Archer laughs. “That was his line?”
“It was one I remember. It’s pretty bad, huh?” I readjust my purse on my shoulder. “I think this is a sign from the universe I’m not meant to be at a bar tonight. I just want to go home.”
“Did you drive?”
“No, I came with Kara. So it’s going to be a long night.”
“I can take you.” He doesn’t look at me as he offers.
“I don’t want to make you leave.”
“Honestly,” he starts and forces himself to look at me. Our eyes meet for a fleeting second before he brings his hand to the back of his neck. “I’m tired. I came straight from work and I haven’t had a day off in over a week.”
“That’s brutal.”
“It is. So let me take you home and use it as an excuse to bail early. I don’t think the guys are ready to hear that I’m not the partier I used to be.”
“You can use me as your scapegoat.” He can use me any other way too. “I’m going to tell Jamie I’m leaving and then we can go.”
Ten minutes later, we’re walking out into the parking lot.
“Are you staying with your parents?” Archer unlocks his Jeep.
“Yeah, I am.” I fold down the top of the to-go bag of burgers and fries I got on the way out, the least I could do for Archer for leaving his friends. Yeah, he said he was tired, but I’m not sure I believe him.
“I haven’t been to their house in a long time. Please tell me it’s the same.” He opens the passenger side door for me and goes around to get in.
“It pretty much is. Plus another dog or two.” I click the seatbelt into place, trying to think back to the last time Archer joined us for dinner. Before I went away to college myself, I looked forward to the Sundays where Dean and Archer would make the drive from Purdue University to the house for dinner.
Sunday dinners were a big thing. After church, Mom would spend the day cooking, and even with all four of my brothers plus Archer, there’d be food to spare and she’d send Dean and Archer back to school with enough care packages to last half the week.
Without needing directions from me, Archer drives to my parents’ house. We’re about twenty minutes away, and suddenly the silence between us is awkward. A mile goes by and I know I need to say something.
Another goes by before I turn and open my mouth.
“So where do you work?” I ask at the same time Archer asks me something.
“You go first,” we say in unison.
Laughing, Archer looks away from the road for a second. “Indy. What about you?”
“Chicago.”
“I never pegged you to be a big city kind of girl.”
“I didn’t think I was either, but I love it there. And I love my job, but sometimes I miss this.” I wave my hand at the window.
“There’s literally nothing there.”
“Exactly.” I smile. “I miss it. The cornfields, the quiet, the slower pace…I’m not that far away at least.”
“Do you come home often?”
“I try to. Mostly to see Jackson, because I miss him too much.”
“Jackson?” Archer turns his head, eyes widening and his grip on the wheel tightening. Is he jealous?
“Oh my God, has Dean never mentioned Jackson to you?”
“Why would he…who…I don’t think so. Is he your boyfriend?”
My heart speeds up and I lick my lips, eyeing Archer. I think he is jealous. “No, Jackson is my nephew. Wes’s son.”
Archer relaxes considerably. “Right. Yeah, he’s mentioned him. He always calls him Jax though. Didn’t ring a bell right away.”
I roll my eyes. “He’s watched Sons of Anarchy way too many times. Jackson is named after our grandfather, who never went by Jax. Well, never according to my grandma, that is.”
Archer smiles. “How old is he now?”
“He just turned three. He’s so flipping cute. Hopefully he stays that way and isn’t overly influenced by his uncles.”
“At least he has a good aunt.”
It’s my turn to smile. “I try. So…do you like Indy?”
“It’s not where I thought I’d end up, but the hospital is great.” He gives me a genuine smile, and I ease back in my seat. We talk about work the rest of the way.
Archer puts his Jeep in park outside the garage. He hesitates, and I take it as my cue to leave.
“Thanks again, Archer,” I say, and his name feels both good and bad coming from my lips. I extend my arm, giving him the bag of takeout.
“Didn’t you get two burgers?”
“Yeah, but you can have them.”
He swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You should eat. I mean, you’ve had several drinks, right?”
“Right.” My heart speeds up. “Who am I to ignore advice from a doctor?”
He kills the engine and gets out. I unlock the garage door and shimmy past my parents’ trucks. My dad’s a contractor, and my mom quit her job as a kindergarten teacher years ago to work full-time along with him. It’s not unusual for the barn, the garage, and occasionally the house to act as storage from a project they’re working on.
“I didn’t know your parents were so high-tech,” Archer muses when I enter the passcode into a computerized lock.
“They’re not. Technology is kind of my thing, though.” I open the door and wait for the dogs to come running. Boots, Chrissy, and Carlos are friendly and don’t give a care in the world who’s walking through the door. All they want is attention. Rufus, on the other hand, is territorial and protective and has gotten worse in his old age.
I slip my fingers under his collar and hold him back before he has a chance to lunge at Archer.
“Hey, buddy,” Archer says, holding out his hand. “Remember me?”
All of my parents’ dogs are mixed breeds, rescued from the local shelter. Rufus is the oldest of the bunch, and I think my mom had just brought him home the last time I remember Archer coming around.
Rufus growls but sniffs Archer’s hand. He considers him for a minute, then wags his tail. He’s a German Shepherd and Malamute mix and can be hard to handle when he goes on the defense. I’m glad he’s good with Archer, because there’s something telling when your dog doesn’t like someone they’ve just met.
“Calm down,” I whisper-yell to the others, not wanting to wake my parents. Obviously I’m a competent adult and can come and go as I please, but I’d feel bad waking them, and mostly, I know Archer would leave.
Nothing makes me feel the child I was the first time I laid eyes on Archer than bringing him back to my childhood home and hoping we don’t wake up my parents.
“What do you want to drink?” I ask, still greeting the overly-excited dogs. I grab treats from the pantry.
“Whatever you’re having,” Archer tells me as he drops to his knees to pet Rufus. I stare for a few seconds, hating how freaking adorable he looks with his fingers buried in the old dog’s fur.
I pour two glasses of lemonade and put our food on plates, taking it to the large island in the kitchen.
“I never realized how much I missed eating here.” Archer looks around the room, flattening his hand on the surface of the cold granite counter.
“You and Dean spent a lot of time in the kitchen.”
He half-smiles and takes a bite of his burger, nodding. I grab two fries and dip them in ketchup.
“The food was only part of the reason I liked coming back to the Dawson Homestead.”
I raise an eyebrow. “There was more than one reason?”
His eyes meet mine, and something passes between us. My heart is in my throat, beating so fast and so loud there’s no way he’s not hearing it.
“There was.”
I wait a beat, but he doesn’t elaborate. “What was it?”
“That’s for me to know.” He gives me a little grin and goes back to his food. I can only stomach half my burger and a handful of fries before feeling too full. I pick the meat off the bun and divide it
up between the dogs, who gobble it up in seconds.
Chrissy goes over to the back door and noses a bell hanging from the knob.
“Is she ringing a bell to go outside?”
“They all do. Well, everyone but Boots. That dog’s not the brightest crayon in the box if you know what I mean. And when I let one out, they’ll all want out.”
Archer finishes his lemonade and stands, taking his plate and mine to the sink. He’s right behind me when I unlock the door to let the dogs out, and steps onto the patio with me.
The sounds of the night echo around us and a soft breeze has picked up, moving the sticky humid air. All four dogs take off, running through the grass like idiots. My heart speeds up again when I look back at Archer, and all the things I’ve wanted to say to him over the years threaten to bubble up and spill out.
He takes a step closer, and the woodsy scent of his cologne wakes up every nerve inside of me, making me curse myself for not staying in touch with this beautiful man.
The breeze picks up again, bringing in a gust that tousles my hair around my face. Archer tucks it back behind my ear and parts his lips. If we were in a romance movie, he’d lean in and kiss me right now. Then he’d tell me how he’s always had feelings for me, and even though it’s been years, the fluttering in his stomach came back the moment he saw me, just like it did when I saw him.
But this is real life, and real life isn’t as carefully crafted and scripted like a movie. Archer has never expressed interest in me, and as far as I know, he thinks of me as a sister. Plus, Dean would throw a fit if I said I’ve had a crush on his friend, telling me how things will be awkward from there on out.
Sometimes, real life sucks.
Boots barks, and we turn just in time to see Chrissy lower into a crouch at the edge of the pool.
“Chrissy, no!” I shout, but it’s too late. The lab mix dives in, happily paddling about. Carlos goes in after her, doing one quick lap before coming out and shaking water all over Rufus, who gives the small mutt the evil eye. Sighing, I shake my head and laugh. “Whatever. You guys can just stay outside until you’re dry.”
“That dog loves to swim.” Archer’s lips are pulled into a smile as he watches Chrissy splash about.
“She loves it, and I forgot. Though I will blame my parents for not shutting the gate around the pool.” I grab a squeaky tennis ball from the ground, squeak it a few times and throw it as far as I can into the night.
It doesn’t go far.
Still, it’s enough to get all four dogs running, and as soon as Chrissy is out of the pool, I shut the gate. Chrissy brings back the ball, and this time Archer grabs it, throwing it much farther than I did.
I sit on the wooden glider my dad made for my mom, figuring I might as well get comfortable. With the breeze and her running around, it won’t be long before Chrissy is dry enough to come inside and get toweled off.
“I meant to ask you before,” Archer starts, taking the slobbery ball from Chrissy and throwing it again. “How you got into software design for your career.”
“I took one of those online quizzes that tell you what you should be when you grow up.”
“Really?”
“No,” I say with a laugh. Archer takes a step back, closer to me. “I’ve always been fascinated with technology. When I was a kid, I thought it was crazy people didn’t have the technology that we did. Like how the hell did they survive in the olden days?”
Smiling, Archer takes a spot next to me on the glider. He pushes off the ground with his feet, sending us sliding back.
“I guess from there I just got into it even more. I actually started out my freshman year as an engineering major but switched to computer science my second semester. Which is super interesting, I know, but remember that little-known fact about me in case my dad decides to play Cash Table tomorrow.”
“Cash Table?”
“His version of Cash Cab but he asks random questions when we’re all sitting down at the table together. It’s like the daddest thing in the world, I know.”
Archer laughs. “That sounds like something he’d do.”
“So what about you? What made you want to go to med school?”
“I didn’t want to face responsibility and chose a profession with an ungodly amount of schooling.” He playfully nudges me.
“That was actually my first guess, though you should have wavered more in there and switched your major back and forth at least three times, you rookie.”
“Damn it, I should have. But really, I made up my mind to be a doctor when I was a sophomore in high school. I had a sick family member and have always been thankful for what they’ve been able to do for…for that person.”
I bend my knees up, tucking my feet under my legs, and study Archer. He’s staring into the dark, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. I don’t remember him or Dean ever mentioning a sick family member. My heart aches a little for him, and I hope the illness didn’t claim a loved one.
His jaw tenses, and then he leans back, blinking rapidly. “You can’t tell anyone about that project you’re working on?”
“Nope. Though I’m pretty sure I’ve convinced Dean we’re building a Batmobile.”
“Is it sad I’m a little disappointed that it’s not?”
I laugh. “Well, I didn’t say it’s not a Batmobile…”
“Don’t get my hopes up.” He chuckles, and his eyes sparkle in the moonlight. “And if it is, you’ll have to pull strings to let me drive it.”
“Only if you wear a Batman costume.”
“I’d wear a Joker costume if it means I can drive the Batmobile.”
I shake my head. “If you’re thinking of Heath Ledger’s Joker, then his clothes are too cool. You’ll have to go with Danny DeVito’s Penguin.”
Archer makes a face, acting like he’s considering it seriously. “Yeah, I’d still do it. For the Batmobile.”
“I should probably wait until after you’re dressed up to tell you this, but it’s not a Batmobile.”
“I figured such.” He yawns, and in just seconds all the humor is gone from his face. Leaning forward, he grabs the ball from Chrissy and tosses it again before standing. “I should go.”
“Yeah,” I reply, trying not to let him know the abruptness is startling, though it’s the second time tonight he’s cut me off short right when I was thinking we were getting along just fine. Better than fine, really. “I should, uh, go inside and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s going to be a busy day.”
Archer’s hand lands on the back of his neck, and his brows pinch together. “Right. Tomorrow. Your brother’s party.”
I pat my leg and make a kissy sound, getting the dogs’ attention. Archer stands aside, letting me take the lead back into the house.
“Thanks for dinner. See you tomorrow,” he says as he pulls his keys from his pocket. He’s gone before I can tell him goodbye.
Perplexed, I stand in the kitchen for a minute before going to lock the back door. Though it’s now gone, there’s no denying we had a moment. The feelings I thought I could quell for Archer have come back with a vengeance, and my heart demands another moment with him.
But I can’t help but feel he doesn’t want one with me.
4
Quinn
I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit at the kitchen table, phone in hand. Blinking, still too tired to focus on the bright screen of my phone, my finger hovers over the email icon. I have a handful of new emails, and while I can assume a few are junk, I know the others are from work.
If I open it and see a problem, I won’t be able to stop thinking about it. And I already have enough on my mind.
“Want some eggs, dear?” Mom turns, looking at me over her shoulder as she scrambles a skillet full of eggs.
“You know the answer to that, Mom.” I open Facebook instead. The emails can wait. If something was terribly wrong, someone would have called me by now.
“What about over easy?” she tries, knowing I detest eggs. “I can
make you pancakes instead.”
“You don’t have to, Mom, but thanks. I’ll stick to coffee for now.”
“You got in late.” She raises her eyebrows and smiles. “Did you have fun at the bar last night?”
“I spilled a tray of drinks on myself, but it was all right. Archer took me home so Dean and Kara could stay out.”
“That was nice of him. I’m glad he was able to make it this weekend. Dean said he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to get time off from work.” Mom turns the burner off and grabs a plate. “I haven’t seen that boy in years.”
“He’s not a boy anymore.” The words spill from my lips, and I think of sitting outside on the glider with Archer last night. My pulse increases and heat flows through me. Archer was the subject of my dreams last night, and in my dreams, we did more than just sit and talk.
Mom scoops her eggs onto her plate and eyes me curiously. She’s always been eerily—and annoyingly—perceptive.
“Right. He’s not.” She grabs the salt and pepper and joins me at the table. “You know you all are always just kids in my eyes.”
“That’s because you’re old.”
“You say that like you forget you’re not getting any younger. Though you are right about Archer. He’s a doctor now,” she says with a smile. “Which is impressive on its own, but even more so considering all he went through in college.”
I almost spit out the sip of coffee I just took. “What did he go through?”
Before Mom has a chance to answer, the back door opens and the dogs go barreling through the kitchen to greet Weston, my oldest brother, and Jackson.
“Grammy!” Jackson squeals and squirms out of Weston’s arms. He gets stuck in the middle of the four dogs, who are all wagging their tails with excitement and licking Jackson’s face. He’s the only person—well, besides Mom—who lets the dogs lick his face. They love him for it.
“Hey, sis.” Weston takes off his boots and crosses the room. I set my coffee down and stand, welcoming him with a hug. “Haven’t seen you in a while.”
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