Nearly twelve hours later, and she still couldn’t get the damn thing off her mind.
She didn’t believe in marriage. Simple as that. Even living together was fraught with pitfalls. For God’s sake, she’d barely gotten used to him telling her he loved her, to believing it. She hadn’t finished her house, or opened her business. She’d gotten as far as she had while being harassed for months.
Didn’t she have enough on her mind? Didn’t she have enough to do without having an engagement ring weighing down her pocket, and the worry of not knowing when Ford might say, “Well?” preying on her mind?
“Hello?”
“Cilla?”
At the voices, Cilla simply banged her head repeatedly on the cabinet door. Perfect, she thought, just perfect. Patty and Ford’s mother. Icing on her crumbling cake.
“Here you are,” Patty said. “Hard at work.”
Cilla watched as two pairs of eyes zoomed straight in on the third finger of her left hand. And watched two pairs of eyes cloud with disappointment. Great, now she was responsible for bringing sorrow into the lives of two middle-aged women.
“We were hoping you’d have a few minutes to talk about the menu for the party,” Patty began. “We thought we could do at least some of the shopping for you, store the supplies since you don’t have a place for them yet.”
You were hoping for more than that, Cilla thought. “Let’s get this out of the way. Yes, he asked me. Yes, the ring is absolutely beautiful. No, I’m not wearing it. I can’t.”
“It doesn’t fit?” Penny asked.
“I don’t know. I can’t think about it. I can’t not think about it. It was damn sneaky of him,” she added with some heat. “I appreciate- No, I don’t just appreciate the two of you coming here like this, but I’m trying to understand why you would. I’ve got enough on my mind already, enough on my head, and he adds this. I don’t even know if he listened to what I said, if he’s getting the reasons why…” She trailed off.
He doesn’t listen, Angie had said of their father, not when he’s decided to do something. He pretends to listen, then does what he was going to do anyway.
“Oh, God. God, isn’t that perfect? He’s Dad. He’s Dad with a layer of nerd. Solid, steady, chipping away so patiently, you don’t even know you’ve had your shields hacked down until you’re defenseless. It’s the type.”
“You’re not in love with a type, you’re in love with a man,” Penny corrected. “Or you’re not.”
Ford’s mother, Cilla reminded herself. Be careful there. “I love him enough to give him time to consider all the reasons this won’t work. I don’t want to hurt him.”
“Of course you’ll hurt him. He’ll hurt you. It’s all part of being connected to someone. I wouldn’t want a man I couldn’t hurt. I sure as hell wouldn’t marry one who couldn’t hurt me.”
Baffled, Cilla stared at Penny. “That makes absolutely no sense to me.” “If and when it does, I think you’ll be ready to see if the ring fits. I think your cabinets are beautiful, and they’re giving me cabinet lust. Why don’t we find somewhere to sit down, go over this menu for a few minutes. Then we’ll get out of your way.”
Cilla sighed. “Maybe he’s not so much my father’s type. Maybe he’s you.”
“No, indeed. I’ve always been so much meaner than Ford. Let’s sit out there.” Penny pointed out the window. “Under that blue umbrella.”
When Penny sailed out, Patty stepped closer to slip an arm around Cilla’s waist. “She loves her boy. She wants him happy.”
“I know. So do I.”
MAYBE SHE SHOULD make a list, Cilla considered. Reasons for and reasons against taking the ring out of the box. She depended on lists, diagrams, drawings in every other area of her life. Surely it made sense to utilize one before making such a huge decision.
The against list would be the easy part, she thought as she scooped up some post-workout, pre-workday Special K. She could probably fill pages with those items. She could, in fact, write a freaking book, as many others had, on the Hardy women.
To be fair, there were a number for the pro side. But weren’t they primarily, even exclusively, emotion-driven? And weren’t her emotions twisted up with nerves because she was waiting-as he damn well knew- for him to stroll up to her at any point in any day and say, "Well?”
Which he hadn’t, not once, in days.
So she jumped, nearly bobbled her bowl of cereal, when he strolled in. “Too much coffee?” he suggested, and poured himself a bowl of Frosted Flakes. Spock dashed straight in to attack his dog feeder. “How do you eat that stuff? It looks like little twigs.”
“As opposed to your choice, the vehicle for sugar?”
“Exactly.”
Not only up at six in the morning, she thought, but cheerful and bright-eyed. And she knew he’d worked late. But he was up, dressed and eating Frosted Flakes because he insisted on walking her across the road, hanging out until some of the crew arrived.
Would that sort of thing go on the for or against list?
“You know I’m not going to be attacked crossing the road at six-thirty in the morning.”
“Odds are against it.” He smiled, ate.
“And I know you worked late last night, and find it unnatural to be up at this hour of the morning.”
“Had a good run, too. You know, I’m finding that I can get a lot done by round-about noon most days with this routine. A habit which I intend to shed like a bad suit in what I hope is the near future. But right now?”
He paused to shovel in more Tony the Tiger. “It’s working. I should have ten chapters fully inked by the end of today and have time to put a couple of new teaser panels up on my website.”
“Happy to help, but-”
“You’re looking for the negative. I like that about you because it pushes me to look on the brighter side of things-sides I might’ve missed or taken for granted otherwise. You remind me I love what I do. And loving what I do, it’s interesting to do more of it than usual for a space of time. And to pay us both back for all this industry, I’ll be taking us to the Caymans-a favorite place of mine-right about the middle of January, where we’ll soak up sea and sand while our neighbors are shoveling snow.”
“I’ll be finishing up two flips. I-”
“You’ll have to make time in your schedule. We can always bump sun and sea to February. I’m easy.”
“Not nearly as much as you pretend to be.” She opened the dishwasher to load in her bowl, spoon, mug. “You’re a slow leak, Ford.”
His eyes continued to smile as he scooped up cereal. “Is that what I am?”
“A slow leak, unchecked, eventually eats through just about anything. Stone, metal, wood. It doesn’t make much noise, and it’s a long way from the big gushing flood. But it gets the job done.”
He shook his spoon at her. “I’m going to take that as a compliment. Kitchen counter’s coming in today, right?”
“This morning. Then Buddy’s on for the finish plumbing this afternoon. ”
He tucked his breakfast dishes in with hers. “Big day. Let’s get started. Walk!” he said, lifting his voice, and Spock raced in to run in circles.
She walked out with them, then stopped just to look at the Little Farm. Summer thrived over the grounds, lushly green. The big red barn stood, its practical lines softened by the curve of the stone wall, the textures of the plantings. She could see a hint of the pond, with the last vapors of dawn still rising, with the graceful bow of a young willow dipping. Back to the fields, wild with thistle and goldenrod, back to the mountains stretched across the morning sky.
And the house, the centerpiece, rambling and sturdy, with its white veranda, and its front wall half painted in warm and dignified blue.
“I’m glad my father talked me into painting the exterior ahead of schedule. I had no idea how much satisfaction it would give me to see it. When the painting’s finished, it’ll be like a strong old character actress after a really good face-lift.”