The Sweetest Thing (16 page)

Christ, those eyes, Ford thought. The both of them were killing him. “It wasn’t easy,” he said, hoping to God that Mia believed
him. “And it wasn’t about us giving you up to make things better for us. It was about making things right for
you
.”

Tara had turned to blindly face the window, completely ignoring what she was cooking.

Ford imagined she was feeling sick over the same thing. Heartbreaking to hear that the child they’d given up was thinking
that it had been an easy fix. More heartbreak that she’d felt unwanted, even for a minute.

“I think I forgot to do the dishes this morning in the cottage,” Tara whispered. “I should go check.”

Ford would bet his last penny that she’d done every dish in the place and he stood to go to her, but, eyes glittering, mouth
grim, she shook her head.

They’d been kids when she’d gotten pregnant. Stupid kids. That was no longer the case, and yet the situation was bringing
back all the emotions from that time—the fear, the stress, the anxiety.

The utter helplessness.

And that overwhelming, ever-present, life-sucking guilt. Looking at Tara, Ford saw it all. He knew that she felt that they’d
done the right thing. She’d always felt that way. But any woman would still feel the pang of giving up her own flesh and blood.
She’d carried Mia, had been the one to feel her wriggle and kick, to feel her every hiccup.

And then had been left with little choice but to sign her away.

“I smell something burning,” Mia said, and pointed to the stovetop, which was now smoking.

Yep, something was burning all right. Ford stepped behind Tara, took the spatula out of her hand, and turned off the burner.
He carried the pan, and the blackened omelet in it, to the sink, where it hissed and smoked some more when he added cold water
to the mix.

“I burnt it,” Tara murmured.

“Yeah,” Mia said, eyeing the pan. “You killed it dead.”

“I never burn anything.”

“No biggie,” Mia said quietly. “I wasn’t that hungry anyway. Should I go?”

“No.” Tara straightened, seeming to come into herself again. “Mia, my burning breakfast was an accident. Like forgetting to
go to the dentist. Like running out of gas on the highway…” She paused and swallowed hard. “But having a baby, that would
never
be classified as an accident. Not by me. I want you to know that. I’m not good at this. At revisiting the past, or talking
about things that—I’m not good at emotions and feelings. But I want—I
need
you to know that I never thought of you as an accident. And I want you to stay.”

Mia didn’t look away as a myriad of emotions crossed her face. After a long beat, she swallowed hard. “Okay. Thanks.”

In the heavily weighted silence, Ford went to the refrigerator. Time for improvisation, and his eyes locked on a big, juicy-looking
strawberry pie. Worked for him.
He grabbed it, carrying the tin heaped with brilliant red strawberries and dripping with glaze to the table.

“That’s my Kick-Ass Strawberry Pie,” Tara said, surprised.

“Yes, and now it’s Kick-Ass Breakfast.” Ford pointed to the chairs. “Sit.”

Tara shocked him by actually following his direction. Mia followed suit, and he cut the pie into three huge thirds.

Tara choked. “I can’t feed our daughter strawberry pie for breakfast.”

“Why not?”

“Yeah,” Mia asked. “Why not?”

“Because…” Tara appeared to search for a reason. “It’s not healthy.”

“It’s got fruit,” Mia said.

Tara looked at her. The awkwardness was still there. The air was filled with it, as well as unspoken questions and answers.
But finally she nodded. Kick-Ass Breakfast it would be.

Mia gazed down at her third of the pie, her pretty hair sweeping into her eyes—which might be Ford’s own green but they were
guarded like Tara’s.

His daughter, he repeated to himself.
God
. His daughter. She was careful. Controlled. Smart. And when she reached up and impatiently shoved her hair out of the way,
he couldn’t hold back the smile.

“What?” she wanted to know.

“You remind me of Tara at your age,” he said. “Ready to tell us how you found us?”

“My dad helped me.”

