I shrugged, then placed my hands on the counter top before me. “I don’t know; I’ll have to think about it. The test is a good start, though.”
The laugh that burst out of him was more a sarcastic scoff, but still, it was an interesting sound. “I’m sure you will.” He brushed a hand over the back of his head and released a weighted breath. “Can I put my number in your phone? So you can text me when you decide?”
I hesitated for a couple of seconds, then nodded. “Sure. Yeah.” I unlocked my phone and opened it to my contacts, passing it over the island to his waiting hand. Before I knew it, Archer had programmed his number into my contacts and was handing it back to me.
“Okay, cool,” I said, the whole situation feeling a little awkward. “Um, did you need anything else?”
His eyes scanned my face, contemplating something before shaking his head and standing up. The full height of him made my tiny apartment feel impossibly smaller—hotter. It felt far too warm in here. I needed him to leave so I could breathe properly.
I led him back down the hallway that served as an entryway, and opened the door. He stepped through, but lingered on the other side.
“Thank you . . . for hearing me out and not slamming the door in my face.”
I decided not to get into how he hadn’t extended the same courtesy to me at The Crooked Quill. “It wasn’t for lack of trying.”
The corner of his mouth twitched in what I thought was almost the start of a smile before he slid his helmet over his head, hiding my ability to see if it turned into anything more. Then he turned and walked down the two steps to the walkway, the setting sun reflecting off the black sheen of his motorcycle.
The second I closed and locked the door, I raced back to where I’d set my phone on the counter, and texted Linnea.
Me:Change of plans. We’re going out. Meet me at Abe’s.
Me:You’re going to need a drink for what I’m about to tell you.
I got ready in record speed, not caring that I was going to be early to dinner with Linnea. It seemed too good to be true. Archer had just offered to do the paternity test in addition to whatever else I wanted, but there had to be a catch. There wasalwaysa catch.
THIRTEEN
DARCY
The next morning, I pulled up his contact in my phone, immediately renaming him. Not to anything inconspicuous to keep people from knowing—I didn’t care about that. No, if I was going to have to see his name frequently pop up on my screen now, I wanted a laugh out of it.
Me:Hey, it’s Darcy. I figured out how else you can make it up to me. If you’re still offering.
I hadn’t expected a response any time soon, but to my surprise, his response came through almost immediately.
Mr. Desperate:I’m still offering.
Mr. Desperate:I can be at The Colony in thirty minutes.
It didn’t escape my notice that he picked one of the nicer breakfast places in town. He was clearly trying to suck up, and I did love their western omelette. The fact that he wasn’t telling me to get lost was all I needed to know about how this conversation was going to go. I got the sense that he was genuinely sorry, and I was going to forgive him, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t leave him in a booth the way he did me before I did.
Me:I’m already downtown. Make it twenty. I’m getting hangry.
I wasn’t downtown—I was still at home in my pajamas. By the time I got dressed and out the door, the soonest I’d be there was thirty minutes from now, but he didn’t need to know that. Plus, I really wanted to see the scowl of annoyance he’d have when I showed up late and at his proposed time.
Slowly sipping my coffee, I spent the next five minutes watching the morning sun drift higher into the sky before heading to the bedroom to get dressed.
***
When I walked through the doors of The Colony thirty-five minutes later, Archer’s expression was far beyond his grumpy broodiness, and went full-on into silent rage territory. I wished my eyes could take pictures.
“Good morning,” I sing-songed, sliding into the booth across from him. The ivory ceramic mug he had in front of him had a sip of black coffee left in the bottom, and it looked cold. Shame.
“What happened to twenty minutes?” His low voice was tinted with barely-masked annoyance.
I shrugged and picked up the menu, scanning to see if they had any specials. “Well, I had to get dressed and leave my house—it took a minute. Putting socks on is a challenge.”
His brows knit together, his glare never wavering from my face. “You don’t have a bump.”
