Page 84 of Loving at 40

“’Locks, just eat your lunch. We can talk about that later.”

“Another hard topic?” I question, irritation growing when he just brought me lunch. He made me lunch. It’s sweet, and I’m being a witch. But I can’t shake the thought that Archer will leave someday. Maybe not in the next thirty days but soon enough.

“Nope. Just think we should talk later.” His eyes shift to Rosie. “At home.” His voice softens around the word home, although it’s still like sandpaper on wood, and I want that sound to rub against me. I’ve suddenly gone from irritated to an irrepressible desire for him. I made it through the weekend, keeping myself in check. Despite sleeping next to him on my lumpy old couch. Despite him invading my bathroom and my kitchen and my head. I’m trying so hard to keep him out of my heart because I could love a man who wants to play Barbies with my girls, paints little fingernails, and makes me peanut butter sandwiches.

There’s no doubt I’m still attracted to him.

The next few minutes pass quickly as Rosie keeps us both distracted by telling me what they did all morning, and Archer accuses her of not keeping secrets. Then he tells me about her trying to draw on her skin.

“I want pictures like Archer.”

His back is a graphic display while his upper arms host a few tats as well. I know what’s underneath the long-sleeved Henley he wears, and just the thought of his skin, those muscles, and the trail of hair leading into his jeans enlarges the flame of desire like gasoline was poured on it.

Whoosh. I want him.

“You okay, ’Locks?” Archer chuckles. The redness in my face is a giveaway to my thoughts.

“I’m good,” I state, choking down a final bite of sandwich. Archer reaches out for my cheek and brushes back the hairs coming loose from the twist at my nape. He stares at me for a long minute before looking down at the plastic container that held my sandwich.

“Okay, little warrior. Time to pick up and let Momma get back to shaping the minds of the future.”

I almost fall over at Archer calling me Momma like he’s familiar. Like he’s the daddy to this mommy. I don’t know why it does something to me. Perhaps it’s that I’m already worked up by his presence.

And that flame went from personal bonfire to inferno of desire for him.

All of him.

+ + +

“Girl, start talking.” Tricia Ramirez nearly runs to my room once the final bell rings and students vacate the hallways. She tugs my classroom door shut behind her and leans against it like she’s hiding out on a covert mission.

“About what?” I tease, shuffling together papers and placing them in my bag. I wasn’t half as productive as I’d hoped to be during my planning period, and I will need to read these freshman compositions later tonight.

“That giant drink of Diet Coke who brought you lunch.” The Diet Coke thing is based on a decades-old commercial where a group of women gathered at a window to watch a local construction guy drink the cola on his break. He was hot. They were hot and bothered by his sexy presence. A few years ago, I called Leon, who is now Tricia’s husband, such a thing when we spotted him outside her classroom window playing basketball on the school courts across the parking lot.

“That’s Archer McCaryn,” I state as if it should explain everything.

When Tricia narrows her eyes at me, I head for a student desk and watch as Tricia’s eyes widen when I take a seat. She steps over to the row opposite me and sits in a desk as well. Our positions suggest this will be a lengthy conversation, and I tell her everything, feeling a wave of relief to explain the story from start to finish to someone.

“And now he’s here,” Tricia confirms. “Sleeping in your house. Making you lunches and taking care of your girls.”

“Yes.” I stare as her eyes widen once more, and then her fingers cover her lips. And she laughs. She laughs so hard she bends forward.

“Oh my God, Jenna. He’s in love with you.”

“What?” I snap while the possibility rushes through me.

“You know this is what Leon did. He walked away but came crawling back. And I was so determined not to let him in. He wasn’t going to get to me again, but when I saw him with his family . . .” She sighs. “He just wedged himself right back into my heart.” She shakes her head. “Damn domineering man.”

There isn’t a hint of irritation in her voice. She smiles broader, pleased with that domineering man who has her pregnant once again. She’ll have had five babies in nearly eight years when this one arrives.

“You love every bit of that domineering man.”

“And so do you.” Tricia tips a brow to me, implying Archer.

“I don’t know,” I whisper.

“It’s okay to love again,” she says to me, reaching out across the aisle to touch my forearm. Tricia was married before Leon, and the situation with her first husband was completely opposite of mine. Trent Walker was a grade A asshole. Leon was her second chance.