Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102411 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 410(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Ford steps deeper into the main room—a maze of living room furniture, all well cared for, most pieces barely nicked and ready for a second life.
“Let’s start with a couch,” I say. “It’s the centerpiece of the home.”
“Not a kitchen table?”
“Don’t get me wrong—I love a good kitchen table, and we are definitely going to find a fantastic one for Mama Devon. And your dad of course too. But I think a couch is kind of like the soul of a home.”
“Maybe,” he says, seeming a little reluctant.
As we pass an emerald-green sofa that looks too stiff—definitely not right for him—I arch a brow. “You don’t use couches?”
An image of his home springs fully formed in my mind, even though I’ve never seen the inside. But I bet it’s mostly chrome and nickel, angles and lines, clean surfaces, deliberately bare. With some…plants though. Yeah, he’s a plant guy. I just know it.
Before he can answer, I say, “Are you a total minimalist? Do you basically have a yoga mat and a couple of pillows in your living room and that’s that?”
I swallow the last word, like I can swallow the entire line of questioning. Need to be more careful. How would I know he does yoga if I wasn’t checking him out, catio style?
He shoots me a skeptical glance. “No, I do yoga on the back porch.”
The way he says it—so serious, like it’s a given—makes me roll my lips together to stop myself from blurting I know, I know. And even though I swore I wouldn’t look at him anymore, I peered out the catio window this morning and happened to spot him on his porch in those distracting yellow compression shorts again. But in my defense, I thought I heard the squawking of a great blue heron in my yard, and I’ve been dying to see one of those beauties up close. Turns out, the squawking was just a sound effect on the comedy podcast I was listening to. But you don’t want to take a chance when it comes to a great blue heron sighting.
“So, you do have a couch?” I ask.
He shrugs. “I don’t use it a lot.”
The picture of Ford sharpens a little more. “You probably don’t like to relax.”
His shoulders shift, stiffening a bit, but his blue eyes are sharp, trained on me. “You think I’m a neat freak who can’t relax, don’t you?”
I really need to be more professional. I cannot keep goading him, no matter how fun it is. “There’s nothing wrong with being busy,” I say carefully. “Not everyone’s into downtime, and that’s okay.”
“I like downtime,” he says, then flashes the barest of grins. “In Italy.”
I laugh. “Well played.”
His blue eyes sparkle, then he’s serious again as he says, “But this is for Mom and Dad. Mom’s a couch person. She likes to relax at the end of the workday. And she deserves to.”
It’s said with such affection and pride that my heart swells, along with my curiosity. “So you’re helping your parents set it up before they move in? They’re in Seattle, right?” I ask as I usher him past a few more baroque style sofas that are all wrong for his mid-century mom.
“As much as I can,” he says, adding matter-of-factly, “I bought it for them.”
I grab the arm of a gray sectional, stopping in my tracks. “You bought them the house?” I repeat. That’s big. Really big. I had no idea he’d bought it. I’d thought he was simply…overseeing the redo.
A smile shifts his lips. “I did. As a retirement gift. It’s all theirs.”
The breath escapes my lungs. That’s so generous. “Ford. That’s incredible,” I say, my voice breaking a bit.
“I always wanted to. I’m glad I could,” he says, full of a lovely earnestness that warms my heart.
“Always? Like it was a childhood dream?”
The dimple flashes, almost boyish this time. “Actually, yes. We had a small home growing up. My mom works in non-profits, but she actually works for them—she’s not just one of those rich ladies who goes to galas. Not that there’s anything wrong with that—we love rich ladies who go to galas and donate. But she works in donor services,” he says, then lifts a finger, his eyes twinkling. “You’d like her organization. They bring recycling and composting initiatives to communities all over the country, including here in San Francisco.”
My heart pitter patters. “Love it.”
“She travels a lot and organizes fundraisers, though she’s working on her last one. And my dad ran a hardware store. We didn’t have a ton of money or extra space growing up, and one day when I was maybe nine or ten, I had to sleep on the couch for a week when my mom’s sister came to visit. I told them that someday they wouldn’t have to worry about space. That someday I’d buy them a bigger home, one where they didn’t have to worry about the mortgage either.”