4. Archer
Chapter 4
Archer
" L ondon, you're fine, you're safe," I mutter to this complete fucking stranger.
Her bright green eyes flutter open, scanning frantically before settling on me. She sits up, her chest heaving as she catches her breath. "I was…I'm…"
I sit on my ass and lean against the table in my living room. "Are you okay?"
"Yeah, I…" London rubs at her neck, and her face, and then adjusts the shirt of mine that she's wearing.
"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask her, unsure of what I'm supposed to do in this situation. We don't know each other, but I can't exactly pretend like she wasn't just screaming like someone was trying to murder her.
"No," she says, stiff and a bit too sudden.
But I don't press it, because it's not my place. I am no one to her other than a person to crash at their place. Or more like come in like a tornado and destroy it.
After London insisted that she wanted to sleep on the couch, I thought I'd get ready for bed myself, but upon stepping foot in the bathroom, I had to first spend twenty minutes picking up after her. Once I gathered all her clothes, threw them in the wash, disinfected everything that they touched, and put everything back where it belonged, London was snoring on the couch. It was obvious she was exhausted from the journey getting here.
I tossed and turned for an hour, my mind unable to shut down enough to let me fall asleep, partly because I was waiting for the clothes to finish in the washer and partly because a random woman was sleeping on my couch. Stealing a quick peek at her, I switched the laundry over and returned to bed, only to stare at my ceiling for the next few hours. I managed to sneak out of my apartment without waking her and return half an hour later with her still fast asleep. Finally, my body shut down enough to pull me under, but it wasn't long until London's cries woke me from a dead sleep.
"I'm fine, really," she says, dragging me from my recollection of the night.
I scratch my chin and check the time on my watch. Nearly a quarter after six in the morning. "Do you want some coffee?" I rise from my spot next to her, everything about her becoming tinier once I'm standing fully.
She clears her throat, her voice hoarse. "Yeah, thanks." It's then that she seems to look at me, and I mean really look at me. Her gaze floats from my face to my bare chest, down my entire body. "Sorry, I didn't realize you weren't wearing a shirt." Her cheeks flush but I can't tell if it's from the nightmare or not.
"Yeah, I run hot." I leave her behind to go straight to my room and grab the neatly folded t-shirt off my dresser and throw it over my head. I return a second later, calling out to her as I make my way to the kitchen. "How do you take your coffee?"
London yawns and stretches before rising to her feet. "What do you have?" Her face crinkles and she smacks her lips. "Do you have an extra toothbrush?"
I reach into the cabinet and pull a bag of coffee grounds out. "On the counter in the bathroom. Although I'm surprised you didn't find it when you were snooping."
"I was not," she lies.
I make the coffee, not daring to question her, because it's not like she'd tell me the truth anyway.
London joins me in the kitchen a moment later, opening the refrigerator like she's lived here her whole life. "Uh, that's weird."
She stares inside the fridge, and I grab two mugs from their home tucked away, ignoring her declaration.
"Archer." She glances over her shoulder at me. "Am I still asleep?"
"What?" I shoot her a quick look but grab the small container of sugar and a spoon.
"Cheese. Bagels. Fruit. Tofu."
I disregard her still.
"Archer," she says a bit louder. "Why do you have this stuff?"
Rolling my eyes, I sigh. "I went out and got them."
"When?" Her mouth gapes open.
"In the middle of the night?"
"Why?"
"Because I couldn't sleep."
"You couldn't sleep so you went out and got the four things I mentioned I ate?"
"I got some yogurt, too, it's in the drawer. I didn't know what flavor you liked, so I got a variety pack."
"What if I don't like yogurt?"
I turn toward her. "You don't like yogurt?"
"Of course I like yogurt, who doesn't like yogurt?"
"Vegans?"
"There's vegan yogurt."
"Oh." I turn my attention back to the coffee, pouring both mugs full once it's stopped brewing. Without returning to the previous topic, I say, "There's a couple different milks in the fridge. Two coffee creamers, and there's sugar here."
