I shook my head. “I’m getting too old.”

“Plenty of people have kids into their forties now. You’re really hung up on numbers, aren’t you? Twelve years is too much of an age difference. Thirty-seven is too old to have a baby.”

There was more truth to that than he knew. Eve was the only person I’d ever admitted the truth about Ryan’s cheating to.

I rolled over on the blanket and faced Ford. “Ryan cheated on me with a twenty-year-old.”

Though years had passed now, it was almost as difficult to say those words today as back when it happened.

A look of understanding crossed Ford’s face. He nodded. “Your ex is really a dick.”

I smiled sadly. “That, he is.”

We were quiet for a while, but stayed on our sides, facing each other. The beach was emptying out, though I had no desire to leave just yet, and it seemed Ford didn’t either.

“How about you? Do you want kids someday?”

Ford had removed his hand from my back when I’d turned over, but now he rested it on my waist. His touch felt natural and comforting. He stroked the dip of my waistline with his thumb. “I’m not sure. I already have a nineteen-year-old, and that’s not too much fun.”

I smiled. “You’re good with her. I think you’d be a great dad.”

“Oh yeah?”

I nodded.

He skimmed his hand down from my waist, up and over my hip to my thigh. Goosebumps broke out all over my body, even lying in the warm sun.

“You know what I’m good at?”

“What?”

He leaned in and rubbed his nose with mine. “Practicing to make babies.”

I grinned. “Is that so?”

He nodded. “You know what else is true?”

“What?”

“There’s no better way to get back at your douche of an ex-husband for sleeping with a twenty-year-old than having a summer fling with a younger man.”

Chapter 14

* * *

Valentina

I hadn’t seen Ford since Sunday evening on the beach. He’d left early the next morning for his office in the city, and we’d only exchanged a few quick texts in the days since. But when I pulled up from getting groceries an hour ago, his car had been parked in the driveway. I hated that I went right upstairs and fixed my hair, before even unpacking the bags.

And let’s not even talk about how excited I got when my phone buzzed. My head had been in the refrigerator, trying to decide what to make for dinner, and I jumped and banged it on the freezer door. My damn pulse took off like a runaway train as I nabbed the phone from the counter, and that was before I’d even confirmed who sent a text.

Ford: What are you doing?

Valentina: Trying to figure out what to make for dinner. You?

Ford: Thinking about going to that tasting at the new restaurant that opened in town.

I’d seen the grand opening signs a few weeks ago. The place had a seven-course tasting menu, which was right up my alley. I acted coy, trying to pull off that I hadn’t been constantly watching the window the last few days to see if he was back.

Valentina: Oh. Are you back in Montauk?

Ford: Got in about an hour ago.

More like an hour and fifteen minutes ago, but who’s counting?

Before I could respond, another text arrived.

Ford: What do you say? Wanna go?

I nibbled on my bottom lip.

Valentina: Is Bella going?

Ford: Nope. Just us.

God, I wanted to. I soooo wanted to.

Valentina: Ford...

I laughed at his response.

Ford: Valentina…

Another text came in.

Ford: Can’t two people enjoy each other’s company and share a meal together?

Valentina: So it’s not a date?

The tiny dots jumped around. Then stopped. Then started again.

Ford: We can call it whatever makes you happy. Just come enjoy a meal with me.

Maybe I was being ridiculous. Friends can eat together.

Valentina: Okay. Just two friends going out to eat together. I guess it’s no different than Eva and me.

Ford: If you say so. I didn’t know you sucked face with your best friend at the end of the night. But that’s cool. ;) See you in twenty minutes.

***

Ford stood on my front porch with an enormous bouquet of flowers, similar to the ones he’d left on my doorstep not too long ago. I opened the screen door.

“Ummm. I thought this wasn’t a date.”

He stepped inside, stopping to lean in and kiss my cheek. Damn. He smelled good, too.

“Dating would imply a relationship, and we’ve already established that’s out. That doesn’t mean I can’t buy you flowers and a nice meal before we have sex.”

