Written on Her Heart (13 page)

“Ow!” Ford rubbed his bicep.

“First of all, I had only one class with him my freshman year, first semester, and we didn’t start dating until the summer. We ran into each other a few times off campus and got to talking. We hit it off, and one day I went to see him at his office. We ended up having coffee afterward. We’ve been together since.” She hated that she felt the need to defend him but did so anyway. “He’s a really good guy, you know.”

“Mm-hmm, I’m sure he is. He doesn’t think you can cut it as a writer, but sure, great guy.”

“I hardly said that. Thinking I should graduate and get a job isn’t unheard of, you know. And getting an agent, a deal and making a good living writing novels is practically as hard as winning the lottery, so his stance is understandable.”

“Your defensiveness only confirms I’m right.”

Andi shifted in her seat. “I’m not defensive.”

“Just a little.” Ford squinted and held out his thumb and index finger an inch a part.

“He’s just different than you and I. He’s a realist. And I’m a dreamer. Anyone who wants to be an artist of some sort or do something creative has this burning need non-artist types don’t quite get.” She waved a hand in the air between them. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Let’s change the subject.”

Ford took off his ball cap, raked a hand through his hair, then replaced it. “You’re only twenty-one. How old is Peter?”

Andi rolled her eyes. That wasn’t the change in subject she wanted.

“You sound like either a protective father or jealous boyfriend,” she said, immediately regretting her words. She bit the inside of her cheek but Ford didn’t seem to notice so she continued, “He’s twenty-eight.”

Ford curled his lower lip. “Twenty-eight and he’s a fulltime professor at Ohio State? Pretty impressive. Those jobs aren’t too easy to come by.” He took a drink of his soda, eyeing her over the rim. “He’s, what, seven years older than you? So you don’t have a problem with dating above your age?”

Andi choked on her drink. The telltale heat of blush bloomed in her cheeks. “Uh, not that it’s any of your business but I suppose not. I don’t know … love is love, I guess. And I’m twenty-one. It’s not
that
much of a difference.”

“And you’re in love with him?” His gaze searched her face.

Andi opened and closed her mouth like a fish. How did they get to this point in the conversation? “I, uh…”

Ford’s burning, golden-brown eyes scorched through her while she floundered, wondering why it was so hard for her to answer the simple question. But he had a way of jumbling her thoughts and confusing her.

“Uh, yes. I do,” she answered. “Love him.”

Ford nodded but said nothing. Then, after a few moments of silence, he asked, “Do you know much about sailing?”

Andi exhaled her pent-up breath and shook her head. “My parents couldn’t afford a sailboat. Rachel’s family was into boating a bit, but they reserved their private yacht for family and business.” Andi rolled her eyes, hating the small delight that came of saying something negative to Ford about Rachel, even if it was in regards to her family.

“Well, you live by the water. It’s about time you learned.” Ford stood and moved to the sails. He pulled on the rigging, changing the direction of the sails and tightening them down. “
Right now, we’re sailing at what you would call a close reach. We’ve turned about sixty degrees off the wind, which is why I pulled the sheets tighter. See how the sails are more in line with the boat now?” He squinted into the sun as he nodded toward the sails. “The wind is pulling the boat instead of pushing it. We’re going to change course, haul it in and dock at Ashtabula harbor. I thought we could get some lunch there at the Lakeside Diner. I’ve heard it’s a nice little place.”

Andi nodded. “It is.”

“Good. Do you want to help? I’ll show you.” Ford nodded to the sails, then stepped forward and reached his hand out.

She hesitated before clasping it in hers and standing. Her stomach cartwheeled. From his touch or the thought of sailing, she wasn’t sure.

“What do I do?” she asked, hating the breathless sound of her voice.

“Here.” He gripped her waist and shifted her body. “Stand right here.”

He moved further behind her, took her hands and placed them on the lines of the sails, showing her the motions of changing tack. “You’ll need to prepare the jib sheets. Remember what I told you about tacking?”

Andi nodded and bit her lip. With his warm body pressed against her back, she couldn’t think. She had no idea what he’d just told her or what she was supposed to do. She was nothing but senses. The perfect way his body felt against her own. The feel of his hands, strong and warm. The brush of his arms, muscles flexing…

She closed her eyes, her palms growing clammy.
Stop.

“I’m going to tell you when, but just before I start the turn, this sheet must be released during the tack, and the other sheet quickly brought in as the jib crosses over to the other side. You just pull it in and do it as quickly as you can. Think you can do it?”

No
.

Andi opened her eyes. “Yes,” she croaked out. “I watched you before.”

A slow grin spread over Ford’s face before he turned and moved down the length of the boat, leaving Andi alone. A chill shook her, and she suddenly felt naked without him there.

He stopped behind a small glass shield above the cabin and yelled over the whipping wind, “Okay, start. Now!”

She watched as he began turning the wheel on the sailboat, knowing it was her turn. “I can do this,” she whispered into the wind, then yanked on the lines, releasing one sheet and moving the other over.

