Page 120 of The Sounds of Her

Archer looks over his shoulder. He is standing at the hob, shirtless, in just his jeans and bare feet, cooking us eggs and bacon. “I don’t need to try.”

“There’s nothing like confidence,” I laugh.

The coffee is on already, so I pour us both a cup, then sit down at the dining table behind where he is cooking. Archer moves about the kitchen like he knows exactly what he is doing, and where everything is, which is strange.

When I woke up alone in bed, my heart sank. The side he slept on was cold and I was worried he left. Until I heard the sounds of whistling. Dressing in my robe, I followed the noise to find him making me breakfast.

I guess he found his way around while I slept. It’s almost eight, I don’t have much time before I have to leave for the office. It will be hard to drag myself away from this view. His ass looks delicious in those jeans. There is something about a half-naked, barefoot man making a girl breakfast.

We didn’t talk last night about what we’re doing now he’s back in New York. If actions speak louder than words, then we’re still seeing one another after last night. It’s not my style to live with question marks in my head. I have to know where we stand.

He brings over the plates of food and sits down opposite me, sliding the coffee I made for him towards his side.

“I can practically hear your mind working.” He takes a sip of the coffee.

“We do need to talk.”

He’s apprehensive. It’s far removed from the man who came over last night. Maybe it’s the way I said that. It sounded like the ‘this isn’t working out’ talk. I smile to lighten the atmosphere that has shrouded us.

Archer takes a bite of toast and waits for me to go on.

“Being with you hasn’t gone how I thought it would.”

“I’m not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing,” he leans back.

“It’s a good thing. Like I told you in Australia, relationships and me never seem to work out, and you have never even had one,” I remind him what he told me.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to have one. With you,” he tosses that out there like a grenade.

My stomach flutters with butterflies. I never get nervous, I try to never let things faze me, but this is huge. I fidget with my coffee, then my hair.

“Come on, Brooke, you’ve never shied away from saying what you think. I’ll lay it out for you if it makes it easier. I want you. And not just for sex, or because we’re trying to fool people into believing we’re together. The last two weeks without you have been fucking hell.

“It snuck up on me. I wasn’t expecting to want more but,” he shrugs again. “I do. I want us to be in this for real. I’m hoping I’m not reading it all wrong, because that’ll be pretty shit.”

As confident as he sounded at the start of that, he’s looking a little less sure of himself now. It’s not helping that I’m sitting here in silence, staring at him as my heart pounds.

“Okay,” he rubs a hand over the back of his head and looks at his food with a frown.

“Archer,” I sit up straight in the chair and set my mug down. “Are you saying you want to try, or do you want to do it? Trying isn’t what I’m looking for.”

“If you’re asking me how serious I am about being with you, I thought I made that pretty clear.”

Dating a rockstar is a hell of a lot different to dating a normal person. I’ve spent the last few months convincing myself being with one is all wrong for me. Archer taught me over the last two weeks that it’s not about what he does, it’s about who he is.

Ciro was all wrong for me. I mean, who would have thought I’d be involved with two rockstars in the space of two months?

Archer is not Ciro. Archer isn’t afraid to speak his mind, to talk about how he feels. He is sitting here, telling me he wants me, that he wants to make this relationship real.

Being afraid could mean losing something amazing. Archer understands me like no one else. He knows all of my inner secrets, my fears and regrets. He’s never looked at me like I’m any different.

Will we work as a couple? I let out a breath, the butterflies getting more frantic in my stomach.

“What do you want, Brooke?” Archer asks. “This is your chance to tell me. We either end this now, or we make it real. And it will end if you say no, because I can’t fake it anymore. It’s not fake to me.”

He’s laying everything out on the line. There is no escaping what he means.

“It’s hard for me to admit I’m afraid.”

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