30. Tilly
Chapter thirty
Tilly
I ’m entirely too well dressed and caffeinated for a four-hour adventure to Waco for an estate sale, but I needed the confidence boost to get through today. After speaking with my therapist, she helped me understand that sometimes my emotions will feel erratic, even causing panic attacks, when it comes to moving on in the next portion of my life without Jessie. That even though I can feel happiness and excitement about this new thing with Archer, I might still have lingering guilt about moving on, but that there’s nothing wrong with that. It’ll take my mind and heart a bit of time to catch up to each other.
My long, flowy dress whips around me as I putter throughout the house, cleaning up in an effort to appease my nerves. Sun streaks through the bay window inside my kitchen, and I fight the urge to close the curtains and darken up the place, an exact replica of the warring emotions inside my body.
A knock at the door makes me still. I check the clock on the stove and do a quick inventory of my appearance. Effortlessly styled bun with my favorite chopsticks piercing the center, a light dusting of blush on my cheeks, pumpkin earrings, and my denim jacket in case it gets too chilly. It’s the most effort I’ve put into how I look since Jessie passed.
With my hand on the doorknob, my gaze is drawn to my sparkling ring. Slowly, I lift my hand in front of me, admiring the exquisite diamond. The plastic ring guard still pushes against my finger, holding the ring in place. I roll my lips between my teeth, uneasiness bouncing around my stomach.
Taking my ring off is a statement I’m not sure I’m ready to make yet.
Resolved to keep it on, I open the door.
“Morning.” I swipe a loose tendril of hair behind my ear.
Archer leans on the wrought iron post, two insulated cups in his hand as he stares down at his boots. There’s a brief moment where I can see the tension riding along his shoulders, the deep inhale he takes and expels like he’s as nervous as I am about this new territory we’re venturing into. His eyes snap to mine and the apprehension is washed away with his smile. “I brought caffeine.”
Unsure of whether I should invite him in, we stand there smiling at each other like imbeciles. I open my mouth to ask how his night went, but then his lips part, preparing to ask something, so I snap mine closed. He does the same, and then we burst out laughing at the awkwardness.
“We’re a pair, aren’t we?” Archer chuckles, trying to hide his smile.
I fold my lips between my teeth and nod. My face is hot, the emotions inside my head boiling like lobsters, screaming to be released. He hands me my drink, and his fingers brush along mine. Tiny zaps of electricity skitter up my arm, and I fight the urge to pull away at the touch.
“Caramel macchiato,” he says.
A loud sigh slips from my lips. “I haven’t had one of these in forever.”
He rubs a hand along the back of his neck, eyes cast off to the side. “Wasn’t sure if you still drank those, but figured you were basically made of them in college, so…” He lets the sentence peter out, and I inwardly bat away at the butterflies taking flight inside my stomach.
“Thank you.” I groan at the sweetness of the caramelized sugar and the nuttiness of the espresso. Archer clears his throat, bringing my eyes to the way his swallow rolls down the column of his strong neck .
I grab my purse from inside, hoping he doesn’t see the slight shake of my hands as I lock the door. I probably shouldn’t drink more caffeine since I’m already hyper, but the gesture sends a thrill through me.
“You look beautiful.” Archer steps closer, and I can tell he’s nervous by the almost hug he covers with a flick of the chopsticks in my hair. I despise this weird middle ground we’re in even more than when I used to think he hated me. Every touch or look now carries a question of ‘what does this mean?’
“You do, too.” I mentally smack myself for the stupid remark. “You know what I meant.”
He chuckles. “Lead the way.”
Archer’s hand grazes my lower back, barely there as if he knows I’m like a skittish animal who wants someone to pet them yet can’t withstand the touch. I can almost imagine the press of his fingers into my spine. He helps me into the car and slides into his side.
“Did you print out the directions like I asked?”
I snort, handing him the papers from my purse. “Of course, I did, Mr. MapQuest.”
“You say that now, but we’re gonna be out in the country and your cell service may cut out.”
“You’re right.” I make a show of screenshotting all the directions.
His smile touches his eyes, and he shakes his head like he can’t believe how amazingly smart I am.
“You’re something else, Tilda.”
My stomach flips at his use of my first name. I dig my fingers into the side of my leg, hoping a little bit of pain will squash out the arousal gathering in my core. One touch. One freaking touch and my name on his lips has me near panting .
Get a hold of yourself girl.
“You can pick the music,” he says.
I choose the least sexual music I can possibly find and end up on the classical music station. His arched brow shows me he’s not a fan, but his shrug tells me he’ll survive. Craving a little relaxation, I stare out at the passing trees. Archer seems at peace with everything that’s happened, almost like the real him has been locked up tight since the moment Jessie and I started dating.
I’ve missed this Archer.
Over the years I’ve caught glimpses of the trio we used to be. Eating our body weight in Mexican food while singing karaoke on Friday nights at the bar, playing air hockey at the student community center after a long study session. The laughter we all used to share became segmented when Jessie and I got together. He and Arch had their friendship, which was solid before I ever came into the picture, and Jessie and I became a unit. There were no more Three Musketeers or friendly lunch dates.
If I was there, Archer wasn’t, and vice versa.
It reminded me of my small group of friends in high school before they all scattered to attend colleges far away while I stayed close to home to ensure my dad was taken care of and to help him at the restaurants.
I wish I could find the same peace Archer seems to have about our situation, but he’s not the one who was married. He’s not the one who stood in front of San Antonio’s high society and promised to love their spouse for the rest of their life, the one who’ll be looked down on with disdain when they find out I’ve fallen for someone else. I need this bakery to be successful, and I can’t do that if everyone turns against me.
“I know I said you could pick the music, but it’s putting me to sleep,” Archer says.
I pretend to be upset and pout, but I turn it to a country station to appease his uncultured ears. We stop twice to go to the bathroom and grab a breakfast taco, but the four-hour drive is spent in easy silence, listening to music, and chatting about things I want to do at the bakery.
Between the life insurance policy and my paychecks from my parents’ restaurants, I’ve budgeted well for any extra renovations I want to complete. Archer assured me everything was already taken care of for what he’d done prior to telling me about the bakery, and even though I still write him checks for the lease and the work he’s doing now, he refuses to deposit them.
A million other questions itch to be spoken, but I can’t force myself to ask. There’s so much I don’t know about Archer, about his past with his brother—something he rarely talked about during college—and what they were all like as kids, but I know it’s not the right time to ask. Jessie always shied away from the memories that included all three of them too, like talking about Sebastian without Archer there was too difficult. I’ve gleaned enough from Nora and Shantel to understand what happened, but it’s not the same as hearing it from someone who was there.
I’m scared if I push him too hard, he’ll retreat into the silent man who shut me out. Even if I’m not ready to move into relationship territory with him, I don’t think I could handle losing him completely.
“We’re about an hour or so out,” he says after our last stop. “The sale starts at one, so we’ll get there early, peruse what else is going up for sale, and grab a seat.”
“Sounds good.” I pull a notepad out of my purse.
“What are you scribbling there?” he asks once we get back onto the road.
“I’m just thinking of new recipes for the menu or events I could host that would bring people in.”
“People are going to come in, no doubt about it. ”
“You don’t know that.” I tap my pen on the notepad. “You haven’t tasted anything I’ve made in like four years.”
His hand moves back to my knee and squeezes. “Look at me.”
I fight the urge to tell him to keep his eyes on the road, but I oblige his request, a wave of uneasiness crashing in my chest.
“I know it sounds corny, but I didn’t need another reason to fall for you.”
His honesty wraps around my chest, squeezing the air from my lungs. I get it, I totally do. I spent many nights during study sessions trying to convince myself I wasn’t attracted to him. He was a playboy who wasn’t serious about anything except football, least of all his studies.
Jessie was the opposite. He was focused on business, had a five-year plan, and everything just felt easy with him. When he asked me out, I had no earthly reason to say no. He was hot, interested, and a good man. Pushing my thoughts of Archer to the side was easy because I hadn’t allowed myself to make that connection. My heart was open to Jessie’s advances and completely shut to Archer’s.
Even though Archer seems all in on whatever is blooming between us, it’s me that’s still scared to give him my all. The last time I did that, I lost not only my best friend but my husband.
Feeling the tension in the truck rising, I change the subject instead of commenting.
“Dad really liked the cake I made, and I’m wondering if it would be beneficial to do a platter of ‘Around the World’ treats?”
He flicks on his blinker and slows down to make a sharp turn. His notebook slides down the dash and falls to the floor. My gaze floats to the cream colored pages with his slanted scrawl, and a familiar name catches my eye. Archer grabs it and shoves it between the seat and console before I have a chance to investigate why my name is scribbled inside. I’ve always wondered what he writes in there but have never been brave enough to ask.
“I think that would be great,” he replies, changing the direction of my thoughts back to baking.
“But I also wanna try out old recipes with new flavors,” I continue, eyes lingering on the notebook. “Maybe a strawberry balsamic sponge cake. The savory flavor will make the strawberries sweeter. And for those who like spicier desserts I can add the mango habanero chocolate cupcake.”
He laughs. “I’m sure whatever you decide on is going to taste amazing, and I’ll be your taste tester.”
I can’t stop the smile from creeping onto my face. Why does he have to hit me right in my most vulnerable spot? Not only Dad has come around to trying more of my desserts, and giving honest feedback on them, Archer is finally willing to give up the ghost and dig in.
A spot of clouds rolls in, and I open my phone to check the weather. Like Archer mentioned this morning, the service in this area isn’t great, and I’m struggling to update my app.
“Think it’s going to rain?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Fifty-fifty chance out this way.”
We pass a few barns, a small gas station, and finally turn onto the long stretch of road leading back to the bed and breakfast. The parking lot is filled, so Archer parks off to the side in the grass. He helps me down from the truck, not releasing my hand once he shuts the door.
The air is breezy, but I’m warm all over when he squeezes my hand and leads me inside. I stare at our entwined hands with a sense of curiosity. Would my body have reacted this way to him years ago, or is it because I’m so deprived of touch that it feels earth shattering to me when it would feel normal to others? Has he noticed I’m still wearing my wedding band? Does it upset him?
Is this just attraction between us or something more?
We piddle around, looking at some of the other items going up for auction, but my attention is focused on the reason we came.
“Wanna sit in the front?” he asks.
I nod, not trusting my voice to come out even.
We grab a number card and find two open seats. A vibration on my leg steals my attention, and Archer reaches into his pocket for his phone. His mom’s name flashes across the screen, and instead of answering it, he ignores the call.
“We’re gonna start in a few minutes,” the announcer says. “Remember, no fighting, cursing, or tag-teaming to raise the price.”
Archer snorts, and I prepare myself for battle.