Chapter 31
Juliet
Archer looks stunned, then a brilliant smile stretches across his lips. “It’s a professional work-dinner, not-date, then.”
“I have to take my dad’s car home first. And get into something warmer.”
“I’ll grab the food. You okay with pulled pork sandwiches?”
“Sounds great.”
“I’ll pick you up when I have them. Thirty minutes or so.”
My heart is already lighter.
I leave behind the river and the town and take the SUV home, racing around to get ready, fixing my makeup and hair before grabbing warmer pants and a coat.
I set Dad’s key on the key rack near the front door and head to the window, waiting for Archer like a pathetic dog expecting the return of its owner.
When his truck pulls onto the drive, I think I might be sick. I’ve never been this anxious for a not-date before. Probably because this feels like a real date.
To make it less so, I hop out of the house before he can leave the truck, then I jog forward, holding up my hand to signal I can open the door myself.
He hesitates, but I purge forward anyway.
“Hi,” I greet, climbing in.
The truck is toasty warm and smells of barbecue pork and baked beans. My stomach rumbles. Maybe I haven’t eaten at all today.
Two drinks sit between us in the cup holders, and my mouth feels suddenly dry. I’ve clearly forgotten to hydrate today, too.
“Ready?” Archer asks, his eyes on me.
He’s trying to deduce how I feel, no doubt to see if I’m on the verge of crying again, so I smile, this time sincerely. “Yep.”
He pulls the truck out of the drive, and we head down the road, carrying on in casual conversation about the festival as we head in the direction of the high school.
“Find out anything new about your dad?” Archer asks.
My stomach drops. “Not really.”
He must have sensed my change in tone. He glances at me, still trying to gauge my reaction, but I look away. I don’t want to talk about Dad, and I’m glad when he doesn’t push it.
A few minutes later, taking the back roads to avoid closed-off Main Street, Archer turns down a road lined by an empty field beyond fluttering maples. Passing a few solitary houses, he reaches a secluded field, then pulls off to the side of the road and backs into a dirt pull-off.
I genuinely have no idea where we are, but as I look beyond the darkness, I catch sight of the high school in the distance, the large football screen revealing the title of the movie, Hotel Transylvania, though it’s only a few inches wide from where we’re parked.
I had no idea this place existed or that the high school was visible from here between the thick trees, but I can see dots of people gathering already on the field, blankets and lawn chairs scattered around them as small pinpricks of light in the darkness.
“Too far?” Archer asks.
“It’s perfect.”
We opt for eating on the edge of his tailgate. He throws a thick blanket on the cold metal for cushion, places the food and drinks on top, then turns toward me. “Can I help you up?”
“Sure,” I say, thinking he’s going to take my hand.
Instead, his fingers curl around my waist, and he lifts me effortlessly to seat me gently on the tailgate. I fight off my breathlessness as he hops up and spins around with ease at my right, a few inches of space between us as the truck bobs up and down.
His boots dangle beneath him, and in the dim light the back of his truck lights give off, I admire his footwear’s scarred leather and dirt-coated edges.
“Almost...ready...” he mumbles, tapping his phone a few times before staring straight ahead at the screen fields away.
I follow his gaze toward the high school, and when the Columbia logo lights up and the movie begins, music sounds from Archer’s phone. I peer down at it to see he’s playing the movie in time with the screening.
“Very clever,” I say.
“The sound is definitely gonna be off. And...” He pauses with a deflated look. “My phone is bigger than what we can see of the actual screen over there...I didn’t really think this through.”
I laugh. “It’s great. I’m not really here to watch the movie anyway.”
Our eyes catch, and the look he gives me makes my heart thud nervously against my chest.
He reaches behind him and extends a blanket toward me to place over my lap, then pulls open the bag of food, handing me a white takeout box. “I wasn’t sure what sides you wanted, so I got each of us two different options we can share if you’d like.”
Sharing food with cowboy Archer Kade. I’m dead and have officially made it to Heaven.
We take a few bites each of our own pulled pork sandwiches, and I try not to watch his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows or the way his jaw works as he chews.
As my stomach fills, my mind clears. The movie plays on. The sound from Archer’s phone is accompanied by the crickets chirping in the fields surrounding us. It’s pitch black, aside from the stars sparkling above.