Ford couldn’t help it: he flinched at the word
dad
, something he’d certainly never been to her. Tara met his gaze, and the understanding and compassion in her eyes were far
too much for him to take. Getting up from the table, he poured three glasses of cold milk.

“I’d tried to find you before,” Mia said, “but I couldn’t. Then when Phoebe Traeger died, she left me some money.” She looked
at Tara. “I’m sorry about your mom.”

“Thank you,” Tara said quietly. “You got the money around Thanksgiving.”

“Yes, and with it came a letter from her. She said she wasn’t supposed to make herself known to me. That she was breaking
rules and promises all over the place, but that she was dead and if people didn’t like it, they could suck it.
Her
words,” Mia added with a small smile. “She included your contact information in case I ever wanted it. For both of you.”
She paused. “I’ve always wanted it, but it took me a little while to find the nerve to do anything with it.” She looked at
Tara. “It said you lived in Texas, so I was surprised when I saw that ad to find out you were here.” She paused. “I have a
good life only half an hour from here. Two parents who love me very much. It should be enough.” She paused. “I wanted it to
be enough.”

“It’s natural to be curious,” Tara said quietly. “It’s okay to be curious.”

“Yeah, well, at first I told myself I didn’t care, about either of you.” Mia pushed a strawberry around on the plate. “You
gave me up, right? So I didn’t care. I wasn’t going to be curious. I refused to be, natural or not.”

Tara looked devastated. Ford reached for her hand and
gave it a squeeze. “I’m glad you changed your mind,” he said.

“Who says I did?”

“You’re here,” he pointed out. “That indicates a certain level of caring. Of curiosity.”

She sagged a little. “Yeah. I always was too curious for my own good.”

“And now that you’re here?” he asked. “What do you want to happen?”

Mia very carefully cut a large strawberry in half with her fork. “I realize I really should know, since I came to you, but
I don’t. At least not exactly.” She looked at Ford’s hand. He was still holding Tara’s fingers in his, and had been stroking
his thumb across her skin, soothing her without even realizing it.

“I know I’ve asked this already,” Mia said wryly. “But it really does seem like you two are together.”

Ford understood why she thought it. But he’d told himself it was about sex. Hell, Tara had told him as well. And he’d been
absolutely sure that’s all there could be. It was a self-protection thing. But when he met Tara’s gaze, that protection urge
turned to her, as she was revealing a heartbreaking vulnerability. She’d gotten hurt the last time they’d been together, much
more than he. It’d left her gun-shy, no doubt. He couldn’t blame her for that. She’d been the one to face the consequences
of their relationship.

“It’s hard to explain,” Tara said.

To say the least. Ford braced for Mia’s reaction, but she was as resilient as she was smart. She merely nodded and stood up.
“Can I borrow a computer?”

Tara looked confused. “Computer?”

“I want to go to Facebook and vote.” Mia turned to Ford. “I’m going to vote for you. It’d be nice to have my parents together.”

Tara turned to Ford. “She wants to vote for you,” she said faintly.

“That’s possible, right?” Mia asked. “You two getting together? You’re not going to give me a line of crap about how you care
about each other but it’s not in the cards or something, are you?” She drew a breath. “Or how you each want to live your own
lives, you have to be true to yourselves, you won’t be held back anymore—” She broke off and winced. “Sorry. Wrong kitchen.”

“Your parents are splitting,” Ford said.

Mia nodded.

Shit. Ford found himself wanting to reach for her, but she was vibrating with a very clear don’t-touch vibe, so in the end
he refilled her milk. It was all he could think of, but she clutched her refilled glass and smiled at him.

“Mia,” Tara breathed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Thanks.” Mia got to her feet. “So… a computer?”

“Mine’s in the small office behind the laundry,” Tara said after a beat. “Second door to the right.”

“Thanks.”

When she was gone, Tara moved to the sink to stare down at the blackened mess of an omelet pan. “I burned breakfast,” she
murmured. “Burned it black.”

