29. Tilly
Chapter twenty-nine
Tilly
L ightning slices through the sky, followed by a foundation shaking rumble as I clean up the poker chips and cards. Shantel shrieks when the lights flicker, and I can’t contain my laughter. Her evil eye doesn’t scare me, but the crack of thunder that comes after makes me jump.
“This looks like it might be a bad one,” Archer says, leaving the kitchen. “I’m going to stop by the bakery and make sure it’s locked up tight.”
“I’ll come with,” I say, bouncing with unspent energy. Even though things are kind of weird between us, being home alone during a thunderstorm doesn’t sound fun either. At least if I’m at the bakery I can get a jumpstart on unloading shipments. “I need to inventory some of the materials that came in.”
Unboxing sprinkles, icing, and wooden rolling pins may not seem fun to some, but I’m nearly overcome with excitement that I’m finally at the point of organizing materials for our soft opening.
“Y’all better go now before the storm breaks.” Nora hands us each a tub of Country Crock filled with leftovers.
She embraces Archer and tells him good luck, but I’m not sure if she’s telling him that about us or his job. We haven’t talked about it much, and to be honest I’ve tried to stay away from bringing it up. There are enough unsure feelings between us without adding in the stress of him leaving.
The drive to the bakery takes less than ten minutes, and I spend each of those minutes nervously tapping against the steering wheel. I haven’t been alone with Archer since the wood closet at his house, and not much has been solved since then. As in, nothing really. It feels exactly like the last time we shared a kiss, when I could feel him pulling away even before it ended, like he knew he was making a mistake. It’s why I never brought that kiss up, and also why I won’t force him to acknowledge this one. I’m not ready to hear the rejection.
Somehow, I beat him to the bakery. I park and go inside, hoping to get as much done as possible before the sky is no longer happy with just making noise. The lights flicker on, and my chest expands when I see the quirky sign hung behind the countertop. Archer must’ve hung it before he came to Nora’s because it wasn’t there when I left earlier. He even added a few neon cupcake lights around it to highlight the sign.
I fight back the tears welling up. He’s done so many small things to make this bakery my home. The one place I can be myself. He hasn’t batted an eye at the crazy wallpaper or the funky light fixtures. He’s only accepted me for who I was, and that’s the Archer I miss from all those years ago.
Twenty minutes pass before Archer arrives. I’m on the floor counting an inventory of sprinkles and icing when he slides through the swinging door.
“I picked up some sandbags for out front in case it starts to flood.” He leans against the wall, the sleeves of his sweater pushed up and baring his strong forearms.
“Thanks for thinking about that.” I lay the clipboard down. “And thanks for putting up the sign and everything. I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Sitting on the floor and having the weight of his stare on me makes me shift and my lungs scream for air. Lips parched, I get up and walk to the fridge to grab a bottle of water. I feel his eyes follow me, but I can’t bring myself to turn around. My stomach boards a roller coaster as I stand in front of the fridge.
I’m struggling to gather my thoughts when Archer comes up behind me and reaches into the fridge. “Thanks for the offer.” He grabs a bottle for himself. “I’d love some water.”
His breath is hot on the back of my neck and the heat of his body makes goosebumps break out down my arms. Cool air from the opened fridge wafts our way and I shiver.
“Sorry.” I try to step back.
He doesn’t take the cue and move.
He grunts when my back collides with his chest, and his arm bands around my stomach to keep me from tumbling over. Releasing his hold on me, he lets out a breath and steps back.
“Sorry,” I say.
“Stop apologizing.” Archer laughs, rubbing his hand along his beard.
There are words stuck in my chest, all scrambling to climb up my throat and out of my mouth, but I can’t open my lips to let them out.
“We have unfinished business.” A tug on my space buns lifts my eyes to meet Archer’s. His lips are curved into a smile, and his tongue darts out to wet them.
My core twists watching his lips moisten. “I know,” I groan, hoping my voice doesn’t waver. “I have to finish the inventory, organize the metro shelves, and—”
Firm lips crash onto mine, stopping my list of to-dos and stealing my breath. Brain lagging to catch up, it takes a beat for me to realize this is happening. He’s finally kissing me. And it’s everything I expected it to be.
