Page 7 of Mine for a Moment

Seven

Serenity

“I’ll miss you, Serenity,” Dad says, and it hits me right in the heart. He looks forlorn, his gaze roaming over the boxes that Archer and Ezra have started to move from my bedroom to Ezra’s car.

“I’ll miss you more,” I tell him as I bridge the distance between us, rising to my tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek.

“Don’t be like Ezra,” he warns. “Come home more often than he does, okay? I know it’s a long drive, but maybe you could come home on the weekend every once in a while?”

His arm wraps around me, and I rest my head on his shoulder. “I will. I’ll drag the boys back home with me too, as often as I can.”

Dad grins at me, his eyes filled with a foreign kind of sorrow. He looked at me like this when I graduated high school too, and then again when I got my degree. It’s almost like he thinks I’m no longer his little girl, when nothing could ever change that.

“I’ll drive her down whenever she wants to come home,” Archer says, leaning in the doorway. “I’ll take any excuse to have one of Malti’s amazing home-cooked meals.”

Dad smiles at him, something passing between the two of them. “Malti and I miss having you here, Archer. It’s been a while since you spent the weekend with us. You should come home more often too, son.”

Archer’s expression falls, and I look down, my heart wrenching. I know exactly why he no longer comes over as much as he used to—because everything here reminds him of Tyra. It’s where he first met her and where their relationship developed one summer. Mom and Dad might not see it, but I notice his haunted expression and his strained smile every time he steps foot into this house.

“Archer, when Ezra is on one of his countless business trips, you’ll keep an eye on her, won’t you?” Dad asks, his tone pleading, and it catches me off guard. My dad is a fearless criminal lawyer—he doesn’t cower, doesn’t plead.

“Always,” Archer promises, his expression solemn.

“Dad,” I murmur. “Please don’t. Ezra and Archer are unbearable as it is. Don’t give them an additional false sense of responsibility.”

Dad shoots me one of those chastising looks that used to shut me up instantly. “Nothing false about it,” he says as he grabs one of the last few boxes.

I sigh, my eyes meeting Archer’s as Dad walks out with it. He grins at me reassuringly before looking over the room, to make sure we didn’t miss anything.

“I’ll never forgive you if you tattle to my dad about anything I do,” I warn him, thinking back to the way he caught me spray-painting a building a few blocks from his office. If he’d realized who I am, would he have told my parents? My mother would be heartbroken if she knew.

Archer chuckles and walks over to my bed. “The way I see it, you have two options. Either don’t do anything worth tattling about or bribe me.”

“Bribe you with what?” I ask, intrigued.

“Those cornstarch cookies you make would be a good start.”

He reaches for the notebook I left on my nightstand, and a hint of panic rushes through me as I think back to what it contains. “I’ve seen you write in this before. Did you want to bring it?”

I rush over to him just as he turns to face me, and I end up crashing into him. Archer stumbles and wraps an arm around me, steadying me, his eyes wide.

“Give me that.” I reach for my notebook frantically, and he raises a brow, amusement flickering through his amber eyes as he keeps it out of reach, above his head.

“What the hell is in here that has you so panicked?” The curiosity in his eyes doesn’t bode well for me, and when his expression turns mischievous, I know I’m in trouble.

“I’ll bake you the cookies you like,” I rush to tell him, rising to my tiptoes to reach for my notebook, my body pressed against his.

He looks down at me, his gaze roaming over my face. “I’m not new to negotiating with people in this household. How many cookies? When will you bake them? Will they taste as usual? You can’t purposely burn them.”

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath. I absolutely was going to make him pay for blackmailing me, but sadly, he knows better than to settle for a first offer with the daughter of two illustrious lawyers.

Archer chuckles and shakes my notebook, far too pleased with himself. “Two dozen cookies,” he demands.

I roll my eyes and step on top of my bed in an attempt to get to my notebook, but Archer is too fast. He steps back, and I narrow my eyes as I leap up. Archer laughs as he catches me, holding me up against him with his arms behind my knees, my notebook falling onto the floor in the process.

“Tell me you’ll bake me cookies and I’ll let you go,” he says, his eyes twinkling, clearly trying his luck. If I’d known he loved those cookies so much, I’d have made them for him more often.

“Let me go or I’ll bite you,” I warn, only half joking.

---