Page 29 of Archer

“Oh. Right.” She leaned against the counter. “I usually shower in the morning. Is that okay?”

“Works for me.”

“And the kitchen?”

I shrugged. “The rules are for your comfort, not mine. I’m good with whatever you need to be at ease, or as much at ease as possible given the situation.”

She flinched, and I wished I was better with words. “What about meals?” she asked. “Are we eating together or separately?”

The question hung in the air. Eating together felt intimate. Personal. But eating separately felt ridiculous when we were living in the same small space.

When Harper didn’t say more, I offered a solution. “Eating together makes sense,” I said. “Unless you’d prefer privacy.”

“No. Together is fine.” She glanced at the groceries. “Are you hungry now? I could make something.”

“Okay.” Staying busy was a solid way to begin the adjustment process. Staying busy by doing something mundane and normal was even better. “I can help.”

“You don’t have to⁠—”

I moved to the counter beside her. “I’m not here to be waited on. We’re sharing space. We’ll share the work too.”

She studied my face for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Can you cook?”

“Basic stuff. Nothing fancy.”

“Perfect. Because I frequently burn toast.”

We worked together to make a simple dinner. Pasta with jarred marinara, garlic bread from the freezer, bagged salad. Nothing impressive, but it filled the cottage with warm scents and gave us something to do with our time and energy.

We bumped into each other repeatedly in the small space. Her shoulder brushed my arm as she reached for plates. My hip knocked against her when I turned from the stove. Each contact sent awareness skittering through me. I did my best to lock it down.

“So how does this usually work?” Harper asked when we sat at the small table. “The protection detail thing?”

“Depends on the situation. Sometimes it’s just a matter of me being present when a client leaves home. Other times it’s full coverage like this.”

“And you’ve done this before?”

“A few times. Usually assignments with a pre-determined length. Clients in town for a weekend, a wedding, or a vacation.”

She twirled pasta on her fork. “How long do you think this will take?”

“To catch your stalker?” I considered the question. “Hard to say. Depends on how quickly we can identify him and what evidence we find.”

“Colton seemed confident.”

“He’s good at what he does. If there’s a digital trail, he’ll find it.”

As if on cue, my phone buzzed. Colton’s name appeared on the screen.

“Speak of the devil.” I answered. “What’ve you got?”

“Blake Stewart’s alibi checks out,” Colton said. “He was in LA for the past week. Flight records, hotel charges, the whole thing. No way he was in Carolina Bay yesterday.”

I glanced at Harper. “So he’s not our guy.”

“Not for the recent delivery, at least. Unless he just placed the order and had someone else do the work. I’m still checking on that. But Archer, I was able to see that this dude’s been trying to contact Harper nonstop. Blake calls her multiple times per day. He texts. He emails. He comments on every social media post as if they’re still actively dating or very close friends. Whether or not he’s the one we’re looking for, it’s unhealthy and obsessive.”

Obsessive. That was the same word Harper had used to describe the stalker.