Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
DARCY
The next morning, I pulled up his contact in my phone, immediately renaming him. Not to anything inconspicuous to keep people from knowing—I didn’t care about that. No, if I was going to have to see his name frequently pop up on my screen now, I wanted a laugh out of it.
Me: Hey, it’s Darcy. I figured out how else you can make it up to me. If you’re still offering.
I hadn’t expected a response any time soon, but to my surprise, his response came through almost immediately.
Mr. Desperate: I’m still offering.
Mr. Desperate: I can be at The Colony in thirty minutes.
It didn’t escape my notice that he picked one of the nicer breakfast places in town.
He was clearly trying to suck up, and I did love their western omelette.
The fact that he wasn’t telling me to get lost was all I needed to know about how this conversation was going to go.
I got the sense that he was genuinely sorry, and I was going to forgive him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t leave him in a booth the way he did me before I did.
Me: I’m already downtown. Make it twenty. I’m getting hangry.
I wasn’t downtown—I was still at home in my pajamas. By the time I got dressed and out the door, the soonest I’d be there was thirty minutes from now, but he didn’t need to know that. Plus, I really wanted to see the scowl of annoyance he’d have when I showed up late and at his proposed time.
Slowly sipping my coffee, I spent the next five minutes watching the morning sun drift higher into the sky before heading to the bedroom to get dressed.
***
When I walked through the doors of The Colony thirty-five minutes later, Archer’s expression was far beyond his grumpy broodiness, and went full-on into silent rage territory. I wished my eyes could take pictures.
“Good morning,” I sing-songed, sliding into the booth across from him. The ivory ceramic mug he had in front of him had a sip of black coffee left in the bottom, and it looked cold. Shame.
“What happened to twenty minutes?” His low voice was tinted with barely-masked annoyance.
I shrugged and picked up the menu, scanning to see if they had any specials. “Well, I had to get dressed and leave my house—it took a minute. Putting socks on is a challenge.”
His brows knit together, his glare never wavering from my face. “You don’t have a bump.”
“Ahh, yes, but I’m practicing for when I do. That way I’ll be really good at it.”
If looks and silence could kill, I’d be deader than the pigs this place used for bacon.
Bacon actually sounded pretty good, now that I thought about it.
The waitress came over, realizing I’d finally joined the storm cloud of a man across from me, and proceeded to take our orders.
For me, a western omelette with home fries, cinnamon toast, and a side of bacon.
For Archer, two pieces of wheat toast, no butter.
I stared at him, my expression no doubt displaying my thoughts loudly.
But for real, a man that size was going to eat two tiny slices of toast?
Once she was gone, Archer folded his arms, one over the other, on top of the table, and leaned toward me.
The table wasn’t very wide, so neither was the booth, and at this distance, all I could smell was him—earthy and sort of minty, with undertones of smoke.
I bet he always smelled a little bit like a campfire no matter how many times he washed his clothes.
Under the table, his knees kept bumping into mine, and I tried my best to ignore it, but that little bit of contact branded me every time.
At least that’s how I imagined getting branded felt—sudden, all-consuming, and hot. So, so hot.
Archer’s eyes bored into mine, demanding my attention. I decided to take mercy on him. I played my games, and had my fun, it was time to be serious.
“So, I know how you can make up for being a jerk to me.”
He chuckled drily. “You said as much in your texts.”
I rolled my eyes at his sass, but otherwise ignored him, jumping into what I’d rehearsed with Linnea.
“In addition to doing a paternity test, I want your help getting my apartment ready. I’ve got a home gym that needs to be turned into the nursery, and I could use your .
. . muscles. If you could paint it too so I don’t have to be stuck in the fumes that’d be cool. ”
He sat back in his seat, apparently feeling comfortable enough with my requests to relax. “Easy. Done. Next.”
How much more had he expected? I thought doing a paternity test and helping me set up the nursery was more than enough to make it up to me, but his expression said he’d expected a laundry list from me. “That’s it. That’s all I’ve got.”
Archer regarded me in silence, and I sat there, confused as to what was happening. He’d already agreed to help me, and I just said there was nothing else I wanted, so what was with the contemplative expression on his face?
A beat later, he leaned forward, his sculpted forearms pressing against the tabletop. “That’s going to require quite a bit of time together,” he hedged tentatively. The wheels spinning in his eyes gave me pause.
I shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, so?”
“I’m up for a promotion at work.” He said it and it seemed as if he was talking to me, but to himself too.
I continued watching him and whatever was happening deep inside his head. “Congratulations? I’m sorry, what does that have to do—”
He blurted his next words so fast I was sure I’d misheard them. “I want you to be my fake girlfriend.”
I blinked.
Ringing filled my ears, but it wasn’t from anger—I was actually surprisingly fine as far as emotions went. No, it was from the silence that stretched between us. All I could hear was the muted ringing, and my own steady breathing.
“I’m sorry. What?” I finally asked.
“The chief doesn’t think I have any ties outside of the department, and won’t consider me for the lieutenant promotion unless I can prove to him that I have . . . attachments.” The last word sounded like it pained him to say. I think it was the longest sentence he’d ever said to me.
“Do you? Have anything outside being a firefighter?”
He grimaced. “No.”
“Why don’t you get an actual girlfriend?” I questioned.
“That’s not an option.” He was getting growly, and the part of me that wasn’t in complete disbelief liked knowing that I was pushing his buttons.
Channeling my inner three-year-old, I asked again, “Why?”
“Because, if you recall, I don’t do the whole girlfriend thing.” His tone took on a slightly icy edge.
How many verbal pokes did it take to get to the end of Archer’s patience? Surprisingly, only a few.
