Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
‘W hy does it smell like wet paint in here—’ Archer stopped dead in the doorway of Olive’s room, a scowl etched on his face.
Oh, right, Iris had forgotten to mention the whole room-painting idea. She winced. ‘We’re just doing a little makeover.’
‘A makeover?’
‘Yeah! And I’m going to have a sleepover in Iris’s room tonight while it dries,’ Olive told him over her shoulder while moving her little roller up and down the wall. Iris had gotten the room prepped while Olive was at school and the two had been painting all afternoon, although Olive hadn’t really been pulling her weight with that tiny roller, and Iris’s arms were tired. She brushed a stray hair from her face with her forearm, not wanting to use her painty fingers. She was not a neat painter. Most of her overalls and seventy-five percent of her skin was splattered in buttercup yellow.
‘I hope that’s okay,’ she said with an apologetic smile.
Archer glowered from his position in the doorway. ‘Can I speak with you for a minute?’
Iris glanced at Olive, and the little girl just shrugged as if to say Iris was on her own with this one. ‘Thanks a lot, kid,’ Iris muttered as she shuffled after Archer, down the hall and out into the kitchen, fully prepared to be scolded for not checking with him first about the paint. She should have. She knew that. But it was hard to check in when she was avoiding him like the plague. A very sexy plague.
‘I think I owe you an apology,’ he said.
Iris blinked. ‘You do?’ Well, that was not what she was expecting.
‘Yes, I do. About the other night…’
Oh, that. That thing Iris was very purposefully not thinking about. About Archer’s tongue on her skin and all his intense energy focused directly on her, like he wanted to put her on the counter and use that tongue in so many more interesting ways. She definitely hadn’t gotten off in the shower this morning thinking about it.
That would have been inappropriate.
‘I shouldn’t have done that. It was … I was … I don’t know what I was thinking. I apologize.’
‘Oh.’
He ran a hand roughly through his hair like he was frustrated with himself. ‘Maybe this isn’t working out. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, and I obviously did…’
‘I’m comfortable! Very comfortable. Really, no need to apologize.’
‘Iris.’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Iris, I licked you.’
Oh, God, why did he say that out loud?! The word lick sounded absolutely filthy from his stern mouth.
‘It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Or it doesn’t have to be. We can just forget it.’ She blew the hair from her face, really wishing she wasn’t mostly yellow for this conversation.
His frown had only intensified with her protests.
‘Look, Archer. It wasn’t all you.’ She felt the flush rise to her cheeks. She hadn’t ever planned to meet this head-on, but here she was. ‘I was flirting with you, too. It was mutual.’
A muscle twitched in his jaw like he was grinding his back teeth.
‘But you were right,’ she went on. ‘We need to keep this professional. Which I fully intend to do. From now on. Okay?’ She really didn’t want to get fired. Not now. Not when things were going well with Olive and she had some extra cash, and she really didn’t want to find a new place to live.
He relaxed slightly, his gaze still holding her in its grasp. Finally, he relented. ‘Okay, fine.’
Iris blew out a sigh of relief. ‘Great.’
‘But, Iris…’
‘Yeah?’
‘You need to ask me before redecorating my house.’
‘Right. Sorry.’
He softened a little more, his brow smoothing out. ‘But I am glad you’re making Olive’s room more homey for her.’
Iris smiled. ‘You're welcome.’
He nodded. ‘Right. Okay, I’m going to shower before dinner, but you’re welcome to stay.’
Her smile grew. ‘What are you making?’
‘Nothing fancy tonight. Salad Nicoise with fresh sourdough.’
‘Not fancy? Sir, before I moved in I ate cereal for dinner five out of seven days a week.’
He looked truly horrified by that statement and Iris couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Dinner’s at seven.’ He stalked off to the bathroom and Iris definitely didn’t imagine him stripping down for the shower. She didn’t have time for that. She had a bedroom to paint.
‘You didn’t finish while I was gone?’ she yelled in mock dismay as she came back into Olive’s room. ‘What did I even hire you for?’
Olive laughed. ‘I can’t reach the top!’
‘Oh, right. You’re short.’ Iris frowned at her and Olive giggled some more. ‘I forgot.’
‘I’m a kid!’
‘That explains a lot.’ She ruffled Olive’s hair. ‘Come on, let’s finish up before dinner. Your dad’s making something good.’
Olive wrinkled her nose. ‘Good for you or good for me?’
‘You can’t survive on Pop-Tarts alone, kid. Trust me. I’ve tried.’
‘Hmph.’
Olive wasn’t painting anymore. In fact, she wasn’t even standing anymore.
‘You’re getting paint in your hair,’ Iris said.
