Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
The House
“Ow!” I slowly backed out on all fours from underneath the card table and rubbed my head.
A knock sounded on the door while I was sitting on the floor. “Come in.”
The door opened and heavy footsteps clomped across the wooden planks.
I peered up at Archer. He’d clearly just showered. His hair was damp and his flannel button down and jeans were clean.
He looked delicious.
“Why are you on the floor?” he asked in confusion.
“Because the bed was too far away?”
“Huh?”
I shook my head and flung my hand in the direction of the card table. “I was setting up my new sewing machine and I bonked my head.”
He came toward me and crouched down beside me. Before I could say anything, his fingers were scanning my scalp.
Archer was close enough that I could smell the scent of his skin and see the rims of his irises. Heat radiated from him.
I swallowed. “I’m okay.”
“You sure?” A grin pulled at his lips. “I can kiss it and make it better.”
“I’m good!” I squeaked, scrabbling away from him like a crab—only to run into the leg of the table. “Ow!”
“That thing is trying to kill you.” He placed his hands on his thighs and rose before holding out a hand to help me up.
I stared at it.
“It won’t bite,” he teased. “I might. But my hand won’t . . .”
A flush spread through my cheeks and I refused his hand. I knew if I took it and let him help me up that I’d tackle him onto the bed.
Great. Now I have a picture of us wrestling naked in my head.
“Lenni’s in her bedroom doing homework,” I said, rising on my own.
“Yeah, I know. I just peeked in on her. Thank God she’s a whiz at math and isn’t asking me for help,” he joked. He gestured with his chin toward the card table. “So, what’s with the sewing machine?”
“I found it today while thrifting with the girls. I couldn’t pass it up. Do you know how good these vintage Singer sewing machines are?”
“No. How good are they?”
“Super good. And I got it for a steal of a deal,” I said with a smile.
“You know how to sew?”
“No.”
“Then why—”
“I wanted it.” I shrugged. “So now I’ll figure out how to use it.”
“You know a sewing machine screams permanence, don’t you?”
“You’ve heard of shipping items to other side of the country, haven’t you?” I sassed back.
He stared at me for a long moment and then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and extracted a laminated square.
“I found this underneath the kitchen table this morning while I was drinking my coffee,” he said, a slow grin appearing on his lips. “I think it belongs to you . . .”
“Yep.” I held out my hand for it.
But Archer didn’t give it back right away. “I’m curious. Why did you and your friends sign a piece of paper and date it?”
“It’s not important.”
“It’s laminated.”
“So what?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Are you really not going to tell me what it’s about?”
“Some things are better left a mystery.”
“Like you?” he asked with a boyish grin.
Lenni opened her bedroom door and Mildred spilled out and then they both appeared in the doorway.
“What’s going on?” she asked, shooting her gaze between me and her father.
“Your dad was just helping me set up the sewing machine,” I lied.
“Oh.” She frowned. “I’m hungry.”
“I was just heading downstairs to start dinner,” I said. “You want to help me? You can make the salad?”
“Sure,” Lenni said.
“I’ll help too,” Archer volunteered with a smile.
Damn it. Why couldn’t he be like a man in the 50s and only go into the kitchen to take out the garbage?
“Sounds fun,” I said with a strained smile. “We can put on music.”
“Can we listen to the Eagles?” Lenni asked in excitement. “It’s Wyn’s favorite band!”
Archer looked at me. “Is that right?”
“I play their Greatest Hits every time we’re in the truck. Sorry, she might get a reputation,” I said to Archer.
“As the cool kid in school?” Archer asked.
“As the eleven-year-old with the music taste of an aging boomer,” I qualified.
“Muddy listens to John Mellencamp,” Lenni said as she scooped up Mildred and headed down the stairs.
“At least she’s not into boy bands,” Archer said. “I’d never be able to take it. We better get down there before she asks if she can get a tattoo.”
“Not until she’s eighteen, right?” I asked.
“Hey!” Lenni called out from the first floor. “Can I get a tattoo?”
He looked at the ceiling. “I’m doomed.”
“Come on, Archie, let’s go make dinner.”
Archer followed me down the stairs.
“Can I?” Lenni asked, gesturing to my phone.
“May I,” I corrected.
