Page 39 of You Cake My Breath Away

“For every week up until the end of the year.”

“Absolutely not,” he replies, anger replacing the previously apologetic look on his face.

A laugh wholly unrecognizable to me leaves my mouth. “Absolutely yes.”

“I don’t want your money,” he gruffs out.

He throws the envelope onto the worktable, and my hands clench at my sides. “I know you said Jessie paid you for what you’ve done already, but this is for any job you had to turn down to take on this one. You’re free to do whatever job you want now.”

My heart slingshots inside my chest when Archer strides my way, the set of his jaw screaming determination and destruction. The sharp angles of his face make the first cut through the defenses I’ve built the last few days, and poison seeps into his irises.

“Not happenin’, darlin’.” His minty breath freezes my heart inside my chest, and he turns his back to me. “I’m not taking the money. Call whoever it is and tell them the job’s taken.”

It takes a beat for me to gather my bearings. “Why?”

He stops. “What do you mean why?”

Forcing my bottom lip to stop wavering, I bite it, causing a blast of pain to spread down my neck.

“Being around me is such a struggle for you, so why continue the job? This is an easy out.” My charm bracelet jingles as I throw my hands in the air.

His muscles flex as he presses down on the countertop, and his shoulders inch up to his neck. “It has to be me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.” His voice is pained.

“Gosh darnit, Archer.” I stomp my foot. “No, it doesn’t. Jessie is gone. He’s not going to come back to haunt you if you stop helping me.”

“It’s not about him.” Archer increases the volume on his music app and climbs back up the ladder with a drill in hand. “Call the other carpenter and tell him the job is taken.”

His words, and the pain cinching his eyebrows together, leave me breathless.

If it’s not about Jessie, then it’s about me, and nothing about that equation makes sense. We can barely tolerate each other. Had this been four years ago, I would’ve accepted his insinuation that he’s here for me. But friends do favors for friends, and we’re barely amicable.

Something in the back of my head urges me to let him help, like Jessie is there scolding me for being mean to his friend who’s only trying to help bring his dream for me alive. Frustrated, I type out a message thankingthe other carpenter for his help and promising to pay him for his time even though he didn’t actually do any work.

Screws puncture the drywall, the whirring sound drawing my attention to Archer. That same fluttering in my stomach returns, and I try to squash it by reminding myself why we’d never work. Outside of the obvious issue of him being my late husband’s best friend, Archer is surly, childish, and can be notoriously bad at communication.

During college, me, Jessie, and Archer would text all the time. Even on holiday breaks, Archer would call to check on me. But after Jessie and I started dating, Archer got a new girlfriend and fell off the face of the earth. He rarely came to anything I invited him to, and when he did, it was like we barely knew each other anymore.

Jessie knew me. The way I liked things, the things that made me happy or sad, knew when to back off before an argument made us too flustered.

But why is your body reacting this way?

The thought rams through my defenses, rendering me stunned. With Jessie, our lovemaking was sweet, sensual. Candles and music, soft words spoken. I didn’t have to worry about love marks on my neck or having to check my hair before I met friends. It wasn’t the tear your clothes off type of feeling I get while fighting with Archer, but it was…us.

Sick to my stomach, I admonish myself and the obscene thoughts running through my head. Archer and I are wrong for each other. Always have been.

“Knock knock,” a woman’s voice cuts through the room.

A volcano spurs to life inside my chest.

“Hey, Deidre.” Archer comes down from the ladder and leans on the counter. “What’s up?”

Deidre walks inside, and I can’t help my eyes from moving to Archer. Is he happy to see her? Excited? Filled with lust? A green ball of envysettles in my chest, and I find myself angry she was able to touch him, to know his innermost thoughts, and to wake up with his arms wrapped around her.

Stunned by my own thoughts, I stumble to the side, accidentally tripping over the drill cord and sending a closed paint can rolling her way. Her blue eyes snap to me awkwardly standing there, and her previously pasted on smile falters.

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