‘I don’t care.’
Iris stepped over her prone body. ‘Suit yourself.’
‘Iris?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Can my mom see me still?’
Oof. Alarm bells immediately started ringing. She was not qualified for this conversation. But Olive was staring up at her with big, round eyes and so much sadness. Sadness a five-year-old should never have to carry. It made Iris want to scoop her up and wrap her in something soft and keep her safe.
She sighed. ‘I don’t really know.’
‘Grandma says she can.’
‘Grandmas are pretty wise, so she’s probably right.’ Iris sat down on the plastic drop cloth next to Olive. ‘I don’t think people we love ever really leave us.’
‘So, she can see me?’
This did not feel like the time for abstract, philosophical thoughts on what happened after death. This baby missed her mother. And at this point, Iris would say literally anything to make her feel better.
‘Yeah, she can see you.’
Olive smiled. ‘Do you think she’ll like my new room?’
Iris swallowed all the uncomfortable feelings that were rising in her throat. ‘I think she’ll love it.’
Olive was running one hand up and down Iris’s leg and Iris wondered if she even knew she was doing it. It was the first time Olive had ever reached out to touch her.
‘I had a neighbor who died when I was young,’ Iris told her, thinking of Josie and their quiet afternoons together. It hadn’t made sense to her that Josie could simply stop existing. She was still there in her favorite soap operas and her special Sunday sauce. Iris refused to think of her as gone . ‘But I know she’s with me when I eat certain foods or see a hummingbird in the garden. She loved hummingbirds.’
Olive was quiet for a long time, her little hand still moving, tracing the seam of Iris’s overalls.
‘We used to have a garden,’ she said after a while.
‘Do you want to plant a new one? I bet your mom would like it if you had one again.’
Olive nodded, her gaze solemn when it met Iris’s.
‘Okay, deal,’ Iris said, still trying to steer this conversation in a direction that didn’t make her want to cry.
‘I never had a dad before,’ Olive said, ping-ponging between topics in a way Iris had learned was common for her age.
‘Me neither.’
A shuffling sound in the hallway caught Iris’s attention. Archer had paused at Olive’s room after his shower. He raised an eyebrow in question at the two on the ground, but Iris smiled to let him know everything was fine. Or mostly fine.
‘But now I have one,’ Olive said, not noticing her father.
‘Yes, you do. You’re lucky.’
‘I am?’
‘Sure. Your dad came right away when you needed him. That’s what makes a good dad.’ Her gaze snagged on Archer, on his face, on the smile tugging at his mouth.
‘Really?’
‘Of course! You don’t want one of those dads that doesn’t show up. Trust me.’
Olive was thinking this over, her nose scrunched up and her mouth twisted to the side.
‘But where was he before?’
‘He was …’ Iris didn’t really know what Archer wanted Olive to think about why he hadn’t been with her from the start.
‘You were a surprise,’ he said, startling them both.
Olive sat up. ‘A surprise?’
‘Yeah, your mom was doing such a great job that you didn’t need a dad right away. But then when your mom … uh…’ He glanced at Iris, panic clear on his face, like he wished he hadn’t waded into this conversation.
‘Your mom knew your dad would take such good care of you when she was gone,’ Iris jumped in.
Olive frowned.
‘You were a great surprise, Olive,’ he said, his voice rough. ‘The best one, really.’
Iris didn’t know how much of that he meant, but he was definitely selling it.
Olive brightened. ‘I was?’
‘Yep.’
‘And what about Iris?’ she asked, turning her attention back to Iris. ‘Did I surprise you, too?’
‘Big time.’
‘Really?’ Olive was clearly thrilled to be surprising people left and right.
‘Sure. I didn’t expect to actually like you.’
‘Iris, jeez,’ Archer huffed but Olive just threw her head back and laughed.
‘I thought you’d be terrible, actually,’ Iris went on. ‘I thought you’d be sticky and weird.’
‘I’m not weird!’
‘Oh, you definitely are, but so am I, so I like it.’
Olive was up now, hopping from foot to foot. ‘I surprised everyone.’
‘You sure did,’ Archer said with a grin, that dimple popping in his cheek. Iris looked away.
‘All right, kid, quit stalling. We need to finish the job.’
‘I’ll help,’ Archer said.
‘You just showered.’
‘Not everyone paints themselves when they paint a room,’ he said with a teasing smirk, his eyes roving over her paint splattered body.
Iris huffed. ‘Then they aren’t having nearly enough fun.’ She stuck her tongue out at him and he grinned.
And that conversation they’d just had in the kitchen felt like it was a million years ago and not at all relevant anymore.