17. Piper
Piper
W hen I walk into the kitchen the next morning, Archie is there, showered, dressed, and very, very blond. I haven’t seen him since yesterday morning, so I’m actually relieved. I’d assumed he was avoiding me. I don’t know why I was bothered by that.
“I’m under orders to take you to Frothed this morning,” he says.
My eyes are stuck on his hair. Actually, my whole body is stuck. I’m too mesmerized to move. That, or I’m frozen with guilt for being the reason his beautiful red hair is gone.
“Are you ready to go?” He pulls on a beanie, and the spell is broken.
“Under whose orders?”
“Britta’s.”
I push my glasses higher on my nose and eye him closely. “Why would she order you to take me to Frothed?”
He’s got something bad planned. Maybe it’s the beanie, or possibly the bleached hair, but his face looks more orange than the super dark tan I expected a couple of days from now. He has to suspect I did something to his face wash. That or he needs to get his eyes checked.
Archie sighs and adjusts his beanie. “She technically ordered me to tell you to come into Frothed for free coffee this morning, because I happened to mention you were drinking Dunkin’ Donuts coffee from the Seven-Eleven.
But, since you don’t have a car, I’m offering to drive you there, then take you to work. ”
I cross my arms. We both know why I’ve been drinking Dunkin’ instead of the special roast he’s hidden somewhere.
I wonder if he admitted that to Britta. If he did, she’s being nice to offer me free coffee when I’m not entitled to Archie’s in the first place.
And if she’s seen what I did to his hair, then she’s beyond nice. She’s a saint.
That or she’s in on his revenge plan. I’ve never met Britta, so it’s impossible to guess.
“Come on. According to Britta, I owe you, and I’m going to be in deep if you don’t show up this morning.” He holds up his keys. “Do you really want to start your day with a cup of Dunkin’ coffee and an hour-long bus ride?”
The obvious answer is no. Especially when, if things continue the way they have every other day this week, I’m going to have a long day of mostly mindless tasks.
On the bus ride home last night, my sewing friend Julia told me all about her thoughts about how her work area at Valente could be improved.
That’s the downside of accepting Archie’s offer.
I won’t get to see her this morning. But good, free coffee is too strong a temptation to resist.
“You promise you’re not trying to lure me into your van so you can drop me in the middle of the desert?”
Archie laughs. “Yeah, nah. I wish I would have thought of that. You’re the only evil genius this early in the morning.”
“I only heard the genius part of that.” I follow him to the garage, where he backs out the van before opening the passenger side door for me.
After a few minutes of awkwardness, I have to break the silence. “Sooo, you’re blond now?”
He huffs a laugh. “It was that or shave it off.”
“I told you it would wash out,” I say meekly.
He glances at me with a lifted eyebrow. “In two to four weeks for average hair, which, apparently, my hair was not.”
My eyes snag on his orange beanie and the bit of blond peeking from under the rim. “How long will this last?” I’m almost afraid to ask. Now that it’s gone, I realize how much I like his red hair.
He puffs out a breath. “Too long. Apparently, bleach likes my hair as much as cheap purple dye does. Juan will try to tone it down in a couple of weeks. If all my hair doesn’t fall out before then, thanks to the numerous color changes.”
“Annnnd…I’m officially guilt ridden now.”
“Good,” Archie says.
Which makes me feel even more guilty but also question why I got in this van with him because I am definitely on my way to be dumped on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.
Which is too bad, because I kind of missed having him around last night. The sky lit up in a spectrum of bright oranges and pinks, with shades of lavender that took my breath away. But sunsets are always more beautiful when they’re shared.
The few moments Archie and I have had where we weren’t fighting have been…nice. Honestly, I’m craving more of them. I just can’t do anything that will jeopardize Mom not getting this house.
We’re quiet for another few minutes before Archie speaks. “At the risk of making you feel better, everyone I’ve told about my hair says I deserve it for being so mean to you when we were kids.”
“Who is everyone?”
“Frankie, Dex, Britta, even though she has no first-hand knowledge.”
I laugh. “I do feel slightly vindicated, but I was totally annoying, Archie. I probably deserved it.”
Archie slows to a stop at a light, then looks at me. “Don’t say that. No one ever deserves unkindness.”
Something surprising cracks inside me. There’s a part of me that thought Archie was right. I was too much. Too loud. Too outspoken. Too… everything.
