He grabs two glasses for us from the cabinet. I glug wine into my glass, spilling some in the process. He takes the bottle from me, kisses one of my shaking hands, and completes the task for himself.
“Want to talk about it?”
“Not yet,” I mumble at the edge of my glass.
Fifteen minutes later, the cleaning supplies beneath the sink are encircling Archer, who is lying on the floor, twisting and puttying and whatever else it takes to seal a leak. Apparently it’s happened before, and as such, he knew exactly what to do.
My father doesn’t call again. He texted a stern parental message that read Call me, Talia Elise. I can’t ignore him forever. After alternately texting him back that I would, checking my email (twice), and ogling the slash of belly revealed by Archer’s rucked-up Henley (four times), I’ve chosen my favorite activity of the three. Watching Archer work on the sink, I lean on an elbow and finish my first glass of wine before splashing some more into the glass.
He grunts, swears.
I smile.
He twists something, swears again. His shirt rucks higher.
I smile bigger.
“That oughta do it,” he finally says, shoving himself out from under the sink with less grace than you might expect. He knocks over window cleaner and a box of sponges, kicking a can of degreaser while he’s at it. “Damn it.”
He makes quick work of stashing the cleaning supplies beneath the sink and then stands, his face slightly red, his hair slightly disheveled. Insanely beautiful man. I offer his wine. He takes the glass, sips, and sighs. Incredible. He looks good in a suit, better in a Henley.
“Now you want to talk about it?” He rakes a hand through his hair.
“He called Brandon.”
Archer’s frown mirrors my earlier disposition. A low, growly, “Why?” comes next.
“To get my job back for me, since I can’t possibly make it on my own.” I pour more wine. We’re going to have to open a second bottle at this rate. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself.” I pause and add, “Leaky sinks excluded.”
“You knew to call me. Owning a business doesn’t mean doing everything yourself. It means you know who to lean on when, or before, there’s a crisis.”
“Do you do that?” I ask, genuinely curious as he settles onto the stool next to mine.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” He’s not smiling, but the lines around his eyes are. “I asked for your help. Best decision I ever made.”
As angry as I am with my father for trying to shove Brandon back into my life, I’m equally grateful to Archer for giving me another option. “If it wasn’t for you, I’d be begging for my job back from Brandon.”
“You wouldn’t have begged.”
“But I might still be working there.” A small inner voice whispers that Lotus Leaf would offer a more stable income than working for myself. It sounds suspiciously like Papa. “I relate to you not having your father’s approval. It’s frustrating.”
“You’re closer to receiving approval than I am.”
“Papa would like me to give Brandon a second chance.” When Archer’s eyes narrow, I continue teasing him. “Do you think I should?”
“I showed you what I thought when I hit him. If you need me to show you again, I can fly down there and pay him a visit. I’ll fly back with Calista.”
I nudge him with my arm. He’s warm and strong, sexy and funny. “Thanks for offering to fly her here.”
“No big deal.”
“But it is.” I smile, easing toward him when he leans forward to kiss me. Another small voice whispers I shouldn’t become accustomed to him solving my problems. Soon I’ll be back in Miami, where my problems will once again be my own.