She went into the quiet house and tossed her bag onto a dining room chair, then headed straight to the kitchen to dump out a bottle of water she’d found on the floor of her car. One look out the window and her heart skipped a beat. There was Ford kneeling by one of the neglected flower beds, a mile-high pile of weeds on the ground. He was shirtless in the afternoon sun, and his back and shoulders gleamed with sweat.
She poured a glass of water, popped some ice into it, and opened the back door.
“Hey,” she called as she walked across the yard.
“Hi.” He stood and brushed dirt from his hands onto his shorts. She handed him the glass and he took a long drink.
“Look at all the work you’ve done out here. I can’t believe how good everything looks.” She went to put her arms around him, and he backed away.
“Sweaty-guy alert,” he told her. “You can thank me later.”
“And I will. Whatever possessed you to do this?” She was still in shock. Who just showed up in someone’s yard and pulled weeds?
“You mentioned that you wanted it done, and obviously you don’t have time to do it, but I did.” He raised his sunglasses and wiped his face with the back of his hand. “Besides, I thought it would make you smile, and it did. So, time well spent.”
“You … you …” She shook her head, unable to find the words. His simple, honest response had touched her heart. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He bent down and kissed the tip of her nose. “More to come after I get a shower …”
Dinner that night was takeout—and late.
The next morning, he surprised her again.
“Get up.” He stood over the bed, fully dressed, at six thirty.
“Why?” she grumbled.
“Because we have someplace to go.” He smacked her lightly on the rump. “Come on. Get your clothes on.”
She was still grumbling when she came into the kitchen and headed for the coffee machine.
“Uh-uh,” he told her. “Not today.”
“What? Are you crazy?”
“Possibly.” He took her hand and led her out the door.
“Where are we going?”
“You are playing hooky for a while this morning. Since I walked over yesterday, you’re going to have to drive.”
“Drive where?”
“To the inn.”
“Why?” She unlocked the car and got behind the wheel.
“Because.” There was that smug look again.
“All right. But there’d better be coffee …”
There was coffee, a thermos of it, fixed the way she liked it, tucked into the picnic basket that waited for them right inside the kitchen door. Ford picked up the basket, shouted his thanks to the chef, and took Carly by the hand. He led her down to the boathouse, where he told her, “This is going to be tricky.”
He dragged a double kayak into the water and motioned for her to hand him the basket.
“Get in,” he told her.
She took off her flip-flops, waded through the shallow water, tossed in her sandals, and climbed in after them. When she was seated, he passed the basket back to her.
“Don’t peek,” he told her.
“How am I going to paddle if I’m holding the basket?” she asked.
“I’m paddling. You’re going to keep a good grip on that basket. I have it on good authority that there’s some pretty good stuff in there.”
He walked the kayak farther into the water, got on board, and paddled out into the Bay. It was quiet on the water, and she heard every stroke of the paddle against the gentle waves. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back and let the breeze blow over her. She felt free and happy and knew there was no place in the world she’d rather be at that moment.
“Sure you don’t want to trade?” she asked. “You hold the basket and I’ll paddle.”
“No thanks. I want to get there this morning.”
She laughed and dragged one hand in the water as the kayak glided along the coastline.
“Do you actually have a destination in mind, or are you just winging it?”
“Don’t you worry about where we’re going.”
“Are we close?”
“Another five minutes.”
She readjusted the basket and was tempted to open the lid and take out that thermos, but she’d wait. Wherever they were headed, he’d obviously put some thought into it.
Finally, he directed the craft toward a cove, and once he rounded the bend, he asked, “Recognize this place?”
She started to reply, no, she’d never been there before, but the word died on her lips. There was something familiar about the narrow sandy beach, the pine trees.
Loblolly pines …
“Oh my God, this looks like …! This is the place!”
“Whoa! Calm down,” he told her. “You’re going to capsize us.”
She couldn’t contain her enthusiasm.
“It’s the place from Stolen Moments.”
“Damn, maybe I should have blindfolded you when I had the chance.”
“I’m sorry.” She laughed. “I’ll sit still. It’s just that … oh, how did you ever find it?”
“It’s Sunset Beach.” He hopped out and dragged the kayak toward the sand, then helped her out. “I used to come here a lot when I was younger. It was sort of my place.”
He set the basket on the beach and opened it.
“In case you were wondering why it was so heavy.” He took a blanket out and spread it on the sand. He placed the basket on the blanket and asked, “Are you ready for breakfast? Coffee first?”
“I’m … yes, please.”
He poured the dark liquid into a mug and handed it to her.
“Ford, this is the coolest, most thoughtful, most wonderful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
“I doubt that.” He tried to pass off her comment, but she could tell he was pleased by her reaction.
“No. I mean it. I can’t believe you planned this.”
“I thought it would make you happy,” he said simply. “I wanted to make you happy.” He leaned over and kissed her. “Because you make me happy. You went along with that stupid bet and you were so good-natured about losing and making me these wonderful dinners every night.” He took her hand. “I admit that I thought about saying, ‘oh, never mind,’ but then I wouldn’t have had an excuse to spend so much time with you.”
“You didn’t need an excuse. I …” She caught herself about to say, I loved every minute of it, and wondered if that was saying too much. She realized she didn’t care. “I loved every minute of it.”
“Me, too.” He cleared his throat as if surprised by his admission, then turned his attention to the basket. “I thought maybe a breakfast picnic was the way to go. You know, to show you how much I …” He appeared to be deliberating. “How much I appreciated that you were such a good sport.” He cleared his throat and added, “How much I appreciate you. Being with you.”
He opened the lid and started removing dishes. “I told the chef you liked yogurt and fruit in the morning.” He passed her a glass bowl covered with a red plastic lid. “And I thought you looked like a croissant kind of girl.”
The napkin he gave her held a flaky pastry filled with chocolate.
“Oh my God. My favorite thing in the world to eat.”
He beamed and set out the rest of their meal. Three egg-and-sausage sandwiches—two of them for him—a slice of quiche with bacon and Swiss chard, and a small container of raisins and walnuts. “For your yogurt,” he told her.
“Ford, this is just …” She was almost too touched to eat. “Thank you. I can’t think of anything else to say but thank you.”