Page 59 of The Archer and his Rosebud

Willa: You can see ME. Tuesday, 10 a.m. The Bean Stop.

Ty: Fine.

Telling Archer I need to stop by campus and speak with my advisor before my dance classes at Ruby’s, I drop Clem with him early and head into town. Luckily, he’s preoccupied with a client when I stop in, so I’m able to sneak out without giving my fibs away or without him questioning why I’m so put together when I usually go to work with no makeup and a ballet bun. I’m not much of a liar, so my stomach churns with guilt, but I don’t want Archer, or anyone else, throwing their two cents in on this situation until I have time to process things for myself.

I choseThe Bean Stop because it’s far enough off campus to limit the chance of running into people we know while still close enough to Ruby’s to keep me from being late, but as I sit at a two-seater along the wall, I wish I’d picked somewhere else. This is where a smooth-talking frat boy named Ty Reynolds bumped into me three days after we first met at a party. It was pouring rain, and the place was packed with students and customers using coffee and free wi-fi to ride out the storm.

“May I share your table?” he’d asked.

It sounds ridiculous to admit, but his proper use ofmayovercansealed the deal before I knew who was asking.

I was already shifting my stuff when I said, “Um, sure, but there aren’t any,” I glanced at the figure towering beside me and choked on my last word. “…chairs.”

He flashed a blinding white smile as he set his coffee on the small table next to mine. “That’s all right. I can stand, or kneel, or…I’ll sit and you can share my lap.”

I blinked. Then blinked again.

Ty smirked. “I was kidding.”

My shoulders sagged as I joined his light laughter. “God, does that pick-up line work?”

He shrugged, and I should have known then I had a player on my hands, but I was stupid and struck by his pretty face and smooth-talking as we shared a table—he was able to eventually secure a chair—for two hours.

The tin bells over the entrance chime, and noting the time on my phone, I glance up knowing I’m about to come face-to-face with the man who gave me the most challenging and beautiful gift of my short life.

My fingers strangle the mug holding my London Fog as he slips off his jacket and crosses the shop to my table. His eyes drop to the tabletop and noting I have a drink, he waves toward the counter signaling he’s going to order something. I offer a curt nod, avoiding staring. He’s still stupidly good-looking. It’s a different type of handsome from Archer. Archer is rugged and manly with his chiseled, perpetually stubbled jawline and straight nose. There’s wisdom in the crease in his forehead and the tiny little lines at the edges of his vivid blue eyes. Ty is…well, he’s sort of the male version of Leah. A little showy. Nothing about his light blond hair, tan skin, and baby blues stands out above the rest. He just has an air about him. His skin is smooth and unblemished by age or stress. The longer I side-eye him as he waits to order, the more I realize he’s just another college guy.

And he doesn’t hold a candle to Archer Thomas, who sends me a text as I stare.

Archer: You got out of here without me being able to tell you how beautiful you looked. Don’t think I didn’t notice. Also, I didn’t get a kiss. I’ll be collecting that later.

Of course, he noticed I was made up. Archer tends to see everything about me. In the last week our faces have been so up close and personal that he can draw a map of all my imperfections by memory. My phone buzzes a second time and a photograph fills the screen. I can’t stop my smile at the close-up shot of Clem’s head nestled in his neck.

Willa: Thank you. I’m happy to offer you more than one kiss later. And she’s one lucky little monkey. I’d like to sleep in that spot.

Oh, shoot. Did I just imply…

Archer: Can’t wait for those kisses. And the spot is yours anytime. Well, anytime she doesn’t occupy it.

Willa: I’m afraid we may be fighting over you soon.

“You look happy.”

At Ty’s arrival, I hit send and tuck my phone in my lap while he sits opposite me.

“I am happy.”Now. “What do you want?”

His charming smile falters. “So, screw the pleasantries then?

“Nine months, Ty.” I push my chair back an inch as if the space will help keep my calm. “That’s how long it’s been. So why now?”

“I want to see her.”

“No.”

“She’s part of me, too, Willa.”

“She’s your sperm donation, and you gave away the right to see her when you told me to end my pregnancy and walked away.”

---