25. Tilly
Chapter twenty-five
Tilly
S omething soft brushes my cheek. “We’re here, Tilly.”
Opening my eyes, I blink away the haze of sleep I must’ve fallen under during the forty minute ride across town. A craftsman-style, two-story home with a large porch takes over my vision and I gasp. “This is your house?”
He chuckles and gets out of the truck, running around to open my door. “It needed some work, but it was a good investment.”
I live in the small two-bedroom house Jessie and I bought after we got married. I’d imagined moving to a larger one with some land once we had a child, but that never happened. We weren’t afforded that much time. Part of me wishes we had a kid so I could still have a piece of him, but that same part knows how that kid would feel. Probably the same way I did growing up after my mom passed and my dad checked out of parenting.
The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth, and I press my hand against my stomach.
“Want something to drink?” Archer asks once we’re inside.
“Sure.”
I’m not sure what I imagined the inside would look like, but it wasn’t this. His sleek black couches look like they’ve never been touched, and the monochrome artwork on his walls doesn’t really fit with the man I’ve come to know over the last five years .
“Deidre decorated.” It’s the only response he gives to my unasked question, but it has the effect of an anvil being dropped into my stomach. Of course, she decorated. She lived here with him, cooked meals for him, slept in his bed.
Unbidden, an image of me waking Archer up with soft kisses to his naked chest pops into my head. I touch my lips like the smooth skin has the memory and is just keeping it from me.
“Water or tea?” Archer asks, pulling me from my daydreaming.
I laugh. “Is that even a question? We’re Texans.”
“True.” He pours a sweet tea, adding a few cubes of ice before he passes it to me. Our hands touch and a lightning bolt courses through my arm and heads south. “Let’s go to the garage and I’ll show you the signs.”
I follow him back out the door with my glass, touching it against my neck to cool myself down. His ass looks amazing in the jeans he’s wearing. I catch a glimpse of his taut obliques when he grabs the key from above the door and his shirt rises. I take a quick sip to cover my low groan.
The door opens to a large garage with three massive bays. There’s an older Mustang up on a ramp in the closest bay to the door, and the other two are filled with long tables and items covered by sheets. He leads me over to the work area, crossing his arms and scuffing his shoe like a kid who’s embarrassed to show his teacher his artwork.
“May I?” I ask, touching one of the sheets.
“Go ahead.”
A wooden cross is unveiled when I lift the cover. It’s intricately woven between the center of what looks like a rock. My mouth parts, stunned by the beauty.
“These are…amazing, Arch.”
He purses his lips like he’s uncomfortable with the compliment .
I continue down the line. There are animals, furniture, tables, and even tiny doll houses. Imagining Archer bent over, his chisel working away at a Barbie bed so a little kid can play, warms my heart and turns it into a puddle of mush. I don’t even know if he wants kids, but I’m sure he’d be a phenomenal father.
I’d always hoped Jessie and I would have a girl. A little mini-me I could bake Christmas cookies with at the kitchen island while Jessie decorated the tree.
I bite my tongue, hoping the pain will keep the tears away. I tried to make the bed again this morning. I was so close to turning a new leaf, to restarting my life in a new way. I was sure it was finally time—that I could muster up the courage to smooth out his side of the bed, to fluff the pillows, to take the empty tea cup he left on the nightstand the night before he passed to the kitchen—but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
I’m just not ready yet.
“The signs are over here,” he says, snapping my attention to a dark office.
Following, I squeeze through the pathway lined with stacks of wood, side projects, and car parts. Light flickers on and Archer’s office comes into view. It’s large and has a distinct feel of the man standing in front of me. Pictures of Archer and Jessie, Archer and Shantel, and Archer and who I presume to be his brother are haphazardly hung on the wall. Yesterday’s coffee cup sits beside the computer on the spacious mahogany desk. Archer moves in my line of sight, blocking the rest of the desk with his broad shoulders.
He points to the other side of the office. “Jessie picked out a few.”
I slowly approach the covered signs, peeking over my shoulder to gauge Archer’s reaction. He’s busy putting something into the desk, his back turned to me. I shake out the nervousness making my fingers tingle .
Three signs are lined up against the wall when I pull off the cover. The first is a Hollywood style marquee where I can change the words to say whatever I want, maybe add a special or two. The next is a fold-out chalkboard sign that I can write on, and the other has a slot for me to put a poster style board inside. I imagine them sitting in front of the bakery on the sidewalk, people passing by and able to look at our menu, but I can’t help but feel disappointed.
It’s not that either of the signs are bad, but they aren’t the type of sign I imagined in front of my shop.
