Chapter Eighteen
Talia
Three days later, I’m standing on the balcony of my borrowed townhouse soaking up the sunshine. The weather is chilly, but there’s no rain, no clouds, and the sun is actually warm. I was beginning to wonder if the Midwest was under a constant gray cloud cover.
I have Calista on speakerphone. She’s yammering on about her latest recipe. I misplaced my earbuds. I think they’re in my office. I think. There’s an outside chance they’re in the cup holder of Archer’s Mercedes. I’ll have to look later.
She wraps up her story about fried octopus and in the same breath says, “I miss you!”
“I miss you too.” It’s good to hear and feels better to say. We’re not away from each other much. The distance has been challenging. “I see you finally accepted the money I sent.”
“I’m holding it for you. I only accepted it because I received nine text messages from the transfer company and nine more from you. I was tired of being harassed.”
I smile, knowing I’m never going to accept if she tries returning the cash.
“I wish you could come home,” she says, but not for reasons I would have thought. “I have a few days off and I need your palate and unbiased opinions.”
“My opinions are totally biased,” I remind her. “I’d love to see you, but I’m expecting more than one delivery this week, and I need to be here to oversee the details.” It was nice of Archer to offer to fly me back to Miami for a few days, but with all due respect, he’s not the one overlooking the minutiae of this opening. I am. It’s not that I don’t trust the guys finishing up the interior of the spa to accept a delivery. It’s that I know they don’t know the difference between “moss” and “eucalyptus” and “sage.” When the window coverings arrive, I’m going to be there to reject or accept on the spot. A photo sent to my cellphone while I’m in Florida isn’t going to cut it. “Why don’t you come here instead?”
She gasps. “I can do that?”
“Why couldn’t you?” I didn’t clear it with Archer, but I’m sure he doesn’t mind if I have people over. It’d be good to have my sister here. I miss her like crazy. And I miss her cooking almost as much. “You have a few days off, I have the space. Plus, the kitchen—”
“I love that kitchen,” she states, her awe palpable. “I’ll check into flights. Maybe I’ll luck out and find an inexpensive ticket. What’s the closest airport to you?”
“I’ll fly her here.” Archer is standing on the neighboring balcony, bedroom doors open, sunglasses settled on his nose. One of the nicest suits I’ve seen him wear, steel gray in color, is stretched over his broad shoulders.
“You’re in Columbus,” I tell him. I could have sworn he’d said he’d be there until morning.
“Columbus airport?” Lis asks.
“Um, sorry, no. Not you. Archer says he’ll fly you here.” I turn off the speaker and bring the phone to my ear. “He has a jet.”
“Your boyfriend is going to fly me to Ohio on his jet?”
“Company jet, but yeah.” I feel Archer’s steady gaze, and I’m secretly glad he didn’t hear the boyfriend comment. We’ve tiptoed around enough landmines lately.
Since the night at Club Nine when I agreed to sleep over, he hasn’t warned me against being unforgettable. I’ve also calmed down. Him wanting to sleep with me is not a decent reason to flee in the opposite direction. It hasn’t escaped my attention that he now knocks and waits for me to answer the door rather than rapping once and letting himself in.
Luckily, we both enjoy distracting ourselves with sex. It’s amazing what a soapy, orgasm-y shower can do for morale.
“In that case, I’ll pack my bags.” I hear the grin in my sister’s voice.
I can’t see Archer’s eyes because of the sunglasses. I can’t read his expression because he’s Archer. If he doesn’t want anyone to know what he’s thinking, they won’t. “Text me the dates and I’ll set up your flight and send over the details.”
We say our goodbyes, but not before my next-door neighbor disappears inside his townhouse.
No sooner do I hang up than my cell phone jingles in my hand.
“Papa. Hi.”
“How are you, Tallie?”
Relief slumps my shoulders. He sounds tired. It’s the first phone call I’ve had with him without people shouting in the background or large machinery drowning out his voice.
“Fine. I mean, good. I’m keeping busy.” I walk inside, through the bedroom, and down the stairs.
“When are you coming home?”