard shelf. “She wants to talk about the applicants.”

Isabel was more interested in how he knew his way around her kitchen. Did the man case the place while she was gone? Was he—

Maeve, she thought. He’d dated her sister for three years and had spent hours here every week. He’d often stayed for dinner and helped her sister set the table. While the kitchen had been updated, the layout was the same. Flatware was still in the top drawer by the sink, and glasses were above the dishwasher.

“Future-wife applicants?” she asked.

“That would be them.”

“Have you bothered to meet any of the women? They might be lovely.”

He gave her a look that implied the corkscrew had more intelligence than her.

“No,” he said firmly. “I’m not interested in anyone who would fill out an application.”

“You’re very critical and your mother is just trying to help.”

“Are you in on this?” he demanded. “Is there a plan to torture me?”

“No. Any torture is just a happy by-product.”

“Funny. Very funny. I don’t remember you having this much attitude fourteen years ago. I liked you better then.” He poured the red wine she’d bought and passed her a glass.

“You didn’t know me then,” she reminded him. “I was your girlfriend’s little sister. You barely spoke to me.”

“We had a special relationship that didn’t require conventional communication.”

She laughed. “You’re so full of crap.”

His dark eyes crinkled with amusement. “And you’re not the first woman to tell me that.” He touched his glass to hers. “To me being idiotic enough to come home.”

“You’ll settle in and your mother will calm down.”

“I hope so. I know she’s excited about having me back, but this is ridiculous.”

Isabel thought about the time after Ford left—when she knew her heart was going to break. “You almost never came back to town. Was that because of Maeve?”

He leaned against the counter. “At first,” he admitted. “Mostly I stayed away because being around my family was too complicated. They wanted to get involved in everything—especially my mom. I became a SEAL my third year and that was intense. I couldn’t talk about what I did or tell them where I was going. I took the easy way out and avoided the situation.”

He sipped the wine. “Maeve wasn’t wrong to break up with me. When it happened I would have told you I’d miss her forever. But within a few weeks, I realized she was right. We were kids, playing at being in love. I guess she has the real thing with Leonard.”

Isabel tried to read emotion into his words. She couldn’t tell if he really didn’t mind that his ex-girlfriend had married the guy who’d come between them or not.

“They’ve been married twelve years now,” she said.

“The kids are more impressive. What’s she up to now?”