The last sign reads, St. James Bakery , and it’s large. So large I doubt it’ll fit on the small space between the door and the awning. I blow out a breath, steeling myself before I turn and meet Archer’s eyes. I feel horrible that I hate every sign Jessie chose for my shop, but none of them feel like…me. They’re more his personality, his style.
I slump as my ribs grow tight, fighting the grimace pulling at my face. Jessie was always so good with gift-giving. My ring, my bracelet, the house with the massive island and double ovens. He knew what made me tick, all the little ways that a spouse should. How did he miss the mark on this when he’s gotten it right so many times before?
“Knock knock,” a voice says from the garage.
I spin, taking note of Archer’s relaxed form leaning on the desk. He rises and looks through the window, a smile appearing on his face.
“I’ll be right back.” He moves toward the door. “I need to load up Mr. Robinson’s car, so it’ll be a few minutes.”
“That’s fine.” Totally fine .
Taking advantage of the alone time, I walk back to the picture wall and inspect the faces. Archer’s smile is what sticks out to me. It’s been years since he smiled so wide, happy and carefree. My eyes float to the desk and a blip of curiosity rises in me. What did he shove into the drawer he didn’t want me to see? I pull the blinds down a smidgeon and see him in front of the car with the hood up, taking Mr. Robinson through something about his car.
Curiosity overtakes me and I grasp the drawer handle, slowly pulling it out. Younger versions of me, Jessie, and Archer stare back at me from the ornate frame. Jessie is between me and Archer with his arms around our shoulders, but Archer’s gaze is focused on me, a smile clear on his face.
A swirl of nostalgia convenes in my stomach as I think back to the night before everything changed. A night I’m not sure would have made a difference in the long run.
Slammed by the sudden onslaught of emotions, I drop the frame onto Archer’s desk and back away like a cornered animal. Why does he have this picture on his desk like it’s…meaningful to him? He has plenty of pictures of him and Jessie laughing, skiing, and fishing. Why keep this particular picture? A memento of better times? Times he maybe wishes he could go back to.
Still backing away from the offending photo, I stumble into his cabinet and knock into another section of signs. The covers come off and I scramble to pick up the signs, eyes catching on the beautiful wooden one hidden under Archer’s desk. I lay them down and crawl across the room, ducking under the desktop to grab the one with my name on it.
I sit back on my heels, admiring the simple yet stunning sign. It’s a dark cherry wood, smooth and lacquered. I run my hands along the curves, wondering how Archer managed to manipulate the wood into the cursive form of my name. It’s…perfect.
Wetness slides down my cheek. I close my eyes and let the wave of emotions crash over me .
“Tilly?” Archer’s voice sounds closer, but it takes a moment before he pops into view. His mouth parts and shuts quickly, his hand automatically moving to the back of his neck to rub like the sheer sight of me makes him tense.
“It’s perfect, Arch.” My thumbs skate along the sign in my hands as I stare down at it, tears still burning my eyes. “Can I have it?”
“Yeah…yeah, of course.” His voice sounds different, a tad too high. “Let me load it up for you.”
He waits until I lay it down and get up from the floor before he moves toward it, not meeting my eyes. His gaze catches on the picture I put back on the desk, but he doesn’t say anything and diverts his attention back to picking up the sign.
Needing a moment to gather my thoughts, I don’t follow him. I pick up the stuff I knocked over and manage to get the covers back over the signs Jessie bought. Covering them almost feels like I’m also trying to shield him from seeing the feelings sparking between me and Archer.
“I made another sign,” Archer says, leaning against the door jam. “If you want to see it too.”
“Lead the way.”
“I made it before Jessie bought the others, but it’s okay if you don’t want it.” Archer opens the door to a walk-in closet style room at the back of the garage. It’s like the land of lost wood, filled to the brim with broken pieces and woodworking tools and saws—a scene from Final Destination if I’ve ever seen one. Archer moves a few boxes out of the way and unearths a small sign that he plugs into the outlet. A heart shaped glass tube in neon colors.
“You Cake My Breath Away?” I ask.
He shrugs, cheeks staining a red hue. “It’s a play on words.”
I chuckle. “I know that. ”
He kicks some pieces of wood to the side. “I figured you could use it as wall decor but forget it. I know it’s stupid.”
“It’s not stupid at all. It’s amazing.”
He reaches up, hand frozen right in front of my face like he’s debating touching me or not. My chest, head, and neck throb, blood pushing through my veins faster than a freight train. In my head I know this is the moment where everything can change. The moment where the inkling of attraction becomes desire or the death of our truce.
“Is this…okay?” he rasps, hand still hovering.
Lungs desperate for air, spots dance in my vision until I release my breath and inhale another.
