Isabel said as she walked next to Ford. She wasn’t sure which was more difficult to deal with—the feel of his fingers laced with hers, or the fact that they were in the middle of the End of Summer Festival, surrounded by pretty much everyone they knew. It was only a matter of time until someone noticed the handholding and commented on it. Worse, she couldn’t help liking the warmth of his light touch, the way their shoulders brushed occasionally. Being around Ford made her feel good—it just wasn’t enough to counteract the compelling need to vomit. “What was your best idea?” he asked. “What?” “You said this wasn’t your best idea. What was?” She turned and stared at him. He wore jeans and a T-shirt and had on mirrored sunglasses. He looked good. Better than good—he looked fit and sexy and dangerous. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” she said, staring at tiny images of herself reflected in the lenses. For her faux-relationship debut she’d gone with a blue summer dress.
