Page 71 of Tangled in Vows

I’m slowly starting to understand why Phoenix turned into such an idiot around Evie at the beginning. It’s an emotional roller-coaster ride where you’re blindfolded and have no clue where you are or which direction you’re off to next.

Since the universe has it out for us, Olivia’s phone rings. One look at the screen, and her soft expression turns tense. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, like she needs to prepare herself for whatever’s about to happen. I use that chance to peek at the caller ID. Her producer, Ian? As far as I know, these two get along without any issues.

So why does Olivia act as if she doesn’t want to talk to him?

She gestures toward her phone. “I’m sorry, but I have to take this.”

I brush a hand through my hair. “No worries. I’ll go back upstairs.”

Olivia mouths, “Thanks again,” and disappears into her studio, closing the door gently behind her.

I stand there, frozen, a total idiot. This went both better than expected and not as good as I thought it would.

All the interruptions definitely aren’t helping. Neither is Olivia acting like nothing happened.

We almost kissed the morning after the club, but an envelope with a threatening picture of us was delivered. Olivia pretends it never happened.

I told her Felix is dead. She actually lets it affect her, then again, pretends it didn’t happen.

We wake up together and are on the brink of something more, but Heather arrives. And yes, Olivia wipes the moment from her memory.

I know that’s her preferred way of dealing with things, but why does it start to feel as though she’s constantly erasing any progress between us?

“Maybe you should take the leap and see what’s waiting for you on the other side. You might be surprised by what you find.”

Archer’s words pop back into my mind, and I groan in utter frustration as I go back upstairs to find the man of the hour in the kitchen with Stormy.

Similar to the rest of the house, the kitchen is a striking mix of modern luxury and rustic charms. Crisp gray cabinets and high-end appliances line one wall, their polished stainless-steel surfaces gleaming in the light. The massive granite island commands the center of the room, adding to the elegance of thespace. Overhead, exposed wooden beams stretch across the high ceiling, infusing a warm and earthy contrast.

I stare at the open fridge door, and the man hidden behind it. “What are you doing here? I thought you had work?”

Archer pops his head out of the fridge and smirks at me. “Change of plans. Where’s Olivia?”

“Ian called.”

“And why does that make you look like a sad puppy?” Archer narrows his eyes at me, slowly stepping out of the fridge with his hands full of food.

He sets the butter package, six eggs, milk, and shortening on the counter. Then he goes to raid the pantry and adds dark chocolate, sugar, brown sugar, salt, vanilla extract, espresso powder, flour, cocoa powder, and peanut butter.

My gaze homes in on the myriad of food on the counter. Baking supplies. A telltale sign that Archer is about to stress-bake.

I raise my eyebrows at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He gets a mixing bowl and a spatula out of the drawers and points the latter at me. “Don’t deflect. We were talking about you, not me.”

“I know that, but I want to be prepared in case my kitchen is about to be turned into a bakery.”

“Oh, come on, that was only one time, and at least eight years ago or something.”

I lift my hands in defeat. I’m only teasing him, and he knows it. Especially since the incident he referred to was about an unrequited crush he had on a girl back then. But he caught her making out with one of his exes and got depressed, I suppose. I think the real issue was that his grandma had just passed a few months prior, and he was looking for comfort more than anything. We shared a place back then, but there was only so much I could do to help him with his loss.

“I wasn’t complaining, purely wondering if this will only be a one-cake situation, or if I need to lengthen my workout routines.”

“Fair enough.” He moves around the kitchen, adjusting the oven rack to the middle and preheating it.

We’ve been in countless similar situations before, so I watch him in silence, wanting to know what’s on his mind while at the same time not particularly keen on drawing attention to myself.

A few minutes later, he mixes the melted butter with the chopped dark chocolate before putting that aside and starting on the batter. Eggs and a few other ingredients are thrown into the large mixing bowl before he attaches it to the stand mixer. The whisking is loud, and Archer finally focuses on me.

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