Chapter Twenty-Five
Patchy?
Robin had just called her father, a six-foot-five giant of a man, Patchy? No one called him Patchy. Her mother never had, nor had any of their family and friends. The name was ridiculous, a joke. For crying out loud, “Patch” was a dorky enough nickname.
And now, this woman, who was the antithesis of Zoey’s mother, was a doctor?
When Archer elbowed her again, she was tempted to elbow him back…
in the gut. Zoey was being nice, sweet as potato pie, but this woman was arrogant.
Confident, full of herself, beautiful. She hadn’t walked in, she had stridden in, à la Olivia Pope in Scandal.
As a doctor, she must have money. Why did she want her father?
What was her endgame? Maybe she was simply trying to recapture her youth.
Yes, that had to be it. Maybe they were both trying to do that.
It made sense. Zoey was here to remind them both that Patch Lambert was the daughter of a thirty-year-old woman. He couldn’t lie about his age.
“I always wanted to be a doctor,” Robin was saying.
“But I didn’t know where I’d specialize.
Patch went off to college to play football and I did premed on the East Coast. Then in medical school, I decided to specialize in orthopedics, which must have had something to do with the affinity and connection I always felt to Patch.
Naturally, I kept up with his career and saw all the injuries he endured as he played his heart out on that field.
Patch inspired me to want to fix all those injuries, I guess. ”
Her father gave her a goofy smile.
“Where did you attend school?” Archer asked, like a normal human being engaging in conversation.
“Howard for premed, then Johns Hopkins,” she said proudly. “I did my residency there, too.”
It was odd the way her father was staring at Robin with stars in his eyes. It was the same way he’d looked at her mother. With simple adoration. He must be under some kind of spell. There could be no other explanation for this.
“Did you just call him ‘Patchy’?” Zoey said.
Robin laughed behind her hand. “That was his nickname in high school. Sorry.”
“Only you were allowed to call me that,” her father joked. “And I called her ‘Birdy’ for a long time.”
Birdy and Patchy? Zoey threw up a little in her mouth.
“So, when is the wedding?” Archer asked, again making conversation as if this was normal.
“We haven’t set a date yet,” Robin said.
“At this point, for us, it’s just a formality.
We’ve both been there, done that. I’m respectful of Patch’s need for privacy.
And of course I’ve already done this once.
Did I tell you I was married for twenty years?
Just out of medical school. We were too busy to have any children, which I regret. ”
“Robin lost her husband not much before I lost your mother,” her father said. “We connected, both being widowers.”
But Zoey’s mother wasn’t lost, and she hated the euphemism. She knew exactly where to find her at the cemetery. She’d died and gone to heaven but wasn’t “lost” to anyone.
“That makes sense,” Archer said, probably because Zoey wasn’t talking anymore. “You both have something traumatic in common.”
“In addition to going to the same high school,” Robin said. “I’ve always followed Patch’s career, naturally, but it was my late husband who was the real football fan. I used to tell him, ‘I know that guy.’ Of course, he knew all about me and Patch. It was a badge of honor for him.”
“Did you know that Zoey has wedding dresses at her boutique?” Archer said. “In case you’re looking for one.”
This time Zoey nudged his thigh under the table and gave him a glare. Both her father and Robin turned to her with wide, eager eyes. Zoey squirmed.
“Do you?” Robin said.
“One of a kind,” Archer said, biting back a smile. “That’s what she tells me, anyway.”
“You won’t believe this, Birdy,” Daddy said, chuckling and pointing to Archer. “He’s the bodyguard I hired for Zoey when all this mess started. But Zoey lets people think he works for her at the boutique.”
“Ingenious,” Robin said. “I would expect a smart girl like Zoey to think of everything. And what kind of dresses do you carry, if I might ask? Anything vintage? That’s what I’d love.
Obviously, I’m no blushing bride. I’m sixty-one years old and getting married for the second time. I want a dress that’s old, too.”
Archer and her father laughed at this, but Zoey didn’t think it was funny.
“I have vintage dresses,” Zoey finally said, and Archer gave her an encouraging smile. “But I don’t think there’s anything you would like.”
“I’d love to see what you have,” Robin said, leaning forward. “I’m going to be in Charming for a few more days so maybe I could drop by.”
When Zoey didn’t respond for a second or two, Archer piped in. “Drop by anytime, except she’s closed on Mondays.”
Finally, the food was served, and Zoey picked at her pasta carbonara.
She’d lost her appetite. After Archer finished his steak, he switched with Alec, who ate a quick meal.
Harry took his meal to go. The conversation was pure agony, having to listen to Robin and her father discuss their past and how much they had in common.
Their families went to the same church, their mothers were friends, their siblings were friends. It all sounded ideal.
On the drive back, Archer had decided to be quiet for a change. Maybe he was giving Zoey space to gather her thoughts. She didn’t say anything for a while, simply stared out at the landscape as they passed the sea wall, the lighthouse and the piers.
It was only when she could form her thoughts in a coherent fashion that she finally spoke aloud what was in her heart:
“I really, really don’t like her.”
* * *
Archer had tried his best, but when forced to take sides, he was decidedly and firmly Team Zoey. There was no other choice. He was on her side, no matter what, in everything. It didn’t make sense, but somehow it didn’t have to.
