I chuckled. “They’re just so pretty.” I said “pretty” as if it were a dirty word. The photos I’d seen of Ford’s clubs were beautiful, but they were too perfect, everything sleek and matching. I needed something with a little more soul.

Ford’s grin turned into a smirk. “You looked me up.”

I shrugged. “I might’ve given you a Google.”

He barked out a laugh. “That sounds like something dirty.”

“Trust me, if Googling was dirty, I wouldn’t be doing it to you.”

There was a quick flare of heat in Ford’s eyes before he hid it. A flame that had my stomach dipping like I was on a rollercoaster. Not once in all the time we’d spent together had I ever seen any hint of attraction, any sign that he saw me as anything but an honorary kid sister. The briefest flicker of hope tried to take root in my belly, and I immediately locked it down. I was not going there. Couldn’t for many reasons. I forced my gaze away from Ford’s broad shoulders and stubbled jaw.

His throat cleared. “I really did mean it. You did an amazing job with the bar. I might have to hire you away. Bring you to LA for my next project.”

“You couldn’t afford me, and I can’t say I’m dying to visit a city where half the residents have plastic in their faces.” Okay, so I was a little bitter. But it almost felt like Los Angeles was the city that had stolen Ford away. I wasn’t eager to stroll its streets.

Ford laughed. “It’s not that bad. There’re lots of little hidden gems only longtime locals know about, and you can’t beat the view from my house.”

“And the access to swimsuit models.”

“I won’t lie and say that’s a hardship.”

I threw up my hands with a sound of disgust. “Men.”

“What can I say, we’re visual creatures. We like looking at pretty things.”

I just shook my head and turned back to the ocean.

“So, how are your parents?”

The question had the bit of ease that had slipped into my muscles fleeing again. “They’re the same.” Nothing and no one would ever change Bruce and Heather Kipton. Not even the death of one daughter, and the fleeing of the other. Everything would always be someone else’s fault. They would never consider looking around to see if they might be the cause of anything.

“They still on the island?”

“Yeah. Dad still has his practice, and Mom’s still organizing events for whatever charity she’s into this month.”

“You see them much?”