Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
Archie
Okay, so we had incredible sex. And great cuddle time afterward.
But that doesn’t mean anything.
I mean, why shouldn’t I get some perks in the form of orgasms from the guy who broke my ankle?
Orgasms are neurologically fascinating, actually. The brain lights up like a Christmas tree during climax—the genital sensory cortex, thalamus, hypothalamus, and brainstem all firing simultaneously. It’s one of the few experiences that engages virtually every part of the brain at once.
Orgasms can even boost your immune system, increasing immunoglobulin A production.
So really, sleeping with Leo is a health decision.
Preventive medicine.
I chew on my bottom lip as I watch Leo from the kitchen doorway.
He’s standing at the stove with a look of intense concentration that I’ve previously only seen him direct at spreadsheets and misbehaving Pomeranians.
There’s a mixing bowl on the counter, a carton of milk, and a bag of flour that he clearly bought just for this, since I’m fairly certain we didn’t have flour yesterday.
His sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. There’s a smudge of batter on his jaw.
He’s also got a recipe pulled up on his phone. He keeps glancing at it and frowning, like the pancake batter is a client proposal that hasn’t met his standards.
“What are you doing?”
He looks up from the pan. “I’m making you pancakes. I know it’s not a Sunday, but I thought you deserved them.”
My brain stalls.
What the hell? Leo remembered the lie I told Elizabeth about our traditions and turned it into breakfast?
When in doubt, joke.
“You know, between last night and this, you’re really raising the bar for what I expect from a man. The pancakes might actually be the more impressive performance, and that’s saying something.”
“I can’t really offer my opinion,” Elizabeth says, appearing behind me like a cashmere-clad ghost. “But then I wasn’t there to judge the other one.”
Oh god.
Leo goes very still. I can see the blush starting at his collar and working upward, which is the first time I’ve ever seen his composure crack from the neck up.
Meanwhile, I’m just going to blot this moment out of my memory and pretend it never happened. I’ll file it alongside the time I accidentally called my sixth-grade teacher Mom and the time I threw up on a date’s shoes. The Archibald Mansley Archive of Moments Best Left Unexamined.
Leo’s blush has faded to just a faintly incriminating glow when he brings the pancakes over to the table.
He sits and automatically goes to slide the syrup bottle over to me before his hand stills.
I look at the syrup. He looks at the syrup. We’re both looking at the syrup with the energy of two people who have a very specific and deeply unfortunate history with this particular condiment.
“Do you want some syrup?” he recovers to ask.
“Thank you. How refreshing to have maple syrup offered to me in a controlled, consensual manner.”
Leo’s left eye does a tiny spasm.
I pour the maple syrup generously over my pancakes. “You can never have too much maple syrup,” I say. “Although I suppose the delivery method matters. Ideally onto food. Not, for example, onto a person from a considerable height.”
“Archibald, what on earth are you talking about?” Elizabeth asks.
“Private joke,” I say.
“Very private,” Leo agrees.
The pancakes are delicious. Even Elizabeth makes approving noises as she tucks into them.
I raise my gaze to praise Leo through a mouthful, but my words die when I meet his gaze. He’s watching me with the intensity of a man who has seen me naked and is currently replaying the highlights.
If I didn’t blush at my prim and proper godmother overhearing me discussing my sex life, then I’m not going to blush now under Leo’s scrutiny.
But it’s a close call.
And as I finish up my breakfast, there’s a slightly queasy feeling inside me that has nothing to do with being overstuffed with pancakes.
The unsettled feeling stays inside me and flares back up that afternoon as I watch Leo waddle across the room in his inflatable dinosaur suit.
He’s trying to distribute party bags while approximately eight kids hang off various parts of his costume, making him list dramatically to one side like a prehistoric ship taking on water.
“One at a time,” he’s saying, in the patient tone of a man who has said “one at a time” roughly forty-seven times already today. “There’s enough for everyone.”
“There’s never enough,” shrieks one child, who has clearly grasped capitalism at a young age.
Leo crouches to deal with a child who dropped their party bag, spilling plastic dinosaurs and chocolate coins across the floor. The little boy’s lip is wobbling dangerously, eyes filling with tears.
“It’s okay.” Leo’s voice is soft. “The dinosaurs just wanted to go exploring. Let’s round them up before they cause trouble.”
He starts gathering the scattered toys with his tiny inflatable arm, which shouldn’t work at all but somehow does.
