Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
‘I have a great idea,’ Iris announced as she swept into the kitchen. She’d had a yoga class to teach this evening, so Archer hadn’t seen her for dinner with Olive. It had been a silent and awkward meal, but his daughter had eaten two servings of pasta with copious amounts of butter and parmesan on it, so he wasn’t going to push her to speak, too. One thing at a time.
‘Oh?’ he asked.
‘A town meeting,’ she said triumphantly like this should make sense to him.
‘What about it?’
‘Oh, right, I forgot you’re an outsider,’ she said with a teasing smile. ‘Dream Harbor has biweekly town meetings where people can bring up any issues pertinent to the community.’
‘Okay…’
She let out a frustrated breath and he tried not to notice how cute she was when she was excited. But it was impossible. She was adorable. It had been impossible not to notice as she led him through the farmers’ market yesterday and it was impossible now as she hopped up onto her usual stool, eyes bright with her great idea.
‘I thought we could go and ask if anyone had thoughts on the pancake recipe.’
He wiped his hands on the towel hanging over his shoulder and crossed his arms over his chest. He did not stand like that to make Iris’s gaze flick over his biceps, he just happened to be comfortable this way. And if Iris noticed his arms, well, that was not his fault.
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘You want me to try and get some kind of town consensus on this pancake recipe?’
‘I heard you put poppy seeds in the pancakes last week, Archer.’ She raised a brow in accusation.
‘I did.’
‘People did not like it.’
‘I know.’
‘Okay, so I think this might be a good way to get some more ideas on things to try.’
‘I don’t think so.’
Her face fell and he wanted to kick himself, but pleasing Iris was not something that should be on his list of priorities. Keeping the diner afloat and Olive alive were his priorities. Not seeing the nanny smile.
‘It’s my diner now and I’m in charge of the menu. I’m going with what I think is best.’
There was something new in her eyes when she looked at him again, something he hadn’t seen from her. She looked … pissed.
‘What’s it like?’ she asked with a little scoff.
‘What’s what like?’
‘To be so damn confident in yourself, to think you know what’s best about everything?’
‘I don’t?—’
‘No, I’m really curious, because I’ve never felt that about anything, really. I’ve never just known what I wanted to be or what I wanted to do and I’ve just kinda drifted around, but you,’ again that little scoff, ‘you know exactly what you want to do. You’re a big important chef and you’re the expert, so?—’
‘I’m not,’ he said, his voice sharp, cutting through her little speech. ‘Not anymore. I’m barely fucking holding on here, Iris.’
She held his gaze, those green eyes zeroing in on his every insecurity. She lifted her chin. ‘I’ve lived here my whole life,’ she said. ‘And a lot of things have changed because things always do, but those pancakes have been the same for my whole life. There’s comfort in that, Archer. People like that. They need it. I need it.’
‘You do?’
She shrugged, like she’d let him see more than she’d intended when she’d started this conversation. ‘The diner is one of the few places left in town that the old folks remember going to when they were kids. It’s important to them, so it’s important to me.’
‘I don’t think it’s true.’
‘What?’
‘That you don’t know what you want to do with your life, that you’re not confident. Iris you’re amazing at what you do. At everything you do.’ He had yet to see her struggle with anything. From where he stood, Iris didn’t drift, she floated. She floated and she danced and she laughed and she just made everyone’s life better. She made his life better. Even when he felt like everything was falling apart.
‘Nah.’ She shook off his compliment. ‘You know what they say—“Jack of all trades, master of none”—or something like that.’
‘Nobody’s a master of anything. Look at me. I can’t even make pancakes.’ He gestured to the mess on the counter, wanting her to forgive him, wanting her to see the truth of him.
She relented, giving him a small smile, the soft light of the kitchen catching the gold in her hair. And she was just so…
Tempting.
‘What’s that from?’ she asked. Her eyes had flicked down and she was pointing to one of the scars on his arm, a long one that ran across the top of his forearm, right above the wrist.
‘Oven.’ He’d been moving too fast, desperate to prove himself to his professor, and his arm had hit the hot oven rack as he was pulling out a fresh batch of croissants. They came out terribly, just to add insult to injury, and his professor had actually spit a bit of one out in front of the whole pastry class. Archer hadn’t slept the rest of the week. He ate and breathed croissants, baking batch after batch until they were perfect. Because he didn’t fail.
Or at least he didn’t in his old life.
He felt exhausted just thinking about it.
‘And this one?’ Her finger hovered over his arm, pointing to another scar.
‘Cast-iron skillet.’