Demanding. Passionate. Consuming.
One hand cradles my head while his other pulls me closer. The cadence of my heart is erratic as he swipes his tongue across the seam of my lips, begging for access. My back meets the fridge, slamming the door as his tongue plunges into my mouth, tasting, teasing, claiming.
“Arch,” I groan, pressing my chest closer to him.
“I know,” he breathes, releasing my mouth and pressing heated kisses to my collarbone and up my neck.
My skin is alive, synapses connecting the nerves I’ve left to die because of my touch starvation. His fingertips digging into my hips are like kerosene on a bonfire, and my hands wrap around his neck, pushing into his thick dark hair.
Firm hands snake down my ass and grasp my thighs before I find myself lifted off the ground and my legs wrapped around Archer’s waist. The thick bulge pressing against my center rips a moan from my lips and I swear he growls as he sets me on the stainless-steel table.
“God, you smell like lemons,” he says in between kisses. “It’s always driven me crazy.”
I laugh and he nips at my neck, sending a thrill down my core. Our lips meet again, limbs tangled, touching, feeling, absorbing every movement. The burning sensation of my skin has changed into a throbbing hum as Archer’s hands skim down my sides before yanking me to the edge of the table.
A tub of sprinkles falls to the ground, exploding rainbow candies all over the floor, when Archer moves against me. His erection brings me closer to the edge of insanity. Stars dance in my eyes, and I nip at his lip to quell the rising arousal in my core.
A loud crack of thunder pulls us apart, chests heaving, lips red and swollen. Darkness envelops us as the lights go out.
Even in the darkness, the shame I thought I’d feel after finally kissing Archer isn’t there. Instead, a feeling of satisfaction fills my body. Like I’ve been dehydrated and have finally received the water I needed to live again.
Archer slides his fingers into the loops of my jeans as if they’re handcuffs preventing his fingers from roaming to other landscapes. His teeth close against the burning skin at my neck, and I can’t help the needy moan that spills from my mouth.
“More,” I whimper, confident in my need though my body trembles.
He responds by releasing the loop and moving his hand to the apex of my thighs. Over my jeans, his thumb rolls in soft circles, alternating light and firm pressure. With the lights out, no electricity humming in the room, all I can hear and feel is his breath against mine, his soft groans as he sucks on the flesh at my collarbone.
He captures my bottom lip between my teeth as he cups me, putting firmer pressure exactly where I need it. An atom bomb of pleasure explodes in my core, and I throw my head back, letting the euphoria wash over me. Minutes pass where nothing but our panting is audible, and before I have a chance to reach for Archer to return the favor, the lights return and he breaks the silence.
“We made a mess.” He chuckles, looking around at the sprinkle-covered floor before his eyes meet mine. They’re bright and blazing, and the smile he flashes me sends butterflies fluttering through my chest.
“I’ll get a broom.” Seeking a moment to process, I hop down from the table and scoot past him into a back closet. Placing my hand along the cool wall, I let my head fall back and inhale a deep breath. At the edges of my mind, fear and guilt try to breach the border of my happiness, but I push them back, not allowing them to sour this moment.
Another flash and bang shakes the building, dumping buckets of rain out of nowhere. I return to the front to quickly clean the floor and empty the dustpan into the trash, smiling as I think about what we just did—what I let him do—on my bakery table.
“I’m glad I got those sandbags.” Archer walks toward the door. “I’ll drive.”
“I’ll be fine,” I reply.
“The water is coming down too quickly, and you know the roads are going to flood.”
I sigh, but it doesn’t hold any weight. “Okay.”
I didn’t wear my rainboots today because as much as they say we’re going to get rain in San Antonio, it’s a rare day when it actually happens at the aforementioned time. Archer’s hand rests on the small of my back as I gather my jacket and purse. Even though we crossed a boundary tonight, I still fight the urge to pull away.