London pauses and I wish I could read her mind to figure out what snarky comment she's going to say before she says it, but instead, she opens the fridge and takes out the vanilla oat milk creamer. "What do you want?"
"That's fine," I tell her, mostly because I don't really have a preference.
I usually drink my coffee black, but since my morning is drastically different than usual, why not mix up my coffee for the day, too?
She makes her way over to me, her cast dragging across the floor. "I thought you didn't want me here," she says with certainty.
"I don't," I agree.
"Then why did you get me food?"
I shrug, unsure of it myself, if I'm being completely honest. Maybe I was planning ahead, preparing for the conversation when Silver convinces me I should keep the stray woman who showed up on my doorstep. Usually, I'm more rigid with things and my first instinct was to get as far away from her as possible, but maybe I could hear her out, hear him out, and try to do something good in my life for a change. She frustrates the hell out of me, but maybe last night was just a fluke and we got off on the wrong foot.
"Sounded good."
"Do you even like strawberries, Archer?"
"Who doesn't like strawberries?" She walks over, yanks the container out of the fridge, and pops the top, pulling out a plump berry.
"You should really wash that—" But I'm too late. She puts the thing into her mouth before I can stop her.
London shoves the container back into the fridge and shuts the door with her hip, returning to my side, half-eaten strawberry in her hand.
Maybe getting her some food was a bad idea after all.
"Here." I shove a mug of coffee toward her. "But be careful it's?—"
She takes a drink, not daring to heed my warning. London winces. "Shit, that's hot."
"If you'd have waited two seconds and let me finish my sentence, then you wouldn't have burnt yourself."
London mumbles something under her breath and takes the cup of coffee between her hands and strolls over to the stool at the island in my kitchen. I find myself holding my breath, the anticipation of whether she's going to make a mess unnerving me. How can one tiny human create such a disaster in her wake?
She settles into the chair, and I lean against the counter, my arms folded across my chest, waiting for whatever smart-ass thing she's about to say.
"This is a nice place."
I raise a brow at her. "Yeah?"
She nods. "Yeah. I mean, I couldn't really tell when it was dark."
I leave my post, stroll over to the window in the living room, and raise the blind, light pooling into the room. I usually leave them closed.
"Have you lived here long?" London asks me once I return to my spot.
"Few years," I respond, my answer vague and hopefully satisfactory. Gripping my mug, I take a cautious sip of the coffee, careful not to burn myself the same way she did.
"Looks like you just moved in."
I don't respond.
"I mean, because it's so tidy."
"I like things tidy."
"I can tell."
I don't mention that the desire to have things in their place is almost overwhelming to the point that it unsettles me if they're not. I like order, I like control, I like knowing I can predict the outcome.
Nothing about the last eight hours has been predictable.
And I have a feeling the worst is yet to come.
"Do you need to leave for work?" She fiddles with the handle on the mug, almost like a weird nervous tic I'm curious if she knows what she's doing.
"No."
"Have the day off?"
"I work from home."
"Oh, that's nice."
I take another long swig of my coffee and set the cup on the counter. "Are you hungry?"
"I am," she tells me from her spot still at the island.
"Cheese, bagel, fruit, tofu?" I ask her, naming the items in the order she had told them to me, and how I placed them in the fridge. Only, when I open the door and am greeted by the cold air pouring out, do I notice that she shoved the still-open container of strawberries in with the take-out container from my Chinese a few nights ago.
"I can get it." London rises from her seat but there's nothing more that I'd prefer than for her to stay exactly where she is, unable to make any more messes or put anything else in the wrong place.
"I insist." I force the best polite tone I can muster. "What do you want?"
Hesitantly, she lowers herself back down. "I guess I'll have a bagel…half of one. And some strawberries. Do you have any cream cheese?"
I drop the container of cream cheese onto the counter across from her before she can even finish, her gaze darting from the food to me.
"Toasted?" I ask her as I reach for the bagels.
"Yes, please."
I pop the entire bagel into the toaster, deciding that I'll eat the other half so there isn't a random half in the bag, and turn toward the pantry, snatching the baking soda and vinegar off the shelf.