Hearing other people–even people who weren’t witness to Archie’s behavior—recognize he was the problem opens a well of emotions I didn’t realize I’d buried. Anger, relief, regret over the years I’ve lost trying not to be “annoying.”
“I worry a lot about being annoying. Like, maybe I’m the reason Mom and I both keep getting left behind.” I glance at Archie. He’s looking at me like I’ve just gut punched him.
“I was a dumb kid, but I should have done better.”
“Only one of us was a kid, Archie,” I say softly, looking out the window and bracing myself for him to get defensive.
“You’re right. You were a kid, and I was almost an adult still acting like a kid.” His eyes stay fixed on me.
It’s not an apology, but it’s close. I don’t push him any further. I’m sorry isn’t in Archie Forsythe’s vocabulary, so why do I keep hoping for it? Why do I think I need it? I don’t.
His inability to apologize, though, doesn’t give me an excuse not to. “I’m really sorry about your hair. I never would have done it if I’d known how hard it would be for you to fix it.”
Archie’s lip tugs at the corner, and he tousles his hair. “I’ve always wondered how I’d look as a blond. Mystery solved.”
His mouth pulls into a full grin that snags my heart with the swiftness and surprise of a piece of jewelry getting caught on a loose thread.
I quickly look away, but my blood pulses harder.
I want to meet his smile with my own. I want an excuse to trace my thumb along his cheek again.
I want to hold tight to the tiny strand of a connection we’ve threaded together.
And that…is not okay. This is Archie Forsythe I’m thinking about. My enemy. The man standing in the way of financial freedom for Mom and freedom from Malcolm for me.
I can’t let Archie get under my skin with his pranks or the tempting way his mouth perpetually curves into a teasing smile.
We drive ten minutes in the opposite direction from Valente. I don’t breathe easy until Archie parks on a side street a couple blocks from the beach. Even if he leaves me here, I can find my way home.
I follow him up a walkway to an old blue beach cottage with a big sign out front that says Frothed. One glance, followed by the aroma of fresh roasted coffee beans, and I regret nothing, even if I end up late for work.
The place is adorable. Planter boxes overflow with flowers outside the doors. Inside, it is both charming and modern with a distinct surfer vibe.
The best part, though, is the blonde woman behind the counter whose face lights up when she sees Archie and me.
“You must be Piper!” She comes out from behind the counter, carrying a paper bag with the Frothed label on it. When she reaches me, she holds out the bag. “I’m so glad you got here before I have to leave. This is for you, for putting up with Archie.”
“Putting up with me?” Archie is indignant, but Britta elbows him aside to stand closer to me.
“Th-thank you,” I stutter.
I guess I was still expecting some kind of prank, but Britta seems genuinely happy to meet me. I hold the bag to my nose and take a deep breath.
“You must be Britta, and this smells divine.”
“It is divine. I special order the beans from Uganda and roast them myself.” A buzzing comes from her wrist, and she checks her watch before reaching back to untie the apron she has around her waist. “I’m so sorry.
I promised to help Dex unpack as soon as my replacement got here but tell Diva what you want.
It’s on the house. Try the ebelskiver. It’s new on the menu.
” She hands the apron to one of her employees and then hurries toward the front door, still talking.
“Oh! And you’ll be there tonight, right? We can talk more then.”
Britta is through the door before I can ask her where I’m supposed to be tonight, so I turn to Archie for an answer.
“I’m having a few people over for the AFL finals. You’re welcome to join in,” he says reluctantly before adding, “Rhys will be there, and Britta’s cousin, Stella. Obviously, Dex. And Frankie, too.”
“Frankie?” I grab onto that bit of info. I don’t know—or care—what AFL is, but Frankie, I know and love.
“She’s flying in tonight.”
“I’d love to see her.” My excitement disappears as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t know if I can face Rhys, though. The last time I saw him was possibly the most humiliating moment of my life.”
“You mean at the concert we went to?” Archie laughs as we get in line behind a few other customers waiting to order. “I guarantee Rhys has forgotten that I teased you in front of him.”
“Is that an admission of guilt?” I send him an accusing side glance.
Archie chuckles. “Guilty as charged.”
We step up to the counter. The barista grins at Archie. “Do I want to know what’s happening under that beanie?”
“Probably, but I’m not showing you with that attitude.” He leans against the counter and waves his thumb toward me, then back to the barista. “Diva, Piper. Piper, Diva.”
“Nice to meet you,” I say. “Can I get an espresso?”
“Double shot? Or triple?”