Sheets of rain pelt us as we run to Archer’s truck. He opens the door for me and lifts me up into the seat before running around to his side. Shaking the droplets from his hair, he turns to me with a bashful smile. The weight of holding myself back finally lifts and I return his smile. I wait for the awkwardness to settle in, to be knocked down by all the what ifs and questions of the future, the shame of finding comfort—and pleasure—in the arms of my husband’s best friend.
But it doesn’t come.
I’m filled with a sense of peace when his hand lands on my thigh. He shifts the truck into gear, and his wipers groan, oscillating as they try to clear the rain fast enough so he can see out of the windshield.
Streetlights pass quickly as we head towards my house and fight the rising waters. He was right, my car would’ve been swallowed beneath the underpasses. When the rain blankets the window and there’s no chance of moving forward safely, Archer pulls off the side of the road and into a bank parking lot.
“We’ll wait it out here,” he says, turning the heat on low.
I unclick my seatbelt and rest my head on the seat, listening to the rain striking the window. It’s peaceful sitting here with Archer as chaos ensues right outside the door. Horns blare, tires screech, splashing water up and over the truck, but all I can focus on is Archer’s hand on my leg, his fingers inching up closer to my hand. Making the first move has never been my strong suit—the one time I did, I ended up sending our friendship down a completely different path—but I move out of my comfort zone and entwine our hands.
“There’s an estate sale up in Waco I’d like to check out.”
“Really?” I ask, an edge of worry to my voice. “Are you looking to buy another house?”
“No.” He pulls my hand onto his lap. My gold bracelet glows against his denim pants as he fingers the charm on there, and my wedding ring pulses around my finger, reminding me it’s still there. A flutter of muscle in Archer’s jaw works, and I wonder if seeing Jessie’s ring still on my hand hurts him. “I thought we could go see if they have a display case. It’s an old bed and breakfast that ran a deli out of the bottom floor.”
A smile cracks my cheeks. “That would be awesome.”
“I’ll drive in case you actually find one and need a way to bring it home.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand. “For everything.”
He lifts our conjoined hands to his lips and kisses the back of my hand. “My pleasure. ”
In the back of my mind, I know the closer we get to the soft opening next month means it’s closer to the time Archer might be leaving if he gets the spot on the show, but I try to push it away and focus on the here and now.
The storm slows enough to where we can safely get back on the road, and a whine bubbles up in my throat. I squash it down, thankful to the heavens that we had this time together.
Archer walks me to my front door. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight.”
Part of me wants to invite him inside, to finally shed the shackles I’ve placed on myself since Jessie died, but the shame I didn’t feel earlier rears its ugly head, chastising me for even thinking about sleeping with Archer so soon after losing my husband, and in his house.
Hell, if I can’t even manage to make the bed without breaking down there’s no way I’d be able to welcome someone else between the sheets.
He leans down to kiss me, but disgusted with myself, I turn my head so he meets my cheek.
“Time,” I breathe. “I need time.”
He steps back and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You’re fine, you didn’t,” I ramble and shake my head, unable to look at him. “I just don’t know how to navigate whatever this is.”
“Neither do I, but we’ll figure it out together.” A firm squeeze on my fingers has me looking up at him. His eyes are soft, and the apples of his cheeks are slightly pink. “We go at your pace and see where it goes.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand back.
“I’ll see you soon.”
“See you then.” I head inside the dark house, foregoing turning on the lights.
I struggle to look myself in the mirror as I brush my teeth and put on my favorite shirt of Jessie’s. Normally the worn edges of the Silverstein shirt bring me comfort, but all I feel is disgrace sliding down my back. I fooled around with my husband’s best friend and then came home to sleep in the bed we used to share together. Nausea seeps into my core, and I gather covers to sleep on the couch. Without the endorphins from being around Archer bouncing around inside my head, anxiety seeps into my core, spreading out over my shaky limbs. My heart rate climbs, my stomach cramps, and a heavy weight settles on my chest as I struggle to catch my breath. Every potential outcome of this thing with Archer spins inside my mind on a carousel.
Heavy rain and an emergency call with my therapist are the only things I can count on to help me calm down enough to finally fall asleep.