When I return to the counter, London is reaching for the carton of strawberries.
"You can't even wait for me to clean them?" I shake my head and take them from her.
"What was that saying about God made dirt…" London scowls like I stole candy from a baby.
"Dirt is gross, London. Aren't you afraid you'll bite into a worm or something?"
London's face tenses and it's then that I remember she's a vegetarian. She gawks at the strawberry in her hand.
"I'm mostly joking," I lie, because it appears she's already been through enough lately, she doesn't need to worry about eating something that goes against her vegetarianism.
After a quick soak in the baking soda, vinegar, and water mixture, London grimaces at watching all the debris go down the drain. "Wow, that actually is gross."
"I told you."
The bagels pop up in the toaster but before I can get them, London hops out of her chair.
"Where are the plates?" she asks as she bites back some pain, I don't think she notices me notice.
Why she's being so proud, I'll never know. I'm just a stranger, why does she think she has to act like she isn't suffering?
I nod in their direction instead of shutting her down even though I really want to. If she gets the plates, there's a chance she'll knock something over, or worse, hurt herself in the process.
She surprises me by getting them and not doing either, not until she reaches into the toaster to get the bagels. "Shit." London flinches and shakes her hand.
"Did anyone ever tell you that you're accident-prone?" I walk over, get both bagels out, and set them on the plate, ignoring the way her emerald eyes glare at me. "You need to be wrapped in bubble wrap."
"Yeah, well, did anyone ever tell you that you're grumpy?"
"Yeah, you. At least twice already." I continue back over to the sink, rinsing the strawberries and cutting the stems off before London can come over and do it herself, no doubt stabbing her jugular in the process.
I don't know why she's so hell-bent on calling me grumpy, though, because I'm not. I just prefer to be alone and not bothered. That doesn't make me grumpy .
"You really should be nicer to me," I say, glancing over my shoulder. "This is my apartment, remember?"
London brings both plates over and rummages through a few drawers before finding a knife. She slathers both with more cream cheese than humanly consumable, and licks the thing clean. At least it was only a butter knife.
I cut a few strawberries and place them on her plate, and then on mine. If I'm being honest, I've never really liked strawberries, but something about the way she was eating one made me want to reconsider…
"Do you have plans today?" London asks me.
"Yes."
"Oh." She picks up a slice of berry and pops it into her mouth.
"I have to finish the…project…I was working on last night."
"Oh," she says again, only this time her tone has shifted completely. "Right. Yeah. For sure."
"Why?"
"I was just wondering."
"Really?" I put the rest of the cut-up strawberries into a glass container, place them back into the fridge, and clean the sink of the stems, tossing them into the trash and wiping off the counter.
"Archer."
I look up at London, assuming that something is wrong. "What?"
Her face softens and it's the first time I'm really noticing the freckles that dust her nose and cheeks. She was in rough shape when she came in last night, but now, she's showered and sort of rested. "Sit down. Eat your food. Drink your coffee, it's getting cold."
I blink and see that she's brought my food next to where she was sitting, and she's returned to her seat. She pats the spot. "Come on, big boy."
"You talk to me like I'm a dog." And yet here I am, obeying as I walk over and slide onto the stool.
In a way, London reminds me of my sister—headstrong, tough as nails, and not afraid to call me out. I guess I'm not used to that from anyone other than her. My brothers and I have always been feared and respected, so for her to walk up in here and do nothing of the sort, I find it sort of admirable. Stupid, for sure, but a refreshing quality. Maybe that's why I haven't thrown her out yet. Maybe that's why I'm entertaining this entire shit show because it's a strange change of pace.
"Good boy," London purrs and takes a bite of her bagel, giving me a quick wink.
I'm easily a foot taller than her, a hundred pounds heavier, tattoos covering my body, and she's the one who seems to be calling the shots. If only she knew who I really was, and the things I'm involved with, perhaps she would act differently.
But for a little while, maybe it would be nice if we kept the dark part of ourselves hidden.