Chapter 7

Ashley

I'm wandering the aisles of the local thrift store. Not buying anything because even secondhand, most of it is out of my budget. Mostly because I don't have a budget. You need money for that. Still, I'm having fun. Trailing behind Ford and Felicity, listening to her jabber excitedly whenever she sees something that strikes her fancy.

There was a prom dress a few aisles back that had left her just speechless. Finally, after the longest time, she'd whispered one single word: princess. I'm pretty sure that in the back of my closet, I have a couple of old bridesmaids' dresses and maybe even a cocktail dress that might make suitable princess wear for her.

I'm smiling to myself as I think about how happy that would make her. And—full disclosure—if it gets me a few more minutes with the hot single dad that's just a bonus. I don't have to feel guilty about that, I reason. I'm not being nice to her just to get close to him. I genuinely adore the kid. She's sweet and smart and funny and so damn loveable I have a hard time imagining how anyone could ever be mean to her. When I think about what Ford said, about what her life was like when she was still with her mom, it makes me want to cry. Then it makes me want to go beat someone's ass.

Up ahead, Ford checks the time on his phone. "Fee, they're gonna close in half an hour. I think we need to wrap it up."

She stops and looks down at the movies in her hands. There are two—one Pixar that I remember seeing a million years ago, and some princess movie I've never heard of. "Can I get them both?" she asks.

Ford sighs. "Sure. That's fine."

The movies are only a couple of bucks each, but I get it. A couple of bucks is a big deal right now. At least it would be for me.

We make our way to the cashier counter and Ford puts the movies up there. The girl rings it up and he hands her a five-dollar bill. Cash. And I know that's significant. Ford gets a regular paycheck from the garage. But I also know he's doing some cash work on the side—things that probably aren't exactly legal. Of course, he doesn't have any other choice in the matter. Things are tight and he's got that sweet little girl counting on him. I'd break a few laws too, if I had to.

Ten minutes later, we're back in Ford's SUV heading for the trailer park. "You know, Felicity, I've got some dresses at home that we could probably turn into princess dresses for you. It wouldn't take much. You want to go take a look at them?" I ask her.

Ford glances at me and then into the rear-view mirror where she's all but beaming at him from the backseat. "You don't have to do that," he says.

"No, you're right," I reply. "I don't. But I'm going to all the same. Why don't you guys come over to my place and I'll put supper together for us tonight. Nothing fancy, but there'll be plenty of it. Then we can check out those dresses."

He nods. "Thank you, Ashley. I know Felicity will love them."

I know she will too. More importantly, I know that it's going to do my heart good to give them to her. She needs a little bit of pretty in her life and I get that. I get it maybe more than anyone else ever will. Because when I was a kid, I was a whole lot like Felicity. Oh, my mom didn't abuse me, but she sure as hell neglected me. And my dad? Well, he wasn't like Ford. He didn't care enough about me or anyone else to ever put them first.

Dinner was just tacos. I cooked and Ford insisted on washing the dishes. I won't complain about that. Does it feel shockingly domestic? Oh, yeah. Does it feel like something I could get used to? I don't want to answer that question. If I do, then I have to acknowledge that this thing I have for him isn't just physical.

Felicity is in my bed watching one of her new DVD's. It's the same ancient TV/DVD combo I had in my room when I was a teenager. I'm a little embarrassed by the number of times we watched Twilight on that thing.

I head down the hall and peek in. I have to stifle a laugh. She's wearing one of the "princess" dresses and she's dead asleep. Mouth hanging open, arms and legs spread out so far no one else could ever hope of fitting into that bed with her. But she looks peaceful. He's given her that. And maybe I've given her a little bit of it too.

When I walk back into the kitchen, Ford's drying the last of the dishes. "She's out," I tell him. "Cold."

He laughs. "Yeah, when she crashes, she crashes hard. Sorry about that. I'll wake her up and take her home."

"Let her sleep a while," I suggest. "She had a big day. Dressing up like a princess is hard work."

"She'd know. It's a daily occurrence in our house."

"There's a new comedy special streaming tonight," I offer. "You could hang out and watch it with me … if you want to."

He folds the dish towel and drapes it over the center of the sink. "If I stay here with you, we won't be watching a comedy special. You know that, right?"

"I'm sort of counting on it. I've been thinking about that kiss in the front seat of your car since it happened … and I'd been imagining kissing you from the moment we met."

He moves toward me, each step slow and deliberate, like he thinks I might change my mind. Not going to happen. I need this. I think maybe I need him. When he gets close enough, I just launch myself at him. His hands are on my hips, pulling me in closer and then his lips are on mine. It's hot. Scorching.

I don't even realize he's been walking me toward the couch until I fall backwards onto it, and he comes down on top of me. Ford might be lean, but he's solid muscle. Everything about him is rock hard. And I do mean everything.

I lock my legs around his hips, pulling him closer.

He drags his mouth away from mine, but only to kiss my neck. His teeth scrape over my skin in a way that makes me shiver. Then he's pulling my hair—just hard enough. His other hand slides beneath my shirt, his hand cupping my breast while his fingers tease my nipple through the thin lace of my bra.

I can't say what it is that makes him stop. I'm so dazed I don't even know what's happening. All of a sudden, he's sitting up and putting distance between us.

Then I hear it. A soft whimper from the bedroom. Immediately, Ford is on his feet heading straight for her. And then Felicity cries out for her daddy, and the fear in her voice is like a bucket of ice water being thrown on me. And even as Ford is rushing down the hall toward her, he looks back at me. His eyes aren't hot when they land on me. They're full of guilt. I'm pretty sure mine are too.