Ford came up behind her. Like mother, like daughter, she was also sporting a don’t-touch vibe, but he walked
right through it and slid his hands to her hips. “You okay?”

Surprising him, she turned and faced him. “She’s… ours.”

“Yes.”

“I mean, did you get a good look at her? We did that. We made her,” she marveled.

“We did good.” He pulled her in close.

She swallowed hard, clearly fighting tears. “We did
really
good. God, it brings me back, you know?” She dropped her forehead to his chest. “Back to that time when it was all so messed
up.”

“I know.” He felt the same. Tara had spent the last five months of her pregnancy in Seattle. When she’d gone into labor, she
hadn’t wanted him there. He’d gone to the hospital anyway, though as far as he knew she’d never known he was there. He’d sat
in the waiting room by himself staring at the walls, agonizing over the hell she was going through for all those hours, terrified
for her.

Afterward, he’d spent more long hours just staring at their daughter through the nursery glass until they’d eventually carried
her away to deliver her to her new parents.

To her new life.

“When I had her,” Tara said, voice muffled against him, “it was so much harder than I thought it’d be. The pain. The worry.
I kept telling myself that it would be over soon, and then when it finally was, they asked if I wanted to hold her for a minute.
I had told myself no, no way could I do it and give her up, but I did. I took her.” She paused, lost in the memory. “It was
only for a second,
but she was awake. She opened her eyes and looked right at me and I knew,” she whispered. “I knew she was going to be beautiful.”
She pressed her lips together. “And for a minute, I didn’t think I could give her up.”

“Tara.” Ford pressed his forehead to hers and fought with the what-ifs.

“I’d made my decision, and I was okay with it,” she said, nodding as if to help convince herself. “It was just that when she
looked at me… God, those eyes. She still has your eyes, Ford. And her eyes—your eyes—they’ve haunted me for seventeen years.”

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“No, that’s you.”

Well, hell. It was.

“You were so good with her today,” she said and sniffed. “You knew just what to say, and I… I froze.”

“You did fine. It was a shock.” Ford slid his fingers in her hair and tugged lightly until she lifted her face to his.

Her eyes shimmered, and she gave him a small smile that reached across the years and all the emotions, and grabbed him by
the throat. As if it was the most natural thing in the world, he cupped her face and lowered his mouth to hers, just as Mia
came back into the room.

After an interminable beat of silence, she said, “I don’t know whether to cheer or be grossed out.”

“Did you find the computer?” Tara asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

“Yes.” Mia turned to Ford. “You’re up in the voting so far, but not by much. Maybe you should help a few ladies across the
street today if you get the chance.” She grabbed her plate of pie and paused, head cocked as she
studied the both of them. “Were you two really just about to kiss again?”

Tara winced. “Only a little bit.”

“But you’re
not
together,” Mia clarified.

Tara winced again. “No.”

Mia studied them both. “I don’t have any siblings, do I?”

T
ara introduced Mia to her aunts, and both Maddie and Chloe fawned all over her, loving her up. They’d all gone to dinner,
but not before Tara had called and checked in with Mia’s parents, giving Tara some peace of mind that they were really okay
with this.

With sharing their daughter.

Her
daughter.

Mia had warmed up to Maddie and Chloe easily, telling them all sorts of things about herself, like how she planned on being
a lawyer because she had a talent for arguing.

“You come by that honestly, honey,” had been Maddie’s response as she’d patted Tara’s hand. They’d all laughed except Mia,
who hadn’t looked as amused as everyone else to hear she took after Tara.

Later, after Mia had gone home and it was just Maddie,
Chloe, and Tara sharing some wine on one of the marina docks, Tara admitted her fear—that she and Mia wouldn’t connect. Maddie
assured Tara that Mia had only connected with Chloe and herself so quickly because they were aunts and not a birth mother,
and therefore had the benefit of not carrying any emotional baggage into the relationship.