Page 47 of The Archer and his Rosebud

I don’t want to put pressure on Willa to turn what’s between us into something romantic, but Paige is right. I’m holding off on moving forward because I can’t imagine leaving Willa and Clem behind. And I can’t keep quiet anymore.

“Time to be a man. Thanks, sis. I miss y’all.”

We talk for a while about Dad’s upcoming sixtieth birthday party, about my nephew Colt starting pee wee football, about Ma pestering her more often because I’m no longer there to bug. When we hang up, I’m a little less homesick and ready to talk with Willa.

Foldingat Nova’s teenage persistence, Willa began bringing Clem to work on Wednesday afternoons. Apparently, Nova has a few free hours between school and dance practice and begged for baby time. Since everyone at the studio adores Clem and Willa, it was tough to argue, but I sure miss my afternoon shot of sunshine. And tonight, I miss the turn of my door knob at six.

Pacing my apartment at seven, a muffled voice fills the corridor outside. I jerk the door open and breathe a sigh of relief at Willa fumbling with grocery bags around one arm and Clementine’s carrier in the other as she digs for her keys.

Before she can set Clem’s seat on the floor, I stride over and relieve her of the burden. “Where have you been?” Without thought, my voice is harsh with worry.

Willa glances over her shoulder, a crease between her eyebrows. “Hello to you, too. Ruby invited us to dinner, and I had to run by the store for some things.” She pushes into her apartment, and I follow.

“You could have called, or sent me a text.” I place the car carrier on Willa’s table and unstrap Clementine.

Setting the plastic bags on the counter of her kitchen, she eyes me with a confused frown over her shoulder. “We didn’t have plans.”

“We always have plans. You’re never not at your place or mine by six.”

“Why are you yelling?” She faces me and Clem whines at our raised voices.

Pressing my mouth to Clem’s ear, I shush her and bounce. “Because I was worried about you two.”

“You don’t have to worry about us all the time.” Willa’s head drops back like a here-we-go-again eye-roll. “We’re not your responsibility, Archer.”

“What if I want to worry?”

About to turn back to her groceries, she pauses, her mouth gaping as she blinks.

My neck strains with a hard swallow. “What if I want you to be my responsibility? Both of you?”

“I don’t— What are you saying?”

I take a step closer and another. “Let me take you to dinner, Rosebud. Let’s figure this out.”

“This?”

A smile builds on my lips. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know.”

Willa’s hand latches onto the base of her neck, rubbing her collarbone, and tips a subtle nod. “Yeah, okay.”

“So, let’s go on a date.” Gravitating closer, I stop less than a foot away. “Friday, as an early birthday outing. Just mom and her babysitter.”

She laughs and tucks a lock of golden hair behind her ear, dipping her head. “Just mom and her best friend.”

I tilt my head down to catch her gaze. “I’m sorry I yelled.”

Her eyes dart to my lips before meeting mine. “I’m sorry we made you worry. I’ll call next time.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.” I shake my head. “You don’t answer to me.”

“Maybe I want to.”

* * *

WILLA

The three ofus pull into the driveway of the Pratt’s beautiful white home at the top of the Hill Section, and I’ve spent most of the drive a bundle of nerves. With every unnecessary hair tuck and legs uncrossing and recrossing, Archer’s glanced at me, but he hasn’t commented.

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