I used to be scared of the dark. I had recurring nightmares of Dad dying along with Mom when I was little. But Dad always helped me feel better.
Right now, I’m not afraid of anything. I feel comforted, protected, and safe. And it’s because of Archer.
“You like baked beans?” he asks, extending his container toward me.
I nod, taking a forkful while trying not to think of his own fork—essentially his own mouth and lips—having touched the same food. Not because I don’t want to. Believe me, I do. But that’s not what a person should do on a business dinner with a business associate.
“Want some of my potato salad and fries?” I offer.
He nods, swallowing another bite before reaching over his plate with his left hand to reach my food. His shoulder leans into mine, and my arm weakens so when he sticks his fork into the potato, the container dips toward my lap.
Instinctively, he sets his own food aside and uses his right hand to secure my food from below...Only his hand splays beneath mine instead of the container. My breath catches, and my skin tingles like a thousand drops of sunshine sparkling across the surface.
He picks at a potato, but it falls from his fork, so he moves for another piece of the salad deliberately slower. I swallow, my senses screaming on high alert from Archer’s callused touch as I look up at him, his face only a few inches away.
He finally secures a forkful of potato salad, then his eyes gradually meet mine. The air shimmers between us as his stare and hand remain, then his focus drops to my lips.
The movement passes in slow motion. The world no longer exists. The movie fades to the background, and the food disappears. It’s just the two of us now. Hands touching, eyes connected, a thousand emotions and feelings between us begging to be explored.
A loud blast from the movie still playing on his phone echoes into the darkness, and I jump, looking toward the screen and breaking the moment into pieces.
His fingers slowly slide from mine, and he sits back, though he’s closer than before, his shoulder remaining near.
“That’s good salad,” he mumbles.
His husky voice fills me with more pleasure than it should.
“You’re welcome to more,” I say.
What a stupid thing to say. I’m basically begging for that moment to happen again.
When he does reach for more, he keeps his hand to himself this time, which is probably for the best but disappointing all the same.
We eat in silence, and I focus on the movie as I finish up the last of my food, chasing it down with a few swigs of root beer before I set both aside.
As I do, the movie becomes my center of focus, and my heart twinges as a memory flashes in my mind like a flare gun.
After Tom Walker let me watch all the scary movies I wanted, I needed a detox, so every Halloween after that, Hotel Transylvania became a go-to with Dad.
We always connected with the story. A father protecting his daughter after the death of his wife. A daughter wanting freedom while still loving her father.
We used to have it playing in the background while we carved pumpkins and drank apple cider by the gallon, but Dad would always pause to quote Dracula to me.
“I promised your mommy I would protect you forever.”
Things were so simple back then. We had time for each other. We had shared everything with each other. We had only each other.
But now, watching this movie, seeing the themes of protection, growing up, and letting go, I see the truth.
Everything is changing. In my life, in Dad’s—and between us. That version of my life where it was just me and him can never come back. Will that abyss grow deeper when he goes public about his dating life? Will an uncrossable chasm form if I start dating Archer?
I’ve already lost a mother. I can’t handle losing Dad...but I already feel like I am.
“You okay?” Archer asks gently, bumping me playfully with his shoulder.
He’s set his food aside, too, his attention focused fully on me. He’s so much taller, I feel petite in his shadow, but not inferior. Never inferior.
“I’m good,” I lie.
We barely know each other. I don’t think Archer wants to know how I’m really feeling.
“It’s okay if you’re not,” he says.
His gentle expression and concerned brow is enough to undo me. Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I quickly blink them away and look at the movie. If I’m hoping for a distraction from my current circumstances, I’m obviously looking in the wrong place.
“Sorry,” I whisper, trying to hold it together. “I’ve done nothing but work for two weeks straight and...I guess I’m just tired.”
“Can I take you home?”
My chest tightens at the thought of being isolated. “I don’t wanna be alone, if that’s okay?”
“Of course. We can sit here in silence like I promised, or we can talk. Whatever you need. I don’t want to make anything worse for you.”
I let out an almost indiscernible scoff. “You are making it worse.”
He winces with regret, his lips parting. “I’m sorry. How...”
“You’re being too nice,” I finish.
His eyes narrow, then his shoulders relax. “I’ve never been told that before.”
