25. The Very Big Decision
twenty-five
The Very Big Decision
Liam
My stomach’s been a jumble of nerves all the way out here, and somehow it’s even worse now I’m at his door.
Everything with Archer felt so right last night.
So nice when I woke up this morning. But he’s taking so long to answer the door, and I can’t help but think…
did I kind of… jump on him? Was he maybe not as into it as I was?
Have I gone and made this working relationship awkward?
But then any ‘working’ relationship will be short-lived. I’m killing this thing. Today. I’m going to walk straight up those stairs, straight into the attic, and that creature is going to be dead. Gone. And it’s going to stop dredging up these horrible memories.
I lay a hand on the gun in my pocket, just to be sure it’s there, as if that could guarantee it working properly and being capable of killing this thing. Then I raise my fist again, ready to knock a second time, when the door finally pulls open.
Archer.
His sweater is purple today. Some beautiful, bright shade of purple that sets off his deep brown skin, making him look even more handsome than he did in the firelight last night. Which was very handsome.
The scent of his cologne curling on the autumnal morning air puts me straight back in that car, where I was so close to him. Where I felt so right in his arms.
But he hasn’t moved a step closer. Hasn’t offered the kiss I was slightly daydreaming about. Some casual movement that might cement something—be the tipping point between casual sex and a relationship.
It’s not surprising. Even after what he said to me last night. That he’s always wanted me. That he wants to be… my slut. My slut.
Fuck, that was too hot, and I’m standing here saying fucking nothing, and his smile is way too close to polite.
So I try, “Good morning, Mr Gravely.”
He cracks that gorgeous grin and steps aside with a chest-deep laugh. “Will you stop calling me that?”
“I don’t think so, no,” I reply, as coyly as possible.
Archer’s kitchen is beautiful this morning. He’s got fresh flowers in an old jug on his wooden table. It looks so artfully rustic. He’s got nice china out. The place smells like a bakery.
Edgar coos at me from the windowsill, and as keen as I am to get over there and give him a pet, I’d better check Simon’s out of the way first so I don’t upset him by having the gun in the house.
I turn back to Archer, but he also turns to me, and I walk straight into his chest.
The thin wool of his jumper barely hides a line of those built pecs, though my gaze doesn’t stay there long. How could it when his amber eyes run over me, when he dips his head just a little, when I feel his breath on my cheek… and I follow the inclination that feels more like instinct.
A slight lift of my chin, the rise of my heels, and my lips meet his, shy and soft, my heart thumping in my chest. I press a quick and tentative kiss because I guess I’m as bad at lying physically as I am verbally.
He’s here, so near, and I want this. And he can tell me no. If he doesn’t like me, or doesn’t want me that way, he can just say it.
He doesn’t. There’s a beat where he doesn’t do anything, a bit like last night when I kissed him first. So I pull away, shrinking back.
But his lips chase mine, and the second kiss is all his.
The hand that lands on my hip brings me under his firm control with the simplest movement.
I step straight up against him, pelvis brushing his, and when his tongue flicks across the seam of my lips, I practically beg him to take me, explore every inch of my mouth however he wants to, curl up and make his home there if he’d like.
What started as something small, light, hopeful, has instantly turned to fire, and I am so happy I don’t have a colleague accompanying me today.
Archer’s spare hand shoves the door closed, then I drag both of mine up his sides, across his back, wondering if it’s too soon to get this top off and see everything I wanted so badly to see last night.
I wrench him towards the sofa. He stumbles one step, two, then plants his feet firmly, breaking the kiss with a heavy breath, even as his forehead presses against mine, my whole world swimming in the ecstasy of him.
“Liam,” he says, “I think… I think we need to talk.”
Well, fuck.
He might have said that before he kissed me like that.
“I’m sorry,” I reply instantly, stepping away. “I didn’t mean… You don’t have to…”
“No.” He chases after me, wrapping his palm across my waist again, while his other hand grasps mine.
He looks into my eyes, and he’s so mesmerising.
It’s this warmth about him, that’s been there since I first laid eyes on him, and I just feel like…
like I can trust him. All at once, he makes my heart flutter, yet also feels strangely familiar. That rightness I feel with him.
Maybe I’m not reading this wrong. And he’s certainly not reading me wrong. And how amazing would this be? Such a simple thing. I like him. He likes me. So maybe we just… go out together?
“I want to,” he confirms for me, raising my heart straight into my throat. “I do. I like you, Liam. And I want to be clear about that.”