When Zoey had asked him if she thought Birdy and Patchy were reasonable nicknames for “people of their age” he had to admit no, he didn’t think so, either.
When she said Robin was so beautiful she had to be stuck-up, he had nodded and agreed that might be true.
Personally, Archer thought she’d been very nice, but she did carry herself with confidence, which he supposed could be interpreted as arrogance.
“Why did you offer her my wedding dress services?”
They were back in the boutique the next morning. Zoey was hanging up dresses according to a color scheme and he was standing guard, because there was no one else in the store.
“Aren’t you trying to get the word out about your wedding dresses?”
“Yes, but these vintage designer dresses are deals I scour, and they’re for women like Rachel, who couldn’t otherwise afford them.
I do this to honor my mother because, before she married my dad, she used to shop secondhand everything.
Robin can afford a designer dress. She’s a doctor, after all! ” Zoey huffed.
“Well, the good news is that she’s not after your father’s money,” Archer offered, and when Zoey scowled, he added, “I don’t like her, of course. But still.”
“My father still has a lot more money than she does, I’m sure.” She stopped and looked up at the ceiling as if something had just occurred to her. “He better sign a prenup.”
“I’m sure he will.” Archer didn’t think any good business manager would allow the marriage otherwise.
She shook a finger at him. “Don’t be so sure! She’s got her hooks in my father, I can tell. He’s got this dreamy, ‘I’ve lost leave of my senses’ look in his eyes.”
“And what does that look like?”
Zoey actually tried to show him, shimmying her shoulders, fluttering her eyelashes, making such a silly face that Archer had to laugh out loud.
“Like that!”
She turned back to her dresses.
He shook his head, chuckled and wondered if that was what he looked like every time he stole a look at Zoey.
He did so often, when she was busy with a customer, swimming laps in her pool, cooking or sitting on the couch with a bowl of popcorn binging old Frasier episodes.
This assignment would be over soon, any day now, and he’d have to leave her behind.
He’d have to abandon the sense of home she’d created for him in the course of just over two weeks.
To say he’d miss her would be an understatement.
Last night he’d spoken with Ian, who’d said he would let him know of his next assignment today. He was impressed with his handling of this one. There was a chance he could be sent to China to be part of a liaison team for the Chinese ambassador. Not a small job.
A part of Archer wanted to move on, so he wouldn’t have to live in this space between desire and helplessness anymore.
His inclination, when it came to Zoey, was to protect her at all costs, and that didn’t only come from his job assignment.
He’d probably never stop worrying or thinking about Zoey.
She’d had a life-changing effect on him, because he now saw clearly how someone could need him, and he could also need them.
He needed the way Zoey made him believe in that part of himself that carried and held deep emotions.
He had never let himself be as vulnerable as he had been with her.
“Welcome,” Archer said when a new customer came in. “Let me know if I can help you find something.”
Most of the time, this was all it took. Shoppers had something specific in mind when they entered the shop and only wanted to find the right size.
“I heard you can help me,” said the well-dressed elderly gentleman. “Name’s Roy. Roy Finch.”
He offered his hand and Archer shook it and introduced himself as Zoey’s co-worker.
“Anything in particular you’re looking for?”
“Something for my wife,” the man said, and pulled his gray English cap lower on his head. “I always shop ahead of time.”
“So, a Christmas gift?” Archer moved toward the counter with all the costume jewelry.
His eyes flashed on the necklace Zoey had held up for him when she mistook him for a customer. He’d been tongue-tied by her beauty and grace. Now he could talk to her but not much else had changed. She still took his breath away half the time.
“She has too much jewelry.” Roy Finch waved a hand. “I always get her a book, which she says isn’t all that romantic. This year I’m truly stumped.”
Normally, Archer would try to catch Zoey’s attention. But she was with another customer at the moment, holding up a sweater.
“It’s finally sweater weather!” he heard her squeal.
“Um, how about a sweater?” Archer pointed in that direction, hoping he could at least get him closer to Zoey.
“My wife runs hot.” He shook his head. “It never gets cold enough around here.”
Archer took him through the list of items in the store: dresses, pants, shoes, skirts. No dice.
“What about that?” Roy Finch pointed.
It was the small display Zoey had of lotions and perfumes. Archer avoided this part of the store since it was far in the back and no one had asked for his help in “smelling” them yet, thank God.
“Yeah, you can’t really go wrong with something that smells good,” Archer said, leading the way. “These seem to be popular.”
Before long, he discovered why this corner was so popular.
Everything smelled like Zoey.
As Mr. Finch picked up the samples and smelled each one, Archer figured out which one smelled like Zoey. Before he left, he would have to buy a bottle of this for himself. If he couldn’t take her with him, he’d take her scent. He read the name on the bottle: Fleurs dorées.
In the end, Mr. Finch decided on getting one of each and paid at the front with Zoey’s help.
“Lois is going to love this!” Zoey said, packaging it all with a neat bow. “Great choice.”
Mr. Finch hooked a thumb in Archer’s direction. “He helped. I’m hopeless with this stuff.”
Archer and Zoey exchanged a smile, but hers dropped within minutes. He turned and it didn’t take long for him to find out why.
Robin had walked inside the shop.