Page 101 of Shades of Silver City

Pausing, I turn back around to face him. His nostrils flare, and he licks his lips before looking away.

“I meant…what are you wearing?” He gestures toward my outfit, and I look down. “Did you go through my things again?”

Embarrassment floods my face as I realize I’m dressed in his boxer briefs and another one of his shirts.

Then I remember that the few items I packed got stolen from his friend’s car. I incline my chin and shoot him a challenging look. “What else was I supposed to wear?”

He looks taken aback. “I sent you clothes.”

That he did. Or rather, he filled the closet in the guest room with a plethora of brand-new items. Smoothing my hands down the shirt I’m wearing, I meet Archer’s gaze. “You can return them.” His forehead wrinkles again, but I continue before he can misinterpret the meaning behind my words. “I don’t feel right accepting a bunch of stuff I don’t need. I have my own, perfectly good wardrobe at my apartment. Use that money on someone who needs it.”

His face softens. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I shrug, not wanting to make the guy feel bad when he’s going out of his way to help. “We can get the rest of my shit after the masquerade or something. Or tomorrow. Whenever you’re free.”

I forgot to look for my bear.

He nods, scanning me again. “Whenever you want, Tasia.”

As his line of sight drops down to my bare legs, his lips tighten. He runs a hand through his hair and turns away, swallowing thickly.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says in a gruff voice. “You can wear whatever you want of mine.”

The last thing I need is to be further indebted to Archer. But I don’t tell him that—he’d have a counterargument. Instead, I touch on something that might resonate with him.

“You understand what it’s like, right? Coming from nothing?” I know he does. I saw the apartment he was raised in.

His head jerks up, and he stares at me for a second before giving me a sharp nod. “I do.”

“So you get why it’s weird for me—living here?” I wave a hand around. “And accepting so much stuff I really don’t need?”

He runs a hand over his jaw. “Trust me, I do.”

A look of regret crosses his face, and I realize something.

“It’s why your house is so bare, isn’t it?” I ask softly.

A small, disbelieving laugh bursts from him. “Maybe we understand each other better than we’d like to think we do.”

We study each other for a beat, and my hands grow clammy as his eyes dart around my face, as if he’s desperate to read the words written beneath my skin.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “Maybe.” I clear my throat. “Hey, why the hell do you have such a fancy-ass couch though? Of all things.”

“I bought it at an auction.”

I can’t help but laugh at the sheepish look he gives me. “An auction?”

“A charity auction.”

“Oh.” I cock my head, seeing him in a new light. “Charity for what?”

“Supporting educational rights of foster children,” he mumbles. “So, about the clothes. I’ll return them. We’ll get the rest of your stuff tonight.”

I figure the conversation change is purposeful, so I don’t push, but his kindness warms my heart.

Twisting something in his hands, he says, “I came to give you this.”

He lifts an arm, dangling something from a single outstretched finger.

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