Page 7 of Saved By the Sergeant

“This kitchen is amazing,” I say as I open the side-by-side stainless steel refrigerator, shocked at how clean it is inside. “Do you have a maid?”

“What?”

I put the eggs, milk, and cold cuts away, then stick my head into the living room. “Do you have a maid that cleans your house?”

“No.” He lights the fire.

My stomach sinks. Of course, he doesn’t have a maid. He has a girlfriend… or worse… “Are you married?”

“No.”

“So, who keeps this place so clean?”

“Are you insinuating that a man can’t clean his own house?” He tsks. “Shame on you. Stereotypes went out at the turn of the century.”

“I didn’t say that,” I huff.

“You implied it. Same thing.” He grabs my suitcase. “I’m going to take a shower to see if I can wash off the Happy. The spare room is upstairs on the left. I’ll put your things in there.And before you start getting yourself all worked up, don’t. My room is down here. You’ll have the whole upstairs to yourself. Well, unless Gizmo decides to visit.”

He starts for the stairs. “Be a good girl and make me something good for dinner, sweetheart. Okay?”

“Good girl?” I drop a loaf of French bread on the counter. “Who’s stereotyping now?”

“Good point,” he laughs over his shoulder. “I might take a cat nap after my shower. See you in a bit, sweetheart.”

“Chauvinist,” I mutter.

“What?”

“Get some rest.” I wave with a hint of a smile.

I take a deep breath, and wonder what on earth I’ve gotten myself into.

I sit across from Archer,and watch him inhale a bowl of macaroni and cheese. “When was the last time you ate?”

“Lunch,” he mumbles around his fork.

“Wow. I thought maybe it’d been a couple of days. You must really like mac and cheese, then.”

“Sweetheart, this is spectacular.”

“It’s just milk, flour, salt and pepper, pasta and cheese.” I shrug. “Oh, and breadcrumbs for the topping.”

“My kitchen is your kitchen while you’re here. Feel free to cook any time you want.” He scoops more into his bowl. “You should open your own restaurant. Wait, what do you do for a living?”

“I’m a waitress,” I say as I nibble on a roll.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’ve missed your calling.” He points to the plate on the island. “What’s that?”

“Peach cobbler.”

“You made dessert, too?” His eyes light up.

“It’s nothing fancy. I cut up some peaches, used flour, baking soda, salt, butter, eggs, vanilla, and some lemon juice. You must bake. I found the things I needed in your cabinets.”

“When my mother visits, she likes to bake for me. I have a bit of a sweet tooth.”

“Your face looks better.”

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