Lenni rolled her eyes. “May I, please?”
“Have at it.”
“Don’t you need her passcode?” Archer asked.
“I already know her passcode,” Lenni said.
Archer shot me a look.
I shrugged.
She scrolled through my phone to a playlist and pressed play. The sound of Glenn Frey’s voice filtered through the house.
Archer held out his hand to Lenni and she took it and then he began to whirl her around the living room. I wasn’t sure what type of dancing they were doing—two-stepping crossed with swing—but it made my chest ache.
Especially when Archer caught my eye and winked.
I was more than happy to prep dinner while Lenni’s laughter filled the room. At some point Mildred got jealous, so Lenni dropped Archer’s hands and scooped her up and then continued to dance with Mildred in her arms.
Archer sauntered into the kitchen and then his hand stole across my hip as he passed, heading for the cabinet with the plates.
His touch, so simple, so easy, had a shudder rolling through me. He set the table as I stuck the chicken into the oven. I began working on a salad, letting Lenni continue to dance with Mildred.
“Why the Eagles?” Archer asked as he went to the fridge and pulled out the homemade salad dressing.
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I mean, why are they your favorite?”
My cheeks heated as I kept my eyes on the cutting board.
“Oh, an ex?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Hardly.”
“Her parents!” Lenni called out.
“What about her parents?” Archer asked, addressing the question to his daughter.
“Can I tell him?” Lenni asked me.
“You’ve told him half the story already,” I said with a laugh. “Might as well tell him the rest.”
“When they were about Wyn’s age, they did a cross-country road trip. And they listened to the Eagles. They went from New York to California, but they stopped in Winslow, Arizona. You know? Because of the song?”
“Winslow, Arizona,” Archer repeated and then his eyes widened. “Your name is Winslow, isn’t it?”
“Wynslow with a y,” I sighed. “Because it wasn’t enough for my weird parents to give me a name spelled normally.”
“That’s not everything,” Lenni sing-songed.
“You hush,” I mocked-warned.
“Tell him your middle name.”
I scrunched my face in embarrassment. “Frey. As in Glenn Frey. Wynslow with a y-Frey-Larsen.”
Archer’s lips twitched.
I pointed the knife at him. “Don’t you dare.”
He looked like he was trying to swallow his mouth so he wouldn’t laugh. “Aren’t your parents a little too young to be into the Eagles?”
“Disillusioned with the music of their generation, apparently,” I said with a shrug. I leaned closer to him and whispered, “I also think they were big into the reefer.”
He couldn’t stop the booming laughter that escaped.
“What’s funny?” Lenni asked.
“Nothing,” Archer and I said at the same time.
“I don’t know why you don’t go by Wynslow. It’s such a cool name. Not at all like Lenora,” Lenni said.
“I think your name is pretty,” I said.
“Yeah, I guess.” She made a face. “Mom named me after my grandmother. My middle name is for my grandfather.”
“Your name is unique. Just like you,” I said.
Lenni fell quiet, the lighthearted mood shifting into something somber.
“Well.” Archer cleared his throat. “I thought for sure Wyn was short for Wynelope.”
“You did not,” I said with a laugh.
“Wynnefer? Wyndelyn?”
“Stop, I’m begging you.”
“Why don’t you go by Wynslow?” Lenni asked as she set Mildred down and came toward the kitchen counter.
“I don’t know. I guess I didn’t want to stand out any more than I already did. I was the tallest kid in my class from grade school until my junior year of high school.” I looked at Archer. “All the boys finally shot up to at least be on par with me around then.”
“A tall, gorgeous blonde with a unique name? Yeah, there’s no getting around that,” Archer said as he walked to the kitchen table with the salad dressing.
He thinks I’m gorgeous. No, remember the embargo. Do not let his mustache commandeer your ovaries.
“Wyn?” Lenni asked. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” I chirped. “Hey, why don’t you feed Mildred, so she doesn’t beg for food during dinner?”
“She’ll beg anyway,” Lenni pronounced. “But that’s a good idea.”
The three of us sat around the table, napkins on our laps, Lenni’s laughter easy and free.
And every now and again, I’d catch Archer’s gaze.
Warmth swirled in my belly, and it had nothing to do with desire.