The boat turned, slowly at first, until the sails caught the air, billowed, then extended. The speed immediately picked up. Andi glanced back at Ford, who stared out into the water until the lines of concentration in his forehead melted away.

Growing up in Callaway Cove, Andi had been out on the water many times—in fishing boats, speedboats and small johnboats—but never before had she actually driven any of them. She understood now why Ford loved sailing so much. Being behind the sails and manipulating them was a heady thing. She loved the feel of the wind against her skin, loved the power it gave the boat. There was something freeing about having only nature and your own hands to guide you. It was easy to imagine how a broken, lost kid could find himself on the deck of a boat and fall in love.

“Not bad,” Ford said from behind her.

Turning, he took a lock of her hair and tucked it behind her ear. She sucked in a sharp breath, trembling slightly at the unexpected shock of his touch.

“You cold?” he asked, his voice soft.

She shook her head, her gaze trailing the smooth lines of his lips. Would they be as soft as they looked?
He moved his fingers to her mouth and she fought the urge not to kiss them. Closing her eyes, she took a step back, recognizing the danger in her thoughts.

Turning to the water, she stared out into the dark blue, pretending something had caught her eye when all she saw was him....

#

For the next hour, they spoke of Callaway Cove, the area’s history and their favorite books and movies, steering clear of intimate conversation. Andi pointed out landmarks as she saw them from the boat, and when they came up on Ashtabula harbor, Ford announced they were going to port.

Andi met the direction of his gaze as they approached the wooden pilings of the docks, where she could make out the bait shop and the marina. The boat slowed and came to a stop. Once secured, they stepped onto the docks and walked to the buildings just off the water to the Lakeside Café.

They took a window seat in the tiny restaurant, one with a view of the lake and harbor only yards away. They ordered their food while Ford talked to Andi about creating her own website and blog, one that would help her build awareness and, possibly, a fan base prior to getting published. They discussed social media and its role in publishing and marketing, with Andi soaking up Ford’s advice and viewpoints like a sponge.

Twenty minutes later, the waitress set their sandwiches in front of them then left. The diner was nearly empty, as it was too late for breakfasters and too early for lunch patrons. Andi stared down at her food, wondering how she could get anything down with this jittery feeling in her stomach and her mind drifting to places it had no business going—namely, the man in front of her.

Ford took a bite of his Rueben and chewed, watching her. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

Andi rubbed the back of her neck. “Sure, of course.” She took a small bite of her sandwich and, fearing the next revolution, swallowed.

Ford leaned back in his seat. “You’re different. I could tell in the interview, but these last couple days… There’s just something … I don’t know … special about you.”

Andi frowned, loving yet hating where this was going. “You don’t even know me, really.”

“On the contrary, I think I have a pretty good idea who you are.”

Andi sighed and shook her head. This needed to stop. He needed to stop, whatever it was he was doing to her, or trying to do.

“Let’s hear it then,” she said, raising her brow in challenge. He would get it all wrong, and that would prove to him just how little he knew about her.

“Okay.” He paused and took another bite of his food, then began. “You’re smart and not afraid to show it. You mostly see the good in life and the best in people, giving them the benefit of the doubt even when they don’t deserve it. Not much upsets you but when it does, I bet you really blow, because it’s something that has hurt you from the inside out. You like control, things to fit perfectly into place in your life, which is part of what makes your drive for writing so strong. You can’t see things any other way, and you are bound and determined to have things the way you want them, no matter the cost.”

No matter the cost? Was that what was happening with Peter?

Andi glanced away, unable to look at him, not wanting to confirm his assessment and hoping he might stop.

“Your family and friends are important to you. You wear your heart on your sleeve and your emotions, as well, which is why you’re so easy to read. And there’s this spark about you, this fire that can’t be fabricated. I’ve never seen in anyone this thing I see in you.” He paused and glanced at her. “How am I doing so far?”

Andi glared at him, her mouth tight. She tried to ignore his last words, willing the fluttering in her stomach to go away. “You’re wrong,” she said, but even she could hear the waver in her voice that told him he was right. And no matter how much she denied it, she liked that he saw something special in her, something no one else did.

“Your one downfall, your one flaw, is your obsession with making a name for yourself. Getting published isn’t enough. There’s a certain level of success you want and you won’t stop until you get it. This is what will get in the way of your relationships, and it’s something an insecure man won’t be able to handle.”

Andi froze. It was something she had secretly worried about—that her ambition would cause waves in her relationships—and it was something she feared was causing problems with Peter now.

She said nothing, swallowing down the knot of fear that Ford had caused to grow with his observations. Several silent minutes passed with both of them staring out into the water, their minds drifting.

“What kind of books do you want to write?” Ford asked, turning his attention back to his plate.

The question brought her back to reality. “Romance.”

“Ah, fairytales.”

At her narrowed eyes, he said, “I’m not judging. All writers, myself included, create whole worlds to give people a reprieve from their real lives. That’s what I do, too.”