Chapter Twenty Remi #2
“Holy shit, I am so out of my league,” I whispered.
Luckily for my rapidly shredding sense of self-preservation, the rest of the items were moved quickly and without further incidents of rampant sexual tension, flirty not-flirting, or big trauma-sharing for either party.
Grant said his goodbyes—we learned he had dinner plans with someone he refused to talk about, but his cheeks turned flame red upon mentioning her—but made sure to take a couple pictures with Gavin, who proclaimed it to be “the best day of his entire life.”
Archer could have left, but he didn’t.
I could’ve questioned it, but I didn’t.
Gavin disappeared to his room to play on his tablet, insisting over and over that he wasn’t tired, despite the zombie-ish look in his eyes. Ten minutes later, I found him fast asleep on his bed.
He’d borrowed one of the blankets from Pops’s bed—the green one he’d always said was his favorite—and it was bunched up over his feet. The tablet hung limply from his hands, and with his mouth open, he emitted a tiny snore.
I tiptoed in, much like I had when he was little, and settled myself on the floor so I could be at his height.
When I pulled the blanket up over his body, I did it carefully, then eased the tablet out of his grip and laid it on the nightstand next to his bed.
It was so tempting, in these moments of quiet, to run my hand through his hair or brush my fingers over his cheek.
The boyish features were slowly melting away, and underneath were hints of what he’d look like as he grew.
Ten years had gone by in a blink. I set my chin on my forearm and watched him sleep, wondering if he was dreaming about football.
The floor behind me creaked, and I knew it was Archer. Both Pops and I knew to step over that spot when we were trying not to wake Gavin. I looked over my shoulder and smiled sheepishly. “You caught me.”
“Doing what?”
“Doing cringey mom things.”
Archer’s mouth tipped up in a smile, and he leaned his shoulder against the doorframe while I pressed my burning cheek against my arm. “Like what?”
“Watching him breathe.”
His eyes glinted with humor. “Just let me know if you want to watch me breathe in my sleep.”
I stifled a laugh and kept my voice hushed. “You’re so accommodating. I had no idea.”
Archer’s gaze swept over Gavin’s room. It was small—just enough space for a twin bed and nightstand, his dresser, and a small bookshelf that held knickknacks and collectibles.
Filling the shelves were a few LEGO sets he’d assembled with Pops, framed pictures, his favorite book series, and a miniature Buffalo helmet he’d bought with Christmas money.
“He’s a good kid. You should be really proud.”
“Thank you.” I glanced back at Gavin, who let out another snore. Deciding it was worth the risk, I ran my fingers through the hair along the top of his head and leaned over to press a kiss to his forehead.
When I stood up, Archer was studying a LEGO car Gavin had finished a few weeks earlier.
“If you break a piece off, you’ll be in so much trouble.”
Archer smirked, carefully studying the bright-blue car. “He told me about every piece he’s made.”
“No wonder you were in here for a while.” I’d take a bullet for my kid, but listening to him talk about one of his obsessions for thirty minutes nonstop required a supernatural level of patience. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His eyes shifted to mine. “He said this was his favorite.”
“Yeah, he wanted that set for a long time. Every time we see a Porsche, he flips out.”
Archer hummed, the timbre of his voice low and quiet. “He’s got good taste.”
“He better marry someone with money if he wants one of those.”
The wide grin on Archer’s face made my belly flip. I gestured behind him. “We should let him sleep,” I said gently.
As Archer carefully set the car back down, there was a look of disappointment on his face that made me restless. Unsettled.
Wouldn’t he want to leave?
If we played that dangerous comparison game, I knew who’d win by a landslide, at least if we were weighing the obvious metrics. No one would take my life over his.
And yet my house was where he lingered. Where he told my grandfather stories from playing college ball that made Pops laugh. Where he studied pictures and asked questions, like he genuinely wanted to know more.
Maybe it didn’t matter to him that we had a small house and always drove used vehicles.
