“I thought you’d be jetting off to shoot that little show you told me about, but I see you’re still withher.”
The snooty way she says ‘her’ ignites a fire in my veins, but Archer’s strong hand on my thigh calms me.
“What I do with my time is none of your business anymore, Deidre. Now leave.”
She rolls her eyes and throws her hair over her shoulder as she leaves the table. As glad as I am that she’s gone, I can’t forget her mentioning Archer will be leaving soon, leaving me to shoot that carpentry show. We haven’t spoken about long-term goals, so I’m in unsure waters, drowning without a buoy.
Archer’s tense frame makes me decide to leave that conversation for tomorrow.
He rises from the seat. “I’m going to get a drink.”
The band starts taking requests, and I get in line to scribble my three favorite songs onto the paper and slip it into the jar. Even if I only hear one of the songs tonight I’ll be happy. I turn and find Archer’s eyes on me as he drinks his beer. He winks, and my shoulders relax when I see the playful side of him is back and not affected by his ex’s childish remarks.
“You better not have requested Shania Twain or I’m leaving.” He smiles, beer froth coating his mustache.
I reach out, sliding my finger along the white foam before sinking it into my mouth. He growls and pulls me to him, cupping my buttcheeks as he tastes my mouth. His kisses are all-consuming and passionate, andsometimes I feel like I might trade the ability to breathe if I could live off his air.
The guitarist reaches his hand into the request jar and pulls out a slip. Dancing in my seat, I cross my fingers, hoping it’s my favorite Cranberries song.
“Ooo, this is spicy, but I love this song.” He hands the paper to the other players in the band so they’re on the same page. “This song is requested for a special someone, you know who you are.”
The crowd is alive with electric energy filling the air, and Archer’s hand wraps around mine and brings it to his mouth. Sometimes I almost forget it hasn’t always been this way, that we didn’t spend the last five years on opposite sides of a friendship that could’ve been more had we opened our eyes, but then I chastise myself because I know things happened the way they were meant to. I was meant to marry Jessie, and as unconventional as it is, I also feel like I was meant to reconnect with Archer in the midst of my grief.
“Here we go,” the guitarist says.
If I thought Archer was tense when Deidre made her comments, he’s near explosive when the band begins playing the opening chords toJessie’s Girl. Everything I’ve eaten or drank today moves into my throat, and the sick feeling rises to my head.
Deidre.
I try to keep the tears at bay by sucking my cheeks in between my teeth. The stabbing sensation in my chest moves to my stomach, and I wrap my arms around myself to try to stop from breaking down. In this moment I need Archer’s comfort, but when I look to him, he’s stone. He’s not blinking, his body is rigid, and I’m not sure he’s breathing at all.
My eyes scan the room, looking for the woman who was so hurt by being rejected that she went so low as to bring my deadhusband into the picture. When I can’t find her, I rise from my chair, intent on hunting her down.
“I forgot I have something I need to finish in the morning,” Archer says, still staring at the stage. “Let’s get you home.”
I close my eyes as the happiness I felt walking in here drains from me. I thoughtI’dhave a bigger problem with the tabooness of our relationship, but one underhanded dig from his ex and he’s pulling away.
Chapter thirty-nine
Tilly
Two days have passed since the piano bar fiasco with Deidre, and outside of a few texts, I haven’t seen or heard from Archer. We’ve been ships in the night, and with three and a half weeks until we’re supposed to open, I’m starting to worry I’m not only going to lose my relationship, but also my bakery if it’s not ready for opening.
Confronting Deidre has passed my mind a few times, but I know it wouldn’t change anything, and even though she created this rift between Archer and me, she’s not the one who’s going to help close it.
It’s taken me this long to realize I was selfish, only focused on my own grief about Jessie’s passing and my relationship with Archer. I didn’t stop to ask how he’s been managing the past two years, or how he felt about the progression between us. It’s easy to forget the mountain of history between us when we’re in bed, but being stripped down with someone in the physical doesn’t negate the fact that we’ve kept our emotions clothed, our scars still hidden in the deep valley of our minds for fear of it breaking this new balance between us.
Sunlight spills into the room as I gather the clothes strewn about, throwing them into the hamper inside the bathroom. My mind spins like a top, replaying the last few weeks with Archer as I piddle around, windexing the mirror, cleaning the toilet, then moving into the bedroom to organize. It’s not until I’m standing at the sink with a tea-stained mug in my hand that I realize what I’ve done.
Limbs frozen in shock, the cup slips from my hands and clatters in the stainless steel bin. Like a VHS tape being rewound, I race up the stairs with sweat coating my skin and a silent prayer on my tongue. The thundering inside my chest heralds the storm brewing in my stomach as I near the door to my—our—room.
My eyes are closed when I pass the threshold, as if the darkness can shield me from what I know will be there when I open my eyes. A few short inhales are all my chest will allow before I force myself to look at the destruction of the last place I felt my husband’s arms wrapped me.
A gale of air rushes from my lips. “Oh no.”
Tears queue in the corner of my eyes, a waterfall ready to gush forward the moment I blink. I was so focused on everything changing between me and Archer, the happiness I’ve felt the past few months, the life I could see making with him, that without thought I made Jessie’s side of the bed.
With a deep inhale, I close my eyes and let the tears slide down my cheeks. My fists clench at my stomach, hoping it’ll keep the pain away.