I arched a brow. “I didn’t agree to have sex with you. I agreed to dinner.”

He smirked. “Not yet. But wait until you see how charming I am on our date tonight.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “I need to get my purse from upstairs. Give me a minute.”

***

Our dinner of seven, small tasting portions was delicious, and our conversation never had a moment’s lull. We talked about Ford’s work, how he’d decided to go forward with converting more of the self-storage business to office space, and how I’d started to look for teaching positions so I’d be ready when I got my results. We’d been sitting at a table for more than two hours, and I could have sat there for two more.

“What do you say we go over to the pub across the street and have a drink?”

I nodded. “I’d like that. Why don’t we get the check? I’m sure the waiter wants to put other people in our seats by now anyway.”

Ford stood and held out his hand to help me up. “Already done. I paid the bill when I went to the men’s room a little while ago.”

“What? Why?”

“Because otherwise you’d argue with me that we should split it so you could continue to pretend we’re not on a date.”

I squinted at him. “We’re not on a date.”

He gave my hand a tug, pulling me to my feet. “Right. Not a date.”

“It’s not.”

He winked as he laced his fingers through mine. “Absolutely. And I’m not going to stare at your ass in those tight jeans when I open the restaurant door for you to walk through first, either.”

I squinted. “You’re an ass.”

He brought our joined hands up to his lips for a kiss. “Maybe. But I’m an ass with the hottest date in the room.”

***

My not-a-date date got carded.

I think that might’ve been a first.

Worse, the flirty bartender took one look at me and asked what I wanted to drink. At least pretend we might look like we were born in the same decade if you’re going to question whether my date is over twenty-one. Humor me.

Uh. Wait. I’m not on a date.

Whatever.

The bar was packed. I’d only ever come here for lunch, so I had no idea it got this way on a Thursday night. I looked around, pretty certain I was one of the oldest, if not the oldest, person in the room.

“Stop overthinking shit,” Ford whispered in my ear.

While we waited for our drinks, I finished scanning the bar full of twenty-somethings and turned back to Ford. “The bartender thinks I’m your mother.”

Apparently, he found my anxiety amusing.

He grinned. “You think so?”

I scowled at him. “It’s not funny.”

“No. But if that’s what they think…then this sure as hell is.”

He hooked one of his hands around my neck and tugged me toward him. His still-grinning mouth slammed down on mine, and he kissed me until I forgot about everyone else around us. My fingers curled into his shirt as he broke our connection.

He pulled back only enough to look into my eyes. “Might as well give ’em something to talk about if they’re gonna talk.”

People were jockeying for standing-room-only spots at the bar to order. Ford took my hand, and we snaked through the crowd, trying to find somewhere to sit. Two people in a quieter corner were getting up, so we stood nearby to snag the table.

Just as we got seated, a burst of laughter erupted throughout the bar. It was the third time it had happened since we walked in—it sounded like everyone had just listened to the same joke, but we weren’t in on it. Our table had an iPad mounted on it, and we soon realized what everyone was snickering over. There was a bar-wide game of trivia going on—sex trivia, to be specific.

A waitress walked over and put down two coasters and napkins. “Just drinks or would you like to see a bar menu?”

“Just drinks.” Ford held up his full beer. “But we’re all set for now.”

“If you want in on the next game, there’s a twenty-dollar entry fee. The last game just finished up, so the new one should start in a few minutes. Winner splits the kitty fifty-fifty with the bar. We do it every summer as a breast cancer fundraiser—a hundred percent of the bar’s cut is donated.”

Ford dug a wad of cash out of his pocket and handed her a twenty. “We’re in.”

When the waitress walked away, he looked at me. “Think you’re better at sex trivia than me?”

Who would claim not to be better at such a game? “Of course.”

He grinned. “How about a small side bet, then?”

“What are we betting?”

He rubbed his chin. “If I win, you go out on a real date with me—one where I take you to a nice restaurant and you don’t pretend it’s not a date.”

“And if I win?”