Page 110 of Beautiful Thing

Watching Archer with Sky, my stomach tingles with butterflies. “Archer is an amazing man,” I say simply. Because that’s the truth, whether our relationship is real or not.

The lines are so blurry now. I can’t keep anything straight. This whole thing is supposed to be fake-dating. But Archer and I have both admitted to having feelings for each other. And now that the no kissing rule got tossed out the window, I’m having a hard time sorting through my tangled emotions.

She comes around the side of her table to speak with me. “Can I just say—I’m so glad you’ve put that disastrous relationship with Razor in the past. You look happy and well-rested, like a brand new woman. You’ve been absolutely glowing since you and Archer started dating.”

“Iamhappy and well-rested,” I realize with a laugh. “My life isn’t perfect. Far from it. But Archer makes me feel supported and safe through it all.”

“That’s what a good lover will do for you.” Rainbow shrugs with a smile. “I truly believe that, as a woman, there is no greater blessing than falling in love with a man who helps you fall in love with yourself over and over and over again.”

My gut burns at the nagging reminder that Archer’s notreallymine. Not in a forever kind of way, at least. Even still, I dumbly bob my head up and down for Rainbow’s sake. “Right…”

“Speaking of your past,” she moves on. “Did you hear? Razor’s grandmother slipped and fell the other day.”

I feel my face drop. “Oh my gosh. At the nursing home? Is she okay?”

Rainbow gives me a measured nod. “I heard it happened in the cafeteria. I think she just spent one night in the hospital, but I haven’t heard much else. I’m sorry, dear.”

My gut burns with guilt. With my life being in limbo lately, I haven’t been making time for Grandma Dory like I used to. I hate the thought of something bad happening to that sweet woman. She may be Razor’s grandmother, but I’ve always considered her my own. She’s the only member of Razor’s family who embraced me with open arms or ever bothered to acknowledge Sky.

“Her osteoporosis worries me,” I mumble.

“I heard it seems to be getting worse and worse since she moved into the nursing home,” my friend says.

I sigh. “Poor thing. I need to visit her.”

Rainbow nods, giving me a hug. “Sounds like a good idea.”

Archer and Sky stroll over, reminding me that we’ve got to get going. We all say our goodbyes to Rainbow.

As the three of us head out of the farmer’s market, I can’t get Grandma Dory off my mind.

43

ARCHER

Layla elbows her way through the Valentine’s day crowd clogging the front entrance of Ronan and Nicky’s guesthouse. She barely acknowledges a soul, making sure to maintain her grip on my hand as she guides me forward.

“Comin’ through, comin’ through!” she announces with each step we take, our red velvet cupcakes stored in the bag dangling from her arm.

My bossy fake-girlfriend is a woman on a mission. I like it.

The music is loud and everyone’s got a drink in hand, talking and laughing, some people even making out.

Once Layla and I have arrived at our intended destination—the couch positioned in the furthest corner of the room—I turn to face her, one edge of my mouth curled upward in amusement.

“Damn. Maybe I was wrong to call you my chihuahua. You’re definitely my pitbull tonight.” I reach for the front of her coat, slowly undoing the buttons.

My nostrils flare with every inch of her gorgeous body that I uncover. I suck in a sharp breath as I ease the coat off her shoulders and fully take her in.

She looks more than just pretty tonight. She looks glamorous, in a little scrap of a red dress that shows off her shoulders and her neckline and a whole lot of leg. Her bangs frame her captivating eyes and the rest of her hair is pulled into a fluttery updo. She looks like a vixen who stepped off of an Old Hollywood screen.

What are we even doing here? Since my parents are babysitting Sky tonight, I should have convinced Layla to skip this potluck shindig so we could have a party-for-two at home.

“Hey, you’re not the only one who can be protective,” she says defensively. “If anyone steps on your injured foot, I’m kicking their ass. Now, sit.”

I chuckle. “I told you, Layla. I’m fine.”

She’s not swayed. “Sit.”

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