Maybe it didn’t matter that I had my entire life budgeted down to the last penny and hadn’t flown on a plane since I was sixteen because vacations were for people with discretionary income and that was a category where I did not fit.
Maybe it really was the simple things that he craved, the things that were so easy to take for granted.
I had so many things that couldn’t be quantified.
A good man who’d raised me when he didn’t have to, and fed my spirit when it could have been crushed on the path of someone else’s destruction.
A son who adored me. A job that nourished my soul and made me happy.
And friends who would answer whenever I needed them.
The wealth in my possession was rooted in things that couldn’t be bought.
When we left Gavin’s room, Pops was outside on the back deck, trying to snap a picture of a bird at the feeder. The two of us returned to the bedroom and got back to work. Archer wordlessly pulled the empty boxes out of my way, using a knife to flatten them down.
He stayed.
He didn’t have to, and I didn’t ask. But still, he stayed.
It felt important that he did, and I wondered if that was because I was assigning meaning to things that were far simpler than I was making them.
If he noticed that I stayed quiet, he didn’t say anything, simply let the silence be what it was.
Contemplative. Weighted. Anticipatory.
Once the last box was unpacked, Archer’s fingers brushed mine as I handed it off to be flattened. I waited for some heavy eye contact, but his eyes were on the task at hand. His obvious lingering was so endearing, I could hardly stand it. I toyed with the idea of inviting him to stay for dinner.
There were leftovers in the fridge. It wasn’t anything fancy.
Dinner with me and Archer and Pops. Oof. Talk about weighted. There was meaning behind that kind of invitation. Between the two of us, I was the one putting up a barrier, and it didn’t seem fair to lead him on if I wasn’t prepared to tear that barrier down.
My grandfather shook Archer’s hand before he left. “I’m glad you’re not a dick,” he said.
I rubbed my face as Archer laughed. “Thank you, sir. I’m glad you’re not either.”
With Archer’s back turned, I gave Pops an incredulous look.
He winked.
Archer lifted the stack of flattened cardboard with ease, maneuvering it out into the driveway, where he stacked it next to the recycle bin.
He was wiping his hands along the sides of his jeans when I joined him in front of the house.
“Thank you,” I told him, shyly crossing my arms over my stomach. “I appreciate your help more than I can say.”
His gaze lingered on my face. “What are friends for?”
I smiled, then rolled my lips together to hide it. “Right.”
He tilted his head toward the house. “I should say goodbye to Gavin.”
“Oh, he’ll be out all night now.”
Archer nodded. “Tell him I said goodbye.” Then he smiled. It was small but genuine, and it tugged on something deep below my navel. “I had fun today.”
“Me too.”
An air of hesitancy hung around us like a dense fog. An unwillingness to walk away, but not ready to say things we shouldn’t either. Anticipation for either option seemed to leave us both paralyzed.
“Good night, firefly.”
It made no sense, the frantic urge to tug him closer when he turned to leave. But it was there, a wild buzzing through my veins.
Don’t go.
Don’t go.
I wanted to scream it. I wanted to see what would happen if I grabbed his hand as he walked away. But the words stayed locked in my throat. A decade of well-honed self-preservation was a ghastly weapon, one that had a hard time being set aside.
When he froze at the end of the driveway, my heart jolted in my chest.
Stay, I thought. Turn around. Ask me . . . ask me if you can stay.
“Shit.”
“What?”
Archer sighed, then gestured to his truck. “Flat tire. I must have run over a nail or something.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “And my truck doesn’t have a spare.”
The universe had a Machiavellian sense of humor.
The last thing we needed was to be cooped up together inside my dependable sedan.
The last fucking thing.
But this was me, and the urge to help someone I liked would always be greater than avoiding the things I was afraid of.
“I can bring you home.”
His eyes snapped to mine. “Are you sure?”
No.
Yes.
Definitely not.
“What are friends for?”