Page 73 of The Serendipity

Archer shifts, moving his stool a little closer to me and then settling again. “Fair warning: my dating resume is short and uneventful.”

Why does this make me so happy? It really, really does.

His eyes catch mine. “So far,” he adds, his intense blue-gray eyes issuing what seems like a challenge.

And this makes me even happier.

Chapter Fifteen

Archer

Attendinga child’s birthday party was never on my bucket list. Probably because I hadn’t heard the termbucket list. I had to google it after leaving Willa in the kitchen at almost four o’clock this morning.

Honestly, now that I know what a bucket list is, I think the whole idea is kind of morbid. I mean … a list of things to do before kicking the proverbial bucket?

No thank you. I’d prefer something like alivinglist. Maybe it’s just semantics, but to me, it seems significant.

Semantics aside, I don’t keep this kind of list, but if I did, what Willa and I find when we walk through the gate of a white picket fence wouldnotbe on it.

“Oh, boy,” Willa says, coming to a full stop inside the backyard. It’s a chaotic sea of screaming children, balloons, and an inflatable castle. Music blasts through speakers I don’t see, and two dogs chase each other. Two shirtless boys are perched in a tree, throwing what appear to be water balloons.

It is the exact antithesis of the kind of parties my father threw in my name but for his own purposes. I was usually the only non-adult in attendance, with a nanny hovering nearby in the early years and Bellamy standing as sentry in the later ones, his smilesharper than his suit as he fended off various people who, I know now, were probably trying to get something from my father by being nice to me.

I realize suddenly that this is one of the first times I’ve even entertained the idea of attending any kind of social gathering without Bellamy by my side. Normally, I would have thought about this beforehand, but it didn’t cross my mind.

Maybe because I didn’t consider a children’s birthday party to be a social event—or maybe I was just happy for Willa to invite me somewhere. Though I’m already excited to leave, I don’t have the usual ugly twist of anxiety in my gut. Just straight-up dislike, and I can manage that on my own. Or with Willa.

Anyway, if Bellamy were here rather than spending a few unplanned extra days in New York, he’d be slipping off his shoes, leaving them in the messy pile outside of the bouncy castle to jump with the kids.

“Welcome to your first official kids’ backyard birthday party.” Willa nudges my arm with her shoulder. We’re each holding a box of her cookies, which she somehow managed to finish after I left last night. Or, technically, this morning. I’m grateful to have something to do with my hands. “Aren’t yousoglad you came?” she asks.

“Ye-e-es.”

She grins. “Are yousure?”

At that moment, a little girl with pigtails and an ice cream cone streaks by, leaving a smear of chocolate on my trouser leg. I opted not to wear a suit today, foregoing the jacket and tie for a simple button-down shirt and slacks—which will now need dry-cleaning.

“Positive,” I say through gritted teeth.

In truth, I’m happy to be just about anywhere—yes, this horrendous party included—if it means spending time with Willa. I can’t get enough of her. All week I’ve found variousexcuses to duck into my office. She clearly doesn’t need any micromanaging as she’s knocked out a whole list of things I couldn’t manage to do, but I ask anyway. And then stay for whatever personal questions she throws at me before I go.

It’s safe to say Willa already knows more about me than any of my previous girlfriends.

Not that she’s a girlfriend. She’s just … Willa. For now. I’ve been trying to work up the courage to ask her on an actual date, but I’m not sure about the protocol, considering she is currently my one employee—and her office is inside my apartment. It seems like an ethical violation on every level.

Would Willa even want to date me? Has she been flirting, or just being nice? Would it make her uncomfortable if I asked her on a date? Could she be honest if I did?

I don’t know the answer to any of these questions yet, which means I’m happy to be here with her. Not a date. But we’re out of my apartment, out of the building. It’s a good middle ground to see how things feel between us when we’re somewhere besides our usual territory.

“Let me just deliver these cookies and we can go,” she says. “I didn’t plan to stay long.”

I think I’ve seen enough of the party already. But not of Willa.

“I don’t mind.”

She nudges me again. “Come on, boss.”

I’ve grown used to the nickname and find that I particularly like it, especially when we’re in a situation like this one where I’mnotthe boss.

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