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They stared into each other’s eyes for what ought to have been a very uncomfortable amount of time if either were cognizant of it.
“Archer, ask Pauline to come in before we go—” Archer’s mother appeared behind him in the hallway and stopped midsentence. She played with a bracelet on one of her wrists, adjusting it farther up her forearm. “Oh. Brianna? You didn’t tell me you invited her.”
“Brielle,” said Archer and Brielle at the same time. Brielle looked as if she were hiding a grin when their eyes met again.
Clearing her throat, Brielle seemed to take in their attire. “Oh. Sorry. Is this a bad time? Are you going somewhere?” They were dressed admittedly on the fancy end of things. His mother didn’t like to celebrate at the Olive Garden when they could indulge in a local high-end bistro. Suddenly feeling choked and embarrassed, Archer tugged at the bottom of his navy tie, folding it over his lap time and again.
Mrs. Ward pulled her phone out of her little clutch purse and glanced at the screen. “Yes, we have reservations.”
His dad stepped into the hallway. “And they won’t kill us if we’re late, Geneva.” He put both hands on her shoulders.
“No, but they might give away our table. They’re very hot in demand these days, you know.”
“On a Tuesday night? And considering what I spend there? I don’t think so.” He guided her forward and they squeezed against the wall to get past Archer. He extended a hand to Brielle. “Baldwin.”
Brielle stared at him before realizing she was meant to shake his hand. “Oh! Brielle. Hi. Nice to meet you.”
“I’ve seen you before,” he said. “At the airport. From afar.” He grinned and smirked down at his son, and there was so much that look conveyed but left unsaid. Archer could feel his face flushing.
“Right. Of course.” Brielle tucked a piece of hair behind her ear.
Archer willed his lower half to calm down, especially considering he was sitting like a foot away from his mother.
“Why don’t you join us?” asked his dad.
“I made the reservation forfour,” interrupted his mother.
Brielle looked down at her clothes—yoga pants and a skin-tight T-shirt, both a little stained with sweat—and grimaced. “Thanks, but I can’t right now anyway.”
Archer’s dad nodded and looked over her shoulder. A van was pulling in and had to maneuver around a moving truck parked in the middle of the lot to get a good spot. “There’s Pauline now. We’ll go greet her.” He reached into his pocket and tossed a pair of keys at Archer, who caught them despite the lack of warning. Archer felt almost smug about the fact that Brielle had watched him catching them, like he’d just caught a tricky pass in a neck-and-neck basketball game. “Congrats again, son.”
“Baldwin, I really think we should get going…”
“We are, we are.” He patted his wife’s shoulder and guided her past Brielle to the cars behind her. Mrs. Ward looked over her shoulder back at the condo, frowning, but said nothing more.
“What’s the occasion?” asked Brielle, perhaps oblivious to the daggers Archer’s mother was shooting at her. “Congrats…?”
“Oh.” Archer snapped back into the moment and jingled his car keys. “I got my license since… since we saw each other last.” He tried to smile, tried to seem friendly, but the fact was, it still hurt to think of how they’d parted ways. Even if she’d never guaranteed anything more than a single lay.
“Thatiscongrats!” Brielle shook her head and waved a hand at her face. “That is, I mean,congrats…”
“Thanks.” He really smiled this time. He wasn’t sure why, but she seemed so nervous. He still wasn’t sure why she was even there. Peering around her torso, he backed his wheelchair up. “Want to come in?”
“Don’t you have to go?” She gestured over her shoulder. Pauline and his parents stood gathered around the side of Pauline’s van, talking. His mother’s head kept turning toward the condo while Pauline’s kept glancing at one of the chiseled moving men whenever he passed by.
“Please,” he insisted.
“Okay,” said Brielle. “Just for a minute, though. I…” She glanced over her shoulder and bit her lip. Did she know that drove Archer crazy? He had to look away as she stepped in and shut the door behind her.
“I’m sorry.”
That made Archer look up. “What?”
“I’m sorry.” The pale pink of her nail polish—a new addition, he noticed—distracted him as she clutched her hands together tightly in front of her thighs. It made her fingers look so long and elegant. “I’m sorry I got so defensive. I’m sorry I got freaked out aboutus. I’m sorry I jumped into bed without spending more time just as friends and getting to know you—”
“I never complained about you jumping into bed with me,” said Archer, sure he ought to make that clear. “Although to be perfectly honest, we never quite got to thebed, did we?”
That actually made Brielle snicker. Archer took that as a good sign. But an uncomfortable thought flitted to the forefront of his mind. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.” He grimaced. “A month.”
