Page 37 of Beautiful Thing

But not a second later, he’s peeking at me again, the tips of his ears turning pink.

I cringe. Shit. Do I lookthatbad?

Meanwhile, Sky is toddling toward me, an enamored look on his little face. He grabs onto my leg. “Mommyboo-tee-ful.”

Heart bursting, I scoop my little prince off his feet. “Aw, thank you, Sky.” I give him a squeeze and kiss his warm cheek. “That’s such a nice thing to say.”

He cups my face in his soft palms, grinning adoringly at me.

That’s one of the hidden upsides of being mom to a little guy—at least one person in this world will think you’re pretty no matter what. Even on your worst days. And how the hell is his vocabulary expanding so quickly? I’m so proud of him.

Archer picks himself off the floor and strides over to where I’m standing. He reaches out and ruffles the top of my son’s head as his eyes look into mine. “I agree, little man. Your mommy’s absolutelybeautiful. Make sure she always knows it, okay?”

My son bobs his head as if he perfectly understands the assignment. “Okay, Mista Musdache.”

Then Archer casually strolls off and gets busy cleaning up Sky’s toys. Like he didn’t just turn my panties inside out.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Right now, I’m struggling to breathe properly. But I force myself to focus on getting Sky all bundled up in his winter gear to face the cold.

I know Archer probably didn’t mean much by the comment. But with the wobbly state of my self-esteem these days, I cling onto his words like a life raft.

I’m still feeling disoriented by Archer’s compliment when the three of us eventually pile into his truck—even after fixing my car, he insists that we take it most of the time. But as we drive through the quiet Starlight Falls streets, I can tell that he’s growing tense.

I pick at my nail polish, watching him out of the corner of my eye. I’m worried that he’s getting tired of me crowding his space. Is he ready for Sky and me to move out of his house?

Not that I could blame him. Archer’s formerly clean house has been a wreck ever since we moved in. Toys are everywhere.Sippy cups and spoons keep finding their way under his couch and between the cushions. The garbage can is always overflowing with soiled diapers. Sky may be little, but my little man sure knows how to make a space his own.

And to top it off, last night, my baby had an awful crying fit in the middle of the night. It kept everyone—including Archer—awake for hours. So, even though he keeps saying everything’s fine, I just know that me and my toddler are making the man miserable.

When Archer’s eyes momentarily find my son in the rearview mirror, I can’t decode the look that crosses his face. Sky is focused on smashing together the two Hot Wheels cars that he’s holding.The racket is loud as hell and I cringe.

Oh god.

“I’ve been looking at rentals,” I blurt out, finally breaking the silence in the cab of the truck.

Archer frowns, returning his concentration to the road ahead. “Take your time, Layla. I gave you three months to figure stuff out. In fact, you can take all the time you need. I’m in no rush to get rid of you and Sky,” he grumbles. “And I’m definitely not letting you move into a place that’s unsafe or out of budget.”

I purse my lips. He keeps saying freakishly nice things, but I find it hard to believe. Sky’s own father just kicked us out on the street, after all. If that jerk doesn’t want us, no one will.

My mother’s words echo in my head.There will never be another man out there for you and Sky.

I let out the breath I’ve been holding. “It’s just that…I’m sure we kept you up all night, and the house has been a mess because of us. You’ve had to lock all your belongings up out of Sky’s reach. You’re spending double on groceries. And besides, you told me yourself that you don’t want a woman in your space. Let alone a womanandher rowdy toddler.”

Archer scrubs a hand down his face and exhales roughly. “I think I need to clarify something.”

“Clarify?” I echo.

“I need to clarify what I meant about not wanting anyone in my space.”

“Oh. Oh-kay…” I’m nervous now. I have no idea what he’ll say next.

Archer’s attention stays on the road as he speaks in a grave, hushed tone. “I’m a serious man, Layla. And most people like to play games. I want no part of that.”

“I…I see,” I mumble because I can’t figure out where this conversation is going.

He continues after a heavy pause. “I don’t commit often, but when I do, I do it completely. When I claim someone as mine, I’ll defend her. I’ll die for her. And I’ve never gotten the equivalent level of commitment in return.” I watch the way his fingers tighten on the wheel. “It’s always been a bunch of wishy-washy, back and forth nonsense. I hate that shit. That’s why I decided to bow out of the dating game completely. Because I’m not a hook-up kind of guy. I’m not willing to settle for someone who’s only halfway in.”

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