Page 7 of The Archer and his Rosebud

“Oh.”

“If that changes your offer, I won’t be offended.”

“No, no. Of course not.” I glance down at my chest to check for leakage. Thank goodness I had the sense to put on a bra today and replace my nursing pads. “It never occurred to me, and it should have. I haven’t heard them in a few days.”

He chuckles. “Has that made a difference for Clementine?”

“Nope.” I laugh because I refuse to give him another front row seat to my waterworks. “But that’s on her, not them. Speaking of, I should get back to my apartment and check on her.”

“Sure. Let me grab my shoes, and I’ll meet you there.”

As I set one foot in the entryway, her familiar whimper fills the air. Because of course she’d wake up. Scratch my taking a quick nap or eating in peace. I hurry across my apartment before I’m serenaded with full-on wails.

Lifting her from the bassinet, I shush her. “We’ve got a guest coming for dinner. Can you work with me for one meal? I’ll accept ten minutes if that’s all I can get.” Her fussing continues as I leave my bedroom. “I beg you.”

Archer stands in the living room, minus his ball cap, with his hands in the pockets of his loose athletic shorts. Those relaxed curls a little tousled atop his head, the sides trimmed into a short fade. “I hope it’s okay that I let myself in. I knocked, but I’m assuming you didn’t hear me.”

How could I?Clem’s cries have escalated. She’s probably hungry, too, even though it’s been an hour since she ate.

“That’s fine.” I dance into the kitchen, trying to calm her until she can eat. “Let me get us some plates.”

“Can I help?” Archer holds out his hands. “I mean…I get it if an unfamiliar man holding your baby makes you nervous, but I imagine you haven’t eaten a meal hands-free since you had her.”

I haven’t, and now I want to cry all over again. No. I will hold it together.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Without an ounce of unease, I hand Clem over, and like second nature, Archer cradles her back on his shoulder, patting and bouncing. In a low, soothing tone, he talks to her.

“Hey, girl. It’s okay. It’s okay. Shhh…”

Clem’s bitty as it is, but his large hand swallows her frame, her light fuzzy-haired head the only visible part of her. Before my mind wanders the dangerous road of comparing Archer’s natural instincts to the non-existent ones of the man who unexpectedlygiftedher to me, I slip a couple plates from the cabinet and dish the pasta onto each before emptying the salad into two bowls. I skip the bread, unwilling to waste time and miss out on a semi-peaceful meal.

I turn to warn Archer of how opposed she is to let me eat sitting down, but he’s already seated at my doll-house-like kitchen table with a calm Clementine.

I stop short. “How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Oh, let me list the miracles.” I stare. “You’re sitting. You stopped her crying.”

“Lucky, I guess.”

“That’s not luck, sir. That is a supernatural gift.”

Archer chuckles as he picks up a fork and digs into the pasta I place in front of him.

It’s nice having a home-cooked meal. Besides the take-out Archer brought me last week, I’ve survived on boxed meals and frozen dinners. Anything easy to get me through the day. It’s been impossible to find the energy for a trip to the grocery store, so Mom’s grocery run before she returned home is all I have to work with. Bless Ruby Pratt because this is the best baked ziti I’ve ever put in my mouth.

As my gaze sweeps across the tabletop to Archer, with one hand shoveling in food, the other holding Clem, something I can’t pinpoint pricks my heart. Stirring the ever present loneliness of being a young, single mom in a town with no family and few friends.

It’s weird being baby-less with a fork in my hand. I forgot what having free arms feels like, which is sad considering she’s only three weeks old. How long until I’m free of the twenty-four-seven holding duty?

Archer and I eat in peace, and while the silence is comfortable, I should get to know the man if I’m going to continue inviting him into my house. “So, part of me assumed you wouldn’t be home at four-thirty on a weekday. You mentioned being a business owner. What do you do?”Please let it be legal and not cringeworthy.

“I do a lot of tech things, but my bread and butter is web development. I’m a freelancer, which means I get to work from home.”

“Oh. That’s convenient.”Thank you for not being a drug dealer.

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