“Well keep it up, and you might open the floodgates.”
He laces his fingers together and rests them between his legs. “That’s okay, too.”
I draw a calming breath. All his goodness is just making me realize all the more how much I want to be with him...and how much of a nightmare it would be with Dad.
But suppressing my emotions has to be better than the symphony of sentiments now flooding my soul.
My attention strays again to the movie. I watch the dad do everything in his power to have it just be him and his daughter forever, and my emotions swell like an approaching tide. I didn’t know my mom. I wish I did. I wish she was alive right now because things would be easier, wouldn’t they?
A tear slips down my cheek, and I try to hide it with a gentle flick of my finger, but another falls, then another.
My spirit is heavy, pulling my shoulders low with weighty emotions, and yet, I feel as if any moment, all these feelings floating erratically, uncontrollably inside me will rip me into the dark air, and I’ll lose complete control.
Just before all hope fades, Archer shifts beside me, and his arm moves around my shoulder to hold me close.
“This is nothing more than a business embrace,” he says softly.
I give a gentle laugh, wiping away another tear. I don’t protest his arm as my cries finally release, because moment by moment, that spiraling feeling from before slips into the atmosphere without me, leaving me grounded instead of weighed down.
All the while, Archer holds me closer until the lights from the car click off, plunging us into total darkness, and I welcome the shelter it gives me.
Archer has no idea why I’m crying, and yet, he’s here for me with his silent strength. I couldn’t be more grateful.
I release a shuddering breath, and he hugs me tighter until the last of my cries escape.
I’m sapped of all energy, but instead of exhaustion, peace replaces my sorrow.
I allow my head to fall into the crook of his shoulder, then his head rests on mine.
The soft touch, the subtle scratch of his beard, the canvas scent of his Carhart jacket—all of it waves the flag of a real man.
Reliable, strong, capable of gentleness.
I close my eyes, the remaining moisture wetting my eyelashes. I’m sure my makeup is an utter mess, but I’m finding it hard to care about anything right now.
We remain together as the night wears on, Archer’s proximity soothing away the last of my concerns. But we don’t move.
I’ve never been held by someone like this. With Dad, it’s different. And my other boyfriends were all too distracted by phones or sports when I needed them. But Archer...I want to keep this for as long as I can, bottle it up to use on a rainy day.
Still, I feel compelled to explain my seemingly erratic emotions so he doesn’t think I can’t control myself.
“Is this considered a business cuddle?” I ask, trying to break the ice.
I feel his lips stretch against the top of my head. “We can call it whatever you’d like.”
I’d like to call it Heavenly. But a moment later, I do the hardest thing possible and sit up straight. His arm slides off my shoulder, though it remains behind me, his hand propped on the bed of the truck so he leans toward me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“I didn’t do much.”
“Yes, you did.”
Our eyes meet. He brings his right hand up, wiping away the residual moisture on my cheek. His touch is soft, but I can still feel the roughness of his callused fingers.
A new feeling rises inside me. Instead of comfort, a quickening in my heart and belly. His eyes focus on where his thumb is. It trails down my cheek, then across my jawline before brushing against my lower lip.
He stares hard at my mouth before looking back at my eyes.
We stay there for a minute, and I watch him closely, wondering if he’s going to close the distance between us.
I won’t say no to him, and maybe that’s a problem, but I don’t care anymore.
Hang the consequences. I want to know what it’s like to be kissed by a cowboy.
No, not a cowboy. I want to know what it’s like to be kissed by Archer Kade.
He tips his head to the side, his own lips parted now—lit by the light of his phone, though still shadowed by the brim of his hat. His gaze keeps shifting from my lips to my eyes before a line forms down the center of his brow.
He’s tormented. Because he’s strong. Unlike me. I need to do something to help him.
“I don’t think there’s anything called a business kiss,” I whisper. “No matter how badly we want to convince ourselves otherwise.”
I put a subtle emphasis on the word “we” because I want him to know he’s not alone in his desire.
His resolve shifts into place. He smooths his thumb across my jawline once more before leaning back and pulling his arms and hands to himself.
“You’re right,” he says softly.
My heart is still racing, the ride he’s taken me on making me reel.
“Maybe I should go home,” I say softly. “It’ll be easier for both of us.”