Ford looked up sharply at that. You don't mean that was his first thought, because he'd spent so long thinking that about every little thing Macnair did that sparked that fire in Ford's chest. None of his old excuses held up, though. Initially he'd dismissed Macnair's gestures and words as just thoughtless things, empty, made only because they were absent of the context Ford couldn't help but see them in. His confession Saturday, however, meant Macnair had to know what he'd said, and the way Ford would hear it. The only other similar comment he'd made since the club had been I trust you, and Ford had dismissed that because he'd been in pain and probably not thinking clearly. He didn't have that excuse now, either. So two possibilities remained: either Macnair had deliberately chosen to say that knowing how it would make Ford feel, laying it out like a trap (and Ford could not truly believe he had it in him to be so malicious and conniving as that)... or he meant it.
Did Ford want to believe he meant it? What would that mean, if he did? What would they do about it?
"I should get back," he blurted out, although they'd been in the foyer together for less than a minute. "My sister might be done with her dance by now and looking for me."
Did Ford want to believe he meant it? What would that mean, if he did? What would they do about it?
"I should get back," he blurted out, although they'd been in the foyer together for less than a minute. "My sister might be done with her dance by now and looking for me."
Set by Lady!