Ford had made it clear that he wasn’t on Anchor to stay. He was just another tourist passing through. But one who had the power to leave wreckage in his wake. And those ruins would be me. He wouldn’t even mean to do it, but I’d be destroyed all the same. It was happening already. Just those little glimpses of the banter we used to share, the comradery, the support. He’d give me those glimpses, maybe even a long, hard look, but then he’d take them with him when he left. And I would have to live with that hole in my chest all over again.

The hinges on the back door squeaked as it opened. I didn’t look to see who it was, just kept staring out at the ocean. There was no one in the bar that I particularly wanted to talk to at the moment. If I didn’t make eye contact, maybe they’d get the picture and leave me the hell alone.

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you who renovated the bar?”

Ford’s voice was rough, his tone a little bit pissed, a touch hurt. I could still read him like we hadn’t been apart for over a decade. I lifted a single shoulder and then let it fall. “What does it matter?”

He yanked out the chair next to me, the metal grating against the stone patio. “It matters to me.”

I kept my gaze trained on the water, saying nothing. Silence was my only armor. Each word I gave him would make it harder when he walked away, went back to his fancy LA life, and left my memories to dim.

Ford reached out his hand, snaking it under the table and resting it on mine, squeezing. The move took me by surprise, and I didn’t have a chance to sidestep it. Honestly, though, I wasn’t sure I would’ve tried. It was the first time he had touched me. The first physical comfort I’d gotten from him in eleven years. His palm seemed to burn my skin, searing itself there. I stared down at our hands. His looked different than I remembered, a little more weathered, tanner than before.

He squeezed again. “Bell…I want to fix things between us. I know it won’t be easy, but I’ll do whatever I can.” His jaw worked. “I miss my friend.”

I swallowed, a jumble of emotions gathering at the back of my throat. “Some things aren’t fixable.” It was physically painful to say that, as if each word were made of a ball of barbed wire. But it was the truth. A reality I’d learned the hardest way. There were just some things that couldn’t be fixed by any amount of apologies or superglue.

Ford’s hand spasmed around mine. “Please. You have to let me try.”