Page 52 of The Serendipity

She only glared. “My theory was way off base. He’s a very bad, no good, horrible man. I think I hate him.”

Though we did a little toast to our mutual dislike of Archer Gaines, I find myself wincing now as someone else joins Frank. Someone with a deeper voice and a much more colorful vocabulary describing what kind of man he thinks Archer is.

Well, that’s certainly a new combination of words I never thought I’d hear and never want to hear again.

Still silence from Archer, and my heart feels like it’s constricting inside my chest.

This is all Bellamy’s fault. He’s the one who keeps texting me. They started innocently enough, talking about cookies. The man is slightly obsessed, and I’m here for it. But then his texts shift to ask about Archer.

How is he?

Have you seen him?

I’m not sure he has anyone to talk to, so if you see him, could you check in on him? He’d hate it if he knew I said this.

I think he’s concerned about how Archer’s doing on his own.

Then, this very morning, Bellamy called to place an order for cookies this weekend.

“I guess this means you’ll be coming back soon?” I asked.

“I wish it were sooner. I’m putting out fires, and new ones keep cropping up.”

“So, is this a delayed order, then? Because I still don’t ship.”

“This one is for Archer, but I need you to say they’re for me.”

My skin prickled uncomfortably, both at the idea of Archer eating my cookies and at having to talk to him again. “I’d … rather not lie?”

I expected Bellamy to demand to know why or to argue with me, but instead, he sighed. “Given what he’s been doing, I get it.”

“Okay, good.”

“But…”

“I don’t want abut, Bellamy.”

He chuckled. “I’m going to give you one anyway. Archer could use a little kindness.”

“He certainly hasn’t shown me—or any of the other residents—any kindness. If you’re trying to convince me that he’s got a hard outside with an ooey-gooey center, I don’t believe you.”

“I wouldn’t describe any parts of him as ooey-gooey. But I would say there’s more to him than what he shows. He’s had a rough go of it.”

“He’s a billionaire. How rough, exactly, could his life be?”

Even as the words came out of my mouth, I regretted them. I know—though not from experience—that having money can only shield you from so much. It doesn’t equal happiness or freedom from terrible things.

I’m grateful Bellamy didn’t call me on my harsh statement or my assumptions. “He’s worth a chance. I promise you.”

“We’re not talking chances. We’re just talking cookies.” And I don’t want to even give him those.

I hated how disappointed Bellamy sounded when he said, “I understand. But I’d ask that you still do this. For me.”

“For you … but it’s really for him?” I asked.

“Smart girl.”

“Why? Give me a reason, Bellamy.”

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