This is Leo. Underneath all that corporate polish, he’s fundamentally…kind.
Kindness isn’t ranked high on the sexy traits list, but it should be.
And Leo isn’t performatively kind, not because-someone-is-watching kind. He’s the real thing. The kind of kind that doesn’t announce itself.
People who are generous with money or grand gestures are easy to find. People who are generous with their attention, who’ll get on a dirty floor in a dinosaur costume to help a crying child collect plastic toys? Those are rare.
And that’s the problem I’m facing, isn’t it? Because I can handle attraction. I can handle lust. I can file those under “fun” and “temporary” and keep my boundaries exactly where they are.
But kindness, real, unperformed kindness directed at me by someone who doesn’t seem to want anything in return is something I have no defense against.
So my chest does something complicated as I watch Leo help the boy chase down all the “escaping” dinosaurs.
Which might be detrimental to my overall health.
And that is why, despite the health benefits of orgasms, what happened last night with Leo really shouldn’t happen again.
But just as I make that decision, Leo straightens, his dark and brooding gaze meets mine, and a thrill shoots up my spine.
It’s been like this all day. There’s something almost…predatory in the way Leo has been watching me.
Before last night, his attention felt like surveillance. Clinical. Assessing.
Now it feels like hunger.
And the worst part is the fact that my body responds to it every single time. A flush of heat. A quickening pulse. My brain is swamped with the memory of his hands, his mouth, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress.
He knows what I look like when I come apart now.
He knows the sounds I make. The way I arch my back. The way I gasp his name.
And judging by the heat in his gaze, he’s thinking about all of it.
I fumble a balloon animal so badly that it looks more like a crime scene than a poodle.
“That’s a funny dog,” says the child I’m making it for.
“This is a very rare breed,” I say, examining my balloon catastrophe. “It’s a…Wobblington Terrier. They only exist in Scotland. Very exclusive.”
“Can I have a normal dog instead?”
“The Wobblington Terrier is deeply offended by that question.” I start twisting a new balloon, trying to focus on anything other than the way Leo is looking at me. “But yes. One normal dog, coming up.”
The new balloon turns out passably dog-shaped. Small victories.
I allow myself one breath of relief before the next child appears, demanding a sword.
Swords are easy. I can do them in my sleep.
What I cannot do easily is survive another hour of Leo looking at me like that.
I need to regain control of this situation. The dynamic between Leo and me has shifted dangerously off balance, and the only way to fix it is to remind both of us who’s in charge.
“Leo,” I call across the room, injecting my voice with the brightness of Captain Giggles. “I think it’s almost time for our grand finale. Why don’t you go get changed into your special costume?”
His eyes narrow. “Which special costume?”
“Sparkle McHornface, of course. We can’t end a party without a game of Sparkle Says.”
“I thought this was a dinosaur-themed party.”
But I’m already clapping my hands to get the children’s attention.
“Kids! You’re about to witness one of the most amazing transformations in nature.
Snugglesaurus is actually a unicorn in disguise!
He’s been undercover this whole party, but now it’s time to reveal his true magical form.
All it takes is enough birthday magic. Do we have enough birthday magic in this room? ”
“Yes!” the children scream.
“Then let’s see Snugglesaurus transform! Everyone chant with me: Sparkle, Sparkle, Sparkle!”
Leo shoots me a look that promises retribution. Then he turns and heads toward the changing room, inflatable dinosaur tail bobbing behind him.
I feel a small surge of victory.
This is better. This is familiar territory. Me tormenting Leo. Leo plotting revenge. No confusing feelings, no complicated chemistry, just good old-fashioned psychological warfare.
When Leo comes back out, the children lose their collective minds.
“Sparkle!” they shriek, swarming him like glittery piranhas.
Leo stands there, engulfed in pink fleece and small, grabbing hands, and meets my eyes across the chaos. The look he gives me is fifty percent murder, fifty percent something else entirely.
It’s the something else rather than the murder that makes my stomach flip, I’m fairly sure.
I don’t have time to make a definitive decision.
I have a game to run, after all.
“Sparkle says, touch your nose!” I command.
Twenty children and one murderous-looking unicorn touch their noses.
“Sparkle says, hop on one foot!”
Hopping commences. Leo wobbles dangerously in his hooves.
“Sparkle says, do a twirl!”
Leo twirls. A child giggles so hard she falls over.
This is right. This is how it should be. Me in control. Leo suffering adorably.