I can’t stop the flattered laugh that bubbles up. “That’s good. Because I’d feel really weird about last night if you didn’t.”
He lowers his head with an answering laugh. “No. Um. Last night was…” Have I ever seen Archer looking this bashful before? He’s cute on top of handsome. I want more of him.
Unfortunately, his tone becomes more serious.
“Last night was great. You’re great. I like having you here.
I like everything… so far. It’s just that…
” He chews over whatever he’s about to say, and as he does, my stomach turns to lead.
It feels like a year, but he finally drops, “I need to… fire you?”
Humour? Relief? I don’t even know, but it all hits me at once, and a laugh rips out of me at the words and the delivery.
“Don’t worry. This is my last day working here.
Then I’ll just be a normal London guy, a short train ride away.
If you want. And it won’t be weird. Not that I’d make it weird, working here.
Or, I’d try not to. But it doesn’t matter.
Because it’s… It’s not weird. Because this is my last day. ”
He glances over my shoulder, up the stairs, worry flashing in his eyes before they return to mine. “No, I don’t mean that. Not the working in my house thing. It’s more… It’s… Will you join me for breakfast?”
I mean, obviously. Still, it seems like the polite thing to offer, “I can kill it first if you—”
His finger falls on my lips, silencing me. “Let’s not.” With the slightest shake of his head, I nod mine in perplexed agreement, then he slips away towards the kitchen.
I follow him, heading straight to the window where Edgar’s sunning himself patiently.
It’s only when I get close that I see the jagged bit of metal in his beak, the twisted pull-tab of a soft drink can.
My immediate urge is to take it to stop him from hurting himself, but as soon as I open my hand, he drops it straight into my palm.
“A gift for you,” comes Archer’s voice from over my shoulder. “He’s taken a liking to you.”
“For me?” I practically gasp the words. This is the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel like Snow White.
Edgar’s head dips, as if he’s saying, ‘Yes, that’s for you. Do you like it?’
“I love it so much!” His feathers are warm to the touch. He stretches and spreads them when I run my hand down his back. Then he raises his beak, asking for a scratch on the neck.
He’s the loveliest creature. I really can’t imagine why Archer was funny about him at first. But he’s funny again now, only with me this time.
He’s saying nothing, his movements a little sharper than they need to be while he moves around in his kitchen. As if he’s nervous about something. Killing the thing? That’s understandable. But then why does it seem like it’s directed at me?
“How was the train ride?” he asks, sizzling bacon, cracking eggs.
“It was fine. Same as the last two days.”
“Huh.” Washing his hands, cutting the bread. “It’s great they’re running on time.”
What the fuck? “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good when trains do that.”
“Yeah. It is. On time. Like the timetable.”
“Yep.” I wait patiently with Edgar, while Archer wanders around, compiles things. Wait and wonder what’s coming next, until finally we’re sitting at the table, he’s filling my teacup, and I’m eyeing him. Still waiting.
“Do you like bacon?” he asks.
“Yeah, I like bacon.”
He nods.
“Thank you.”
“That’s okay.” Then, once everything’s in place and he’s seated, he just… starts to eat.
So I put my cutlery down. He looks at it. He looks at me. He looks back at his plate, then keeps eating.
“Did Simon go somewhere?”
He knows what I’m really asking. He nods again, more slowly. “He left.”
“Good. I don’t want to trigger him with my gun.”
“You don’t want to…” A little scoff-laugh escapes. “Trigger him? With your gun?”
“No, I hadn’t…” I laugh too, softening at the daft humour. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“I know. It’s sweet of you.”
“I’d imagine he’s pretty cut up about being shot.”
“Might be cut up about it if he got knifed,” Archer jokes.
And I laugh at that too. But it’s not long before Archer’s smile fades. Then he says, “I’m going to ask you to… not do what we said.”
My heart rebounds hard in my chest, and not for the romantic reasons it did before. “I’m sorry, what?”
“I’m going to have to…” He takes my hand. I wrap his in return, completely enamoured, but with this sinking feeling smothering what should be a nice moment. “You can’t go up there. It’s not safe.”
I cough out a small laugh. “I know it’s not safe. I was up there with you yesterday when…” When a bunch of stuff happened that I’d decided not to tell him about. Because I knew this was coming.
“When what?” he asks, and he asks it pointedly, like he knows I’m not telling him something.
“When nothing. When… When it was creepy as shit. But it was fine. I was fine.”