Page 58 of You Cake My Breath Away

A knock at the door makes me still. I check the clock on the stove and do a quick inventory of my appearance. Effortlessly styled bun with my favorite chopsticks piercing the center, a light dusting of blush on my cheeks, pumpkin earrings, and my denim jacket in case it gets too chilly. It’s the most effort I’ve put into how I look since Jessie passed.

With my hand on the doorknob, my gaze is drawn to my sparkling ring. Slowly, I lift my hand in front of me, admiring the exquisite diamond. The plastic ring guard still pushes against my finger, holdingthe ring in place. I roll my lips between my teeth, uneasiness bouncing around my stomach.

Taking my ring off is a statement I’m not sure I’m ready to make yet.

Resolved to keep it on, I open the door.

“Morning.” I swipe a loose tendril of hair behind my ear.

Archer leans on the wrought iron post, two insulated cups in his hand as he stares down at his boots. There’s a brief moment where I can see the tension riding along his shoulders, the deep inhale he takes and expels like he’s as nervous as I am about this new territory we’re venturing into. His eyes snap to mine and the apprehension is washed away with his smile. “I brought caffeine.”

Unsure of whether I should invite him in, we stand there smiling at each other like imbeciles. I open my mouth to ask how his night went, but then his lips part, preparing to ask something, so I snap mine closed. He does the same, and then we burst out laughing at the awkwardness.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Archer chuckles, trying to hide his smile.

I fold my lips between my teeth and nod. My face is hot, the emotions inside my head boiling like lobsters, screaming to be released. He hands me my drink, and his fingers brush along mine. Tiny zaps of electricity skitter up my arm, and I fight the urge to pull away at the touch.

“Caramel macchiato,” he says.

A loud sigh slips from my lips. “I haven’t had one of these in forever.”

He rubs a hand along the back of his neck, eyes cast off to the side. “Wasn’t sure if you still drank those, but figured you were basically made of them in college, so…” He lets the sentence peter out, and I inwardly bat away at the butterflies taking flight inside my stomach.

“Thank you.” I groan at the sweetness of the caramelized sugar and the nuttiness of the espresso. Archer clears his throat, bringing my eyes to the way his swallow rolls down the column of his strong neck.

I grab my purse from inside, hoping he doesn’t see the slight shake of my hands as I lock the door. I probably shouldn’t drink more caffeine since I’m already hyper, but the gesture sends a thrill through me.

“You look beautiful.” Archer steps closer, and I can tell he’s nervous by the almost hug he covers with a flick of the chopsticks in my hair. I despise this weird middle ground we’re in even more than when I used to think he hated me. Every touch or look now carries a question of ‘what does this mean?’

“You do, too.” I mentally smack myself for the stupid remark. “You know what I meant.”

He chuckles. “Lead the way.”

Archer’s hand grazes my lower back, barely there as if he knows I’m like a skittish animal who wants someone to pet them yet can’t withstand the touch. I can almost imagine the press of his fingers into my spine. He helps me into the car and slides into his side.

“Did you print out the directions like I asked?”

I snort, handing him the papers from my purse. “Of course, I did, Mr. MapQuest.”

“You say that now, but we’re gonna be out in the country and your cell service may cut out.”

“You’re right.” I make a show of screenshotting all the directions.

His smile touches his eyes, and he shakes his head like he can’t believe how amazingly smart I am.

“You’re something else, Tilda.”

My stomach flips at his use of my first name. I dig my fingers into the side of my leg, hoping a little bit of pain will squash out the arousal gathering in my core. One touch. One freaking touch and my name on his lips has me near panting.

Get a hold of yourself girl.

“You can pick the music,” he says.

I choose the least sexual music I can possibly find and end up on the classical music station. His arched brow shows me he’s not a fan, but his shrug tells me he’ll survive. Craving a little relaxation, I stare out at the passing trees. Archer seems at peace with everything that’s happened, almost like the real him has been locked up tight since the moment Jessie and I started dating.

I’ve missedthisArcher.

Over the years I’ve caught glimpses of the trio we used to be. Eating our body weight in Mexican food while singing karaoke on Friday nights at the bar, playing air hockey at the student community center after a long study session. The laughter we all used to share became segmented when Jessie and I got together. He and Arch had their friendship, which was solid before I ever came into the picture, and Jessie and I became a unit. There were no more Three Musketeers or friendly lunch dates.

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