“Yes.” My fingers tremble as I lay his hand on my cheek. The brush of his thumb is like fire against my skin, yet it sends a shiver down my back. My tongue is gummy in my mouth, and I struggle to swallow down the emotions battering against my mental wall. I haven’t been touched—caressed—like this, in almost two years. My face burns as if I’ve sat in the sun too long, the blood boiling and rushing through my system trying to flush out whatever poison my brain associated with touch.
“Tilly.” Archer’s chest rises in time with mine, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
My whole body explodes when his hand skates down my arm and lands on my hip. Our eyes meet, bodies so close we’re sharing breath. Brain fizzling out, my eyes close and I tilt my head in anticipation for his lips to meet mine.
He moves first, fingers tightening on my hip as he pulls me closer. His lips brush mine in a ghostly touch just as a familiar voice yells, “Archer, you in here? ”
Stunned by Nora’s appearance, I quickly move back, heart whining at the loss of Archer’s touch as I bump into a pile of wood and knock it down.
“I’m so clumsy,” I grumble, reaching down to collect the wood.
Archer is still standing, frozen in the moment. Fear hitches a ride on the wave of adrenaline pushing its way through my system. Is he already regretting what just happened? Should I be regretting it too?
“Archer?” Nora’s voice calls out again.
I punch his leg. “Earth to Archer.”
“Huh?” He blinks out of his daze. “Shit.”
“Yeah,” I retort. “Shit.”
He leaves me to clean up the closet.
Should I go out there and say hi to Nora? What will she think about me being here? Too many questions ping pong through my head, and I press my fingers into my temples and massage.
You have a perfectly good excuse for being here, and for being caught in the closet with Archer , I coach myself as I grab the sign and head out to meet Nora.
“Tilly.” She smiles, and Archer moves to take the sign out of my hands then lays it on a worktable nearby. I try to decipher the look on his face, but Nora steps into my view. “I love your new hairdo. Shantel said it was pretty, but she undersold it. It’s beautiful.”
My smile is genuine, and the love for this woman overflows into my chest and wraps around my ribs. How did I get so lucky to marry a man with such an amazing mom?
Guilt wiggles its way back into my chest. Nora said Jessie wanted me to be happy—even insinuated that Archer could be that person for me—but knowing the reality of seeing me and Archer together like this might hurt her shears my heart. Even though she seems supportive of me moving on, the last thing I’d ever want to do is cause her pain or unintentionally disrespect her.
“Thank you, Nora.” A chill sweeps through the garage and I shiver, rubbing my arms and wishing I brought a jacket.
“I just came to bring Archer a casserole,” she says. “This old lady has to make it back home before dark.”
“We were just grabbing some signs for the bakery,” I offer, even though she didn’t ask. Heat warms my cheeks when Archer’s eyes flit to me, his brows scrunched like he’s wondering why I mentioned it. I’m a nervous babbler, he knows this.
Unfortunately, so does Nora.
“Sure,” she says with a mischievous smile. “I’ll see you both at Sunday dinner.”
I wave and Archer walks her out to her car. In the quiet moments after they leave the garage, a heaviness settles on my chest and my stomach twists. What would’ve happened if Nora hadn’t stopped us? Would we have crossed the line and ended up regretting it? Would it shatter the tenuous truce we’ve come to silently agree upon?
Anxiety and excitement coalesce inside my stomach, creating a cocktail of emotions I’m not ready to acknowledge. I run my hand along the signs, smiling at the wall decor with the pun. It’s exactly the type of fun sign I’d want in the shop, and knowing Archer made it fills my stomach with butterflies.
A slammed door and the crunch of gravel alerts me to Nora’s retreating car. Standing with his arms stretched above the doorway, Archer’s gaze is locked on me. Something passes over his face, and the curiosity about what the almost kiss meant is cleared up when he says, “Let’s get you home. ”
We gather the two signs and blankets to lay them on, placing them in the bed of his truck. I don’t wait for him to open my door and instead heave myself up with the running board and handle. In the side mirror, Archer’s reflection shows me he’s not as unaffected as he wants me to believe. His hands clench by his sides, and he swivels his neck in a move that looks like he’s trying to dispel tension before he gets inside.
Leaning back against the headrest, I close my eyes and don’t open them until we arrive back at the bakery. No words are exchanged as we move in tandem, each taking a sign into the shop and laying it on the floor.
“I’ve gotta get going,” Archer says, toying with his keys.
“Cool.”
“Cool,” he parrots.
I fold my lip under my teeth, trying not to let my disappointment show. “I have work to do. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He doesn’t try to stop me as I walk through the stainless-steel door and into the back.