‘And this one?’ She trailed a single finger over the scar on the underside of his wrist and her touch sparked along his skin. She was looking at him again, her head tilted, eyes curious.
And suddenly his old life didn’t exist.
The only real thing was this kitchen. This kitchen and Iris’s fingertip leaving a trail of raised hairs along his arm.
He wanted to take her to bed.
He wanted to tuck her in.
He wanted to…
‘Broken glass,’ he said, his voice rough with everything he wanted to do to her. That he couldn’t do to her.
There were too many things he couldn’t do right now. He wanted to growl in frustration.
‘I didn’t know cooking was such a dangerous job.’ Her finger was still on him, tracing back and forth over that scar.
‘Restaurant kitchens can get intense,’ he ground out, struggling for control. ‘A lot of fast-moving parts. Add heat and sharp objects, and it can get dangerous sometimes.’
She took her hand away and Archer had to bite back the shuddering sigh he felt building in his chest. He’d known it was a bad idea to hire Iris as his nanny. He knew he was attracted to her. He knew how precarious a situation it was to have a single woman living under his roof, for both of them.
But this was so much worse than he’d thought.
If Iris was going to look at him like that and touch him like that…
What was he going to do?
He hadn’t smoked since moving here, but suddenly he wished he hadn’t given it up.
‘What kind are you trying tonight?’
Archer blinked. Pancakes. She was talking about pancakes while he was thinking about taking her to bed.
‘Buttermilk.’
‘Yum.’ She wiped her finger around the edge of the bowl where the batter had dribbled over and lifted it to her mouth. Archer grabbed her wrist.
‘Hey!’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked, leaning closer. What was he doing? Why was he touching her? Why was he leaning across the counter toward her? Why was his entire focus fixed on her luscious mouth? He’d clearly lost his mind, but she was reeling him in with those damn eyes and that mischievous smile. It was back and he wanted it to stay. He didn’t like that he’d upset her, that he’d slipped into his cocky-bastard tendencies. He found that he didn’t want to be that guy anymore. At least not around Iris.
‘Licking the batter.’ The word licking sent fire through his veins and a million inappropriate thoughts through his head.
‘You shouldn’t eat raw batter.’ He was still holding her wrist and her pulse fluttered beneath his fingers. Her tongue swiped along her bottom lip and Archer nearly groaned.
‘I was just going to have a little.’ The batter was dripping down her finger.
‘I should probably taste it first. Make sure it’s good.’ His voice was low and rough, and they were far too close and her pulse had sped up and this was a bad idea and … his mind blanked as he took Iris’s finger in his mouth and licked it clean. He ran his tongue over the length of it, that finger that had just teased along his skin, nipping the tip before he released it with a quiet pop .
Her eyes widened but she didn’t pull away. Instead, a small whimper escaped her lips. Oh God, he wanted to pull her onto the counter and lick the rest of her. The thought slammed into him. It was a visceral need, a demand from every inch of his body.
Never mind that his mind was screaming at him to stop! To turn back and find the line he wasn’t supposed to cross!
He couldn’t hear that voice anymore.
All he could hear was Iris’s breath, mingling with his own, like they’d both run to get here. He tugged her closer, his hand still wrapped around her wrist, the taste of pancake batter still on his tongue.
Her gaze flicked down to his mouth and lingered there. She licked her own lips like she was thinking about what she wanted to do to his.
‘Archer.’ His name sounded like a plea.
‘Tell me to stop,’ he nearly begged. If she told him to stop, he would. He would step away and they could pretend he’d never done that, he’d never tasted her skin. ‘Tell me to stop, Iris and go back to your room.’
Another little whimper.
He was close enough now to run his nose along the soft skin of her cheek. He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss his nanny and ruin absolutely everything, but he couldn’t stop himself, he couldn’t pull away. He didn’t want to.
Until he heard the distant ringing of … Christmas bells?
‘What…’ Iris’s voice sounded far away and dreamy. She’d turned from him and he wanted her back, but she was tugging her wrist away and hopping down from her stool and moving toward the door.
The front door where Olive once again was trying to get out in her sleep, the Christmas bells on the door ringing with every attempt.
Christ.
He let the air rush out of his lungs, let the kitchen and living room rush back into his consciousness, let his body shake off the feel of Iris in his hand.
He’d almost kissed her.
He’d almost ruined everything.
‘Come on, kid,’ Iris whispered, ushering Olive past him and back down the hall. ‘Time for bed.’
He let her tuck Olive in. He waited in the kitchen.
She didn’t come back.