I leaned forward on the table, palms flat against the table as if that small hold would keep my head from spinning off my shoulders.
“So, let me get this straight. You want me, the pregnant woman you told three weeks ago you wanted nothing to do with when I told you it might be your child, to pretend to date you, so that you can get a promotion that your chief doesn’t think you’re emotionally responsible enough for.
And instead of working on yourself to become the kind of guy he’s wanting to promote, you want me to enter into a fake relationship and parade around with you for an undetermined amount of time so that you can lie your way into securing said promotion? ”
At that, Archer laughed, running a hand through his dark locks.
“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, I honestly can’t believe I just suggested it, but if we’re going to be spending all this time together anyway .
. .” He sighed, letting his hand fall from his hair and slide over his face.
“I’d really like this promotion, and as stupid as it sounds, a girlfriend would prove to my chief that I’ve got attachments. ”
This was crazy. What he was saying was actually insane, and the words to tell him as much were on the tip of my tongue when I swallowed them, a thought giving me pause.
Very soon, I was going to have to tell my family I was pregnant, and with each passing day I found myself more and more unready.
Dread over that conversation, and seeing their faces, had the joke of not telling them until he or she was born, sounding less like a joke and more like an actual possibility.
Over the past weeks, I’d become surprisingly comfortable with the idea of raising this baby by myself, but I didn’t want to have to tell my family alone.
I didn’t want to be the sole recipient of their disappointment, especially considering it wasn’t entirely my fault.
And especially because I no longer viewed this pregnancy as a “fault” or a “mistake.” I may not have chosen this path for myself, but I was choosing my baby, and I was getting excited.
My brain was a constant loop of baby names, nursery themes, what I was going to put on a registry, assuming Linnea or Shayna threw me a baby shower.
Fake dating was a terrible idea for so many reasons, but I couldn’t help seeing how it could be beneficial for me too.
Finally, I spoke. “Fine. But I’m adding another demand to my list then.”
His eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “You’re seriously agreeing to this?”
I was just as shocked as he was that I was agreeing, but he needed to hear my new stipulation before he got his hopes up any higher. “I am, but I think you’re going to want to hear what I’m adding first.”
He sat back in his seat and eyed me skeptically. “What is it?”
“If I’m going to be your fake girlfriend, then I want you to be my fake boyfriend.” That statement was met with a “well, duh” look, so I elaborated. “I want you to pretend to be my boyfriend when I go home for the holidays, and I want you to be there when I tell my family I’m pregnant.”
Archer straightened until he was sitting so straight, it didn’t seem good for his back. “You want me to help you tell your family you’re pregnant? Why?”
Peering down at my hands, I sighed. “It’s complicated, but the short of it is that while I love my family, I’m not like the rest of them, and having this baby is going to make that even clearer.
” When I met his gaze again, I continued, the plan formulating in my mind as I spoke.
“I’m not thinking anything too crazy. Come home with me on Thanksgiving so they can meet you, and then go back with me for Christmas and just sit there when I tell them. ”
“You’re going to tell them on Christmas?”
“Well, not on Christmas, but around it, yeah.”
His scowl returned tenfold. “You do realize your brother isn’t my biggest fan, right?”
I waved a hand at him. “That was in high school. You’re different . . . now.”
“I’m not that different.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever. The point is, I don’t want my family thinking I’m anymore of a screw up than they already think I am.
Showing up to their house knocked up and without being in a relationship of any kind is going to make me seem like exactly that.
I just . . .” I paused and took a steadying breath.
“I want them to believe this wasn’t another one of my mistakes.
Once you get your promotion we can break up, and then at least it won’t be my fault my baby is fatherless, and you’ll never see my family again to know their disappointment. It’s a win-win.”
Everything about him softened slightly, and if I was being honest, it was a little unnerving. “You’re not a screw up, Darcy. It was an accident.”
“I know I’m not, but I don’t want to feel like one, okay?” I shook my head as if I could clear the mental Etch A Sketch in my head before I could start spiraling. “And I’m not calling it that anymore. It was an accident, but it’s not anymore.” I placed a hand protectively over my stomach.
Archer stared at me for a long moment. Unmoving. Unblinking. The way he stared at me was like he was trying to peer through my eyes and into my brain to where all the things I wasn’t saying lived.
“Oh!” I shouted a little too loud as another thought occurred to me. “And we should set some ground rules if we’re going to do this. Draw some lines, if you will.”
Archer continued to stare at me as if he couldn’t believe what was happening. “Like what?”
“Well, to start, no PDA. I’m not kissing you in public to sell this. I’ll tolerate hand holding, and if you need to hug me or wrap your arm around me, I’ll allow it, but no kissing.”
That snapped him out of his bewildered trance. “Just in public?” His voice lowered.
Was he . . . flirting with me? It was hard to tell since his expression hadn’t changed, but it felt like I had just gotten a glimpse of the Archer from that first night.
I shook my head. “Or in private. No kissing period. And nothing else either.”
“So, let me get this straight.” He echoed my previous statement. “No kissing. No fucking. I help you turn your gym into a nursery, get a paternity test, and I meet your family a couple of times. Those are your terms?”
I racked my brain for anything else I could think of that I needed to tack on, but came up empty. “Yes. Those are my terms.”
He held his hand out over the table and I took it, his large hand enveloping mine in a handshake.
It was a deal.
The waitress came with our food not long after, and we ate in silence.
I could feel his gaze on my face as I ate my food, suddenly starving after negotiations, and when I glanced up, I couldn’t help but feel like I was looking into the eye of a storm—one that was about to rock my world.
I just wasn’t certain it’d be in a good way.