Chapter Thirteen
Talia
I’m aware of the throbbing in my wrist moments before I open my eyes. It’s sunny today, and the beams shine through the balcony doors, warming the bottom of the bed. I sit up and stretch my arms out to absorb some of that warmth, smiling in gratitude. Then I recall the argument with Archer last night and frown instead.
He told me I work too much, which tripped a trigger inside me. I heard his accusation in my father’s voice, though Archer was far more commanding than Papa would have been. No, if it was Papa, he would have wound me up in cotton batting and tucked me into a corner. Archer’s more the type to stand guard at his bedroom door and refuse to let me leave.
He did let me leave, though, and after I said some not-so-nice and not-so-true things to him about how we shouldn’t have slept together. Sure, and it’s also possible to stop a speeding locomotive with a butterfly net.
I dress in a pair of joggers and a slouchy sweatshirt—carefully, not that it matters. I wince every time I move my wrist, which happens a lot while pulling on my clothes. Downstairs, I aim for the coffee maker, figuring I will start my morning brew before pouring a glass of water and swallowing some Advil. Then I’ll go to Archer’s and wake him up with a cup and another apology.
I’m a big girl. I can admit when I overreact.
In the kitchen, I open a drawer and pull out the coffee filters, jumping when I see a human man lying on my sofa. Startled, I drop the filters and gulp huge breaths of air while attempting to regulate my breathing.
I didn’t expect Archer Owen to be asleep on my sofa after I left him standing in his own bedroom last night. What did he do? Sneak in? Although, I guess that’s not accurate given he has a key. I tsk under my breath, finish preparing the coffee, and swallow two Advil. He doesn’t budge.
In the attached living room, I stand over his sleeping form. He’s stupidly attractive lying on his back, arms folded over his chest, mouth parted slightly. He was trying to take care of me yesterday. I tried to seduce him and he told me no, as if I was too fragile to make that decision on my own. My father treats me like I’m fragile, and I resent it. But after a full night’s sleep and finding a sleeping sentinel on the couch, I remind myself he’s not Papa.
Archer and I have undeniable physical attraction to each other and a camaraderie bordering friendship. He was worried, and communicated it by being demanding. I was insulted, and communicated it by retreating. We both handled last night poorly.
The coffeepot sputters, the brew complete. I pull down two mugs from the cabinet and hear a sharp inhale from the other room. He stretches before pushing himself to sitting. His shoes are off, his button-down shirt untucked from his badly wrinkled pants—his outfit is a poor excuse for pajamas. He scrubs his beard with one hand and regards me with sleepy eyes.
“Sleepwalk much?” I ask as I carry in a mug of coffee for each of us in one hand—my good hand.
“How’s your wrist?” is his response.
“It’ll be fine.”
He takes the mug, and I sit next to him. We sip in silence before he breaks it. “Your couch sucks.”
I let out a small laugh. “Well, you could have slept on your own.”
“I’m sorry about—”
“Don’t,” I mutter in my best Archer Owen voice. “I overreacted.”
“I have no right to tell you what to do,” he says to his mug.
“Vivian checked in on me last night. Text. She asked how I was and then asked if you were behaving like Nate, who she says is a worrywart.”
“Protective,” he corrects. “We protect the people we care about.” He makes this admission easily, reaching for my knee and squeezing it. “I’ll drive you wherever you need to go until your wrist heals.”
“You don’t have time to be my chauffeur.”
“I do.” His scowl is a warning.
“If I need to go somewhere, I’ll call Robert.”
“I’d prefer it if you leaned on me while you’re here.” He studies my face like he’s looking for clues. “Can you do that?”
My heart buoys. He didn’t command. He asked. Having options means a lot to me. I nod.
“Good. For the record, I don’t think you’re weak or incapable. I’d just feel better if I knew you were in good hands.” His mouth slips into a sideways smile. “And we both know how much you like my hands.”
Reminding me how well we fit together physically was a wise tactic. I do like his hands. All of him, really. His bossy side is fine as long as he’s not trampling my autonomy.
“Thanks for staying. Though I’m not sure you’d have woken up if there was an emergency.”