“Here.” I cover his eyes with my hand.
He palms my right butt cheek. “I can still feel you.”
“I can move away.”
“No, no, I got this.” He blows out a breath and removes my hand from his face, holding it against his chest. “What if you and Oliver split ownership in the property?”
“What do you mean?” My heart picks up a rapid beat in my chest.
Shared? I don’t even know what to think about such a thing.
“You would still live here, in the main house, with Jacob. You would still own half the property, but instead of running the cottages, you could help manage the camp, maybe?” His brows lift in question. “Oliver would have input on the details, of course, and he would provide the capital for the rebuild, any staffing needs, and cover the expenses of whatever else needs to be done. You could manage staff, help with the kids, whatever you want. I would make sure you have a choice over how much or how little you want to be involved.”
I stare at him while the idea twists and twirls in my mind. Retain half ownership? It’s better than nothing. If I don’t do anything, I’ll lose the whole property, but . . . help manage a camp for kids? It’s not something I’ve ever considered.
Archer is watching me back, his eyes careful, apprehensive.
“It’s not a bad idea,” I say finally. “I’m not opposed to it. I don’t know how I think about having to work with the devil of New York City, but it’s better than losing the property completely, either to Oliver or to the county.” I rest my chin on his chest, breathing in his scent. “I guess I don’t really know what to think.”
He smooths back my hair. “You don’t have to think anything yet. I haven’t mentioned anything to Oliver. I wanted to let you simmer in it. Think about it before I approach him.”
“You really think he’ll go for it? It sounds like he’s getting the short end of the stick. He has to front all the money for everything.”
He chuckles. “For Oliver, money isn’t the concern. This will be a tax write-off for him anyway. Plus, it will get him the result he wants, although sharing will be difficult. For him more than you. He is like a toddler.”
“How did you guys even become friends? You said before you had to help each other against some bullies or something?”
He’s tense and silent for a second before he replies. “Yeah. I think I mentioned how Oliver tried to fight me at first. He was an angry boy. Most of the kids were. And he was always hungry.” He stops, hesitating for a second before continuing in a lower voice. “I got the sense his foster family would withhold food as punishment, as a means to get him to cooperate. Amongst other things.”
I gasp. “Holy shit. That’s terrible.” I don’t want to feel sorry for Oliver, my enemy, but knowing this background . . . my heart breaks for any child in such a hellish situation.
“He would hide food under our bunk bed, in the bathroom, wherever he could hide it.”
I wince. He was just a boy who experienced such scarcity in childhood he felt the need to hoard food. Maybe that was why he’s so rich; his hoarding didn’t really change, it just shifted from food to . . . everything.
Archer continues the story. “One night, I heard him sneak out, and I followed. He went to the kitchens to get more, but another group of boys was there waiting. There were three of them. Two held him back while the third hit and punched him. He was small, but what he lacked in size he made up for in stubborn fury. Anyway, I had followed him and was able to intervene. After that, those boys left us alone. The next year, we made another friend, Mason, and it was the three of us against the world. We only had each other.”
I bite my lip, watching him. “And despite all of that, you’re not going to tell him about how I owe taxes? If he waits a month, he could have the whole thing without me and at a lower cost.”
“No. I’m not telling him.”
My brows lift. “Even though you are lifelong friends who went through hell together?”
“He sent me here so he can open his camp. That’s what I’m giving him. I also promised you I would find a solution that would work for both of you, and I don’t break my promises. I understand why your home is so important to you. Your father’s memory, Aria’s memory, your family history, they all live here. You have something I would never want to take away from anyone. I would never do anything to hurt you. You know that, right?”
“I know.” My throat grows tight. His words make my eyes sting, but I don’t want to examine these feelings too closely, so I ask another question. “You really think you can convince him this is the best deal?”
“I can try.”
“When are you going to talk to him?”
“I think it’s a discussion best had in person. After I’m done in Florida, I’ll come back to New York and talk to him then.”
I sit up slightly, my hands still resting on his chest. I keep my gaze on his chin. “And then what?”
“What do you mean?”
I swallow. “I mean . . . will you come back here?”