“I take my responsibilities seriously.”
Now he smiles. Then he shifts to business—schedules, practice times, upcoming road trips, and which days Bree has the kids. He slides a key fob across the island. “The Lexus SUV in the garage. It’s yours while you’re here.”
“Archer, I can’t drive your—”
“You can and you will. The twins’ car seats are already installed.”
“Okay.”
“My housekeeper comes on Wednesdays. Her name is Maria. She’s been with us for three years, and she’s, uh—she’s the best. She’ll probably try to feed you.”
“I like her already.”
“The twins’ preschool is Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays from nine to one. Drop-off is—” He pauses. “Lily’s a runner. You have to hold her hand in the parking lot, or she’ll take off after a bird, a puddle, or a piece of sidewalk chalk.”
“Noted.”
“And Luke will tell you he can walk himself in. He can. But he wants you to watch until he gets through the door. He won’t say that. He’ll just keep looking back.”
My chest aches. The way Archer knows them—the puddle, the looking back—tells me everything about the kind of father he is. He’s a professional athlete, but he’s also just their dad. And he’s completely involved. It’s sweet.
“Got it,” I say. “Anything else?”
He thinks for a moment. “Luke won’t eat anything green unless you tell him it’s what sharks eat. And Lily—”
“Will negotiate for everything and win.”
“Every time.” He meets my eyes, his face suddenly open and unguarded, as if he forgot to keep the wall up. For a brief moment, I see the version of him that nobody else gets—the one beneath the schedule, stoicism, and jaw clenching. His eyes hold mine across the island, the kitchen is quiet, the monitor is just breathing, and I can feel my pulse in my fingertips. His gaze drops to my mouth for a heartbeat, and I think—
“DADDY!”
A blur of pajamas comes tearing around the corner, and Lily crashes into Archer at full speed, arms outstretched, face-first into his thighs. He reacts quickly—goalie reflexes—bending to scoop her up a half-second before impact and swinging her into his arms as if she weighs nothing.
“Morning, Lil.”
“DADDY. Lily took—I mean—LUKE took my—” She’s breathless and furious, her hair a bird’s nest. “He won’t share the BOOK.”
“Which book?”
“The SHARK book. It’s MY turn.”
“It’s Luke’s book.”
“But I WANT it.”
Luke appears in the doorway behind her, holding the shark book calmly against his chest, watching his sister’s performance with zero concern.
“She can have it when I’m done,” he says, measured and reasonable. Three years old and already the most even-tempered person in this house.
Archer looks at me over Lily’s head. She’s got her arms around his neck, glaring at her brother with the intensity of a tiny litigator. He’s standing there, his daughter on his hip, his son in the doorway, and me on the other side of the island, pretending my heart isn’t doing something I can’t afford to let it do.
“Welcome to the morning shift,” he says.
I pick up my coffee. “I’m going to go get dressed.”
He makes a sound that might be a laugh or a cough, and I walk out of the kitchen before my face gives me away.
In the guest room, I close the door and lean against it, pressing my hands over my eyes.
