Page 32 of Loving at 40

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“Can Archer read to us?” Rosie asks in her innocent little three-year-old voice.

To my surprise, Archer was at dinner at Anna’s and hung out with the reunion crew, as he calls everyone, until the sun slowly set. As it was late, I excused myself to get the girls to bed, and Archer followed me.

“He does the dragon voice better than you,” Rosie adds. My heart breaks a little bit as I’m the only one to read to her for the three years of her life, and it’s one of my favorite times of the day. However, my insides are equally warmed that Rosie wants Archer. She likes him.

“The Warrior Princess again?” Archer asks, and I turn at his voice, finding him leaning against the doorjamb. How long has he been standing there? His familiarity with the princess tale reminds me that Anna mentioned he read a story to my daughters the other night. With only momentary hesitation, I step back, allowing him space to further enter the room. Lowering himself to the floor, Archer places his back to the nightstand between the beds. He holds up the book, allowing the girls a view of the pictures, and the girls each tip their heads to the edge of their mattresses. I sit on the foot of Talia’s bed as Archer reads, throwing his voice in ways I don’t. His tenor is mesmerizing.

“I want to be a warrior,” Rosie interjects around her thumb in her mouth as the princess nears the dragon.

“Want to be a warrior princess?” Archer pauses.

“Not princess. Just warrior.” Rosie drops her sweet voice to something gruff and rugged, and Archer chuckles. He gives my daughter one of those smiles I rarely see but call glorious, relaxing his face and buffing the hard edges. I can only imagine it’s a weapon of mass destruction, melting panties and breaking hearts wherever it beams.

“You can’t be a warrior, Rosie. You’re a wimp,” Talia counters.

“Ah, but wise master, Rosie is only pretending to be weak. It’s a warrior move.” Suddenly, it sounds like Yoda invaded Archer’s throat as he looks at Talia, and I chuckle.

“Wise master?” Talia questions.

“Yes, you are an expert teacher,” Archer answers, still using the voice of a green Jedi trainer. As he gazes at Talia, his head rests on the nightstand behind him, which can’t be comfortable.

“Mommy is a teacher,” Talia says, her voice perking up. “I want to be a teacher, too.”

“I can see that.” His voice returns to normal, and he quickly glances up at me. He hasn’t exactly avoided me since what happened earlier, but I find it hard to look directly at him, slightly