Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
W hen Archer’s alarm went off at 4am, he had a raging headache, an incredibly dry mouth, and an arm draped over his bare chest. It was not his arm. It was a very feminine arm, slender and smooth. He also had a semi-erection and the vague sense that he had tasted this skin. That he’d run his lips over Iris’s delicate wrist, that he’d kissed her inner arm, that he’d nibbled on her neck.
Oh, fuck.
He peered over to the space beside him and found Iris face down in his pillows fast asleep.
No, no, no.
This was not happening. He did not take his nanny to bed. He very specifically had been fighting against this outcome since day freaking one. How did this happen?! And what exactly did happen?
He was comforted to realize that he still had his pants on and from what he could tell, Iris was at least wearing a shirt. That had to be a good sign, right? Or at least a sign that things hadn’t gone too far.
Who was he kidding? Having Iris in his bedroom under any circumstances was too far. Damn it. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to replay the night back. The meeting had gone relatively well. Then Iris had convinced him to come out to the bar. He nearly groaned out loud remembering what he’d said about his shower fantasies. And that was before he was drunk. What the hell did he do after he’d had too many of those shots Iris’s friends kept buying?
Little bits and pieces of the rest of the night flashed through his head. Iris grinning at him over her drinks, Iris in a dance-off with a group of older ladies, Iris giggling in the back seat of the Uber on the way home. Okay, so the memories were essentially a slide show of Iris being irresistible.
He remembered paying a bemused looking Kimmy when they got home and then… Christ, did he make Iris pancakes? She stirred next to him, and he could feel the exact moment when she woke up. Her entire body stiffened.
‘Uh oh,’ she muttered into the pillow, not bothering to lift her head.
‘Yeah, uh oh.’
‘Shit.’
‘Double shit.’
‘Archer, what did we do last night?’
Her arm was still draped across his body, her strawberry scent still warm and inviting. God, he wished she could stay. He wished he could roll her over and do everything he was apparently too drunk, thank God, to do last night.
But he couldn’t. They couldn’t.
Olive was doing well. Her therapist said the steady environment he was providing at home was a big help to her healing process. So what would happen if he slept with Iris and things inevitably got messy between them? What would happen to Olive? She would lose another person close to her. He couldn’t do that to her just to satisfy his own misguided lust.
He ran a hand down his face. ‘I’m pretty sure we didn’t do anything but eat late-night pancakes and fall asleep next to each other.’
And I may have licked the sweat from your neck…
Iris rolled over, taking her arm and her warmth with her.
‘Okay,’ she said almost to herself. ‘Okay, that’s good.’
‘Look, Iris…’
‘Please don’t apologize. I promise you it was equally my fault. Again.’
She sat up and leaned against the headboard with a groan. When he looked up at her she was rumpled from sleep. Her hair had come loose from her braid and was in a tangle around her face. Crease marks from the pillow covered one cheek. She looked like a hot mess. Like an adorable hot mess he wanted to tuck back into his bed and bring a glass of water and some Advil to.
And for a split second he had a vision of Iris that wasn’t just as a quick fling, but as someone who stayed. Someone who could be there for him and for his daughter. Someone he could take care of.
Which was not something he’d ever wanted or had time for in his life. But his life was different now. Maybe now he had time to care for a partner? He had a house and a kid and he worked totally reasonable hours and maybe that meant he could want other things, too? Maybe the untimely death of his old life was the opportunity for the birth of a new one?
One with Iris in it.
And he realized it was the first time he’d thought about staying here with Olive that hadn’t sent him into a spiral of disappointment and panic at his aborted goals.
‘Town meetings do not usually end that way,’ she said, interrupting his thoughts. ‘Last night was a bit of an anomaly. I blame cabin fever. April is always a little nutty around here.’
‘Well, thank God for that. I don’t know how this town would survive if everyone always drank that much.’
Iris gave him a weak smile. ‘Sorry, I wormed my way into your bed.’
‘I don’t think that’s how it happened.’
‘Oh, it definitely was.’
He remembered his hand in Iris’s, her tugging him down the hall, leading him into his bedroom. Did they kiss? Did he touch her beyond that ill-advised moment in the kitchen?
This was why he never drank tequila.
‘Don’t worry,’ she went on. ‘I didn’t take any liberties.’
‘Liberties? With me?’ He couldn’t help his smile. At the moment, he was feeling like she could take whatever she wanted from him. ‘I thought you didn’t remember what happened.’
‘It’s coming back to me.’
He waited for her to elaborate, but she just added, ‘I get snuggly when I’m drunk.’
‘I think you might be the only person on earth with that drunken trait.’
‘Probably.’
‘Are you wearing my T-shirt?’
Iris smiled sheepishly. ‘I got syrup on mine.’
There was no reason to point out that she had a room full of clothes right across the hall. They obviously had not been thinking clearly last night. And besides, she looked so damn good in his T-shirt, his resolve to not kiss her was weakening. Would it really affect Olive all that much if he did? Would she even need to know about it? Parents kept stuff from their children all the time.
Iris yawned dramatically. ‘You wake up so early.’
‘I know. This used to be when I went to bed.’
Her face was tender when she looked down at where he was still lying in the pillows. His life was upside down, but he was feeling less and less bad about it.
‘Iris?’
‘Yeah?’
‘I had a fun night.’
Her smile grew, lighting up the dim room. ‘Me too.’
And then she leaned down and kissed him, soft and sweet on the cheek. It took all of his strength, every ounce of ‘trying so hard to be a good dad and not fuck up his kid’s life’ to not pull her down on top of him.
She was right there …
‘Dad!’ At the sound of Olive’s voice outside his bedroom door, Archer had three immediate thoughts: One: she’d called him Dad ! Two: was she hurt/sick/scared or some combination of the three? Three: what the hell would happen if she found Iris in here?
Iris for her part was frozen halfway between kissing him and sitting up, her eyes wide and terrified like they were about to get busted by the feds or something.
‘What do we do?’ she hissed.
‘I don’t know,’ he whispered back.
‘Dad?’ Olive called again.
‘Be right there!’ he croaked.
‘Where’s Iris?’ she asked through the door.
Iris winced. ‘Oh God. She knows! She knows! What do we do?!’ she whispered, and jumped off the bed, looking around the room frantically for a place to hide.
Archer got up and grabbed her by the shoulders. ‘Calm down. She doesn’t know anything,’ he whispered back.
Iris nodded, but still looked like she was ready to jump out the window. So apparently, her head was not in the same place as his. Iris did not wake up this morning picturing a cozy life together. Of course she hadn’t.
This was just a job.
He was just her boss. A boss she flirted with. But nothing more.
He’d let this whole thing get away from him and he’d risked Olive’s mental health for it.
‘Just stand over there,’ he whispered to Iris before opening up the door and peeking out.
‘What’s the matter?’ he asked Olive.
‘Is Iris in there with you?’
‘Uh…’
‘Here it is!’ Iris called loudly, pulling something off his dresser as she walked by him. ‘I was just looking for this … uh…’ she looked down at what she’d grabbed. ‘This men’s deodorant. The ladies one just doesn’t cut it for me. Oh, Olive, what are you doing up?’
Olive glanced between the two of them, him in just his sweatpants and Iris in nothing but a T-shirt, and Archer held his breath.
‘I’m thirsty,’ she said. Thankfully, her five years of life hadn’t provided her with any reasons why it would be weird for her dad and her nanny to be caught in the same bedroom together half naked.
‘Let me get you some water,’ he said, sighing in relief as he ushered her down the hall. He glanced over his shoulder in time to see Iris sneaking back into her room.
Her little walk of shame down their hallway made him feel far worse than his tequila headache.
* * *
Archer was not the only Dream Harbor resident with a hangover. By nine o’clock, every booth was full, and everyone wanted hot coffee and greasy food. Archer’s new breakfast sandwich of eggs, country sausage, gruyere cheese in a croissant was a huge hit.
‘Another sandwich and two orders of the buttermilk pancakes,’ Maribel called out on her way into the kitchen. Archer had left several of his more successful pancake options on the menu and people were actually ordering them.
Cyrus poured four puddles of batter on the griddle and Archer assembled the sandwich. Despite his rough start to the day, the diner was running smoothly. Maribel and Jess were carrying out orders as fast as Cyrus and Archer could cook them up and for once, the customers seemed relatively pleased.
He’d only been beckoned out of the kitchen once and that was so the mayor could thank him for his input at the meeting last night and report that the townsfolk felt very pleased to have a say in what happened at their beloved diner.
More and more, Archer was becoming convinced that these people didn’t actually care all that much about the pancakes and instead were torturing him as some sort of hazing ritual. But if he was passing the test then all the better. Especially if it helped when it came time to reassess the custody agreement. Olive had called him Dad this morning. There was no way he was giving her up now.
At least one part of his life was going smoother, because the more he thought about Iris today, about how she’d felt lying next to him, the more confused he got. They’d nearly been caught and the look of terror on Iris’s face was enough to tell him she wasn’t at all interested in something serious with him.
Luckily, the breakfast rush flowed directly into the lunch rush and Archer didn’t have much time to think.
‘Two veggie sandwiches, one French onion soup, and one side salad, chef.’
‘One BLT on sourdough, one order of sweet-potato fries, and a hot coffee, chef.’
‘One stack of pancakes with blueberries, one veggie sandwich, and one tomato soup with grilled cheese.’
The orders kept rolling in and Archer and Cyrus’s rhythm picked up. Cyrus manned the griddle while Archer assembled sandwiches and salads, dishing up soups and making sure the plates looked presentable before being sent out. It was different from his previous kitchens, smaller and more intimate. With so few employees, they really needed to work together well and Archer had to admit, it was nice to work in a kitchen with so little drama. They just got it done.
By the end of the day, Archer was sweaty and covered in splashes of soup and salad dressing. Cyrus grinned at him.
‘Another good day, chef,’ the old man said, much more chipper since Archer had started taking more of his input.
‘It sure was, chef.’ Archer wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Cyrus beamed. He loved it when Archer called him chef. As far as Archer was concerned Cyrus was one. The man had been cooking for people for forty years. If that didn’t make you a chef, then Archer didn’t know what did.
‘Nice job today,’ Archer said to Maribel and Jess, and Holden, the new waiter they’d hired.
‘Thanks, chef,’ Jess said, grabbing her coat and heading out the back door.
‘Have a good night!’ Maribel called, following her out.
Holden was chatting with the dish-washer, Meg, and the way she was giggling made Archer hope he wasn’t about to lose his drama-free kitchen.
By the time the kitchen was cleaned up and he was heading home, it was after five. He ignored the excitement he felt at the thought of seeing Iris again and gave his dad a call. If anyone could talk some sense into Archer, it would be him.
He dialed and put his dad on speakerphone.
‘Hey, Arch!’
‘Hi, Dad.’
‘How are you? How’s the weather up there?’
Archer frowned through the windshield. It had finally stopped raining but today was windy enough to still warrant a jacket. Archer was wondering if warmer weather was ever going to get here. ‘Not great.’
His dad chuckled. ‘It’s beautiful down here. Played eighteen beautiful holes today.’
Archer had grown up outside of Boston but his dad and stepmom had retired down in South Carolina, and they never tired of telling Archer about how nice the weather was.
‘That’s great, Dad.’
‘What? You didn’t call to hear me brag about the weather?’ he asked with a chuckle.
‘Not really.’
‘So, what is it, then? How’s little Olive? I’ve got a good story all picked out for next time.’
Archer had started doing video chats between Olive and his dad, and his dad had taken to reading her stories to break the ice. When Olive asked him if he was her new grandpa, Archer was sure his dad was going to cry. He’d be lying if he said there wasn’t a tear in his eye, too.
‘That’s great, Dad. Olive’s fine. She’s doing really well, actually.’
‘Okay, so what’s the problem?’
Archer cleared his throat. ‘Uh, it’s the nanny.’
‘Not working out?’
‘No, she’s working out great. Olive loves her. Iris seems to know how to get her out of her shell and to make her feel better when she’s down.’
‘That sounds perfect. So, what’s the problem?’
‘Uh … we…’
‘Archie, please don’t tell me you slept with the nanny.’
It stung a little bit that his father would assume he would do that, but he wasn’t totally wrong.
‘No, not really. I mean, no. We haven’t slept together, slept together.’
‘Get to the point, son.’
Archer sighed. This was why he’d called, right? His father’s no-nonsense approach to problems.
‘We got drunk and slept in the same bed, but nothing happened.’
‘Archer.’
‘I know. It’s bad, but I can’t seem to?—’
‘Can’t seem to what? Act like a gentleman? Behave like the man I raised you to be?’
‘That’s not it. It’s not like that.’ Archer ran a frustrated hand down his face. It wasn’t like that, was it? He knew his feelings weren’t one-sided, but that didn’t make any of this a good idea.
‘Then what’s it like, Arch? Because I’m as happy as can be about that little girl, but you got one woman pregnant and now you can’t keep your hands off the nanny?’
Jesus, when he said it like that it made Archer sound like a real piece of shit.
His father’s tone softened. ‘Look, I know you’re doing right by your daughter, and I’m proud of you for that. But I don’t see how getting involved with the nanny is a good idea. No matter how cute she is.’
Cute did not begin to explain how he felt about Iris. She was gorgeous and bright and funny and … this was not helpful.
‘You’re right, Dad. Of course.’
‘Of course I am. Sleeping with the nanny? That would make things very complicated. Then what?’
What would happen next? If he slept with Iris, what would she want to happen? Would she want it to be a one-time thing?
Or could she want more? It confused the hell out of him that that idea didn’t scare him. More with Iris could actually be great. They were already living together. His kid already loved her. Maybe this all made sense.
Well, it made sense to him. Maybe it would horrify Iris.
Iris who claimed she never actually wanted children and had only signed onto this job because she was about to be evicted, and now he was what? Planning their wedding?
This wasn’t him.
Archer didn’t have dreams of a wife and a family. He had dreams of being the best chef he could be, of perfecting his skills, of someday earning that Michelin star. And now everything was muddled and he was clearly losing his grip on what he really wanted. On what he’d always wanted.
‘Yeah, I don’t know. It would be awkward, I guess. And I really don’t want to have to find someone new for Olive.’
‘So, there’s your answer.’
‘Right. Thanks.’
There was his answer. His perfectly reasonable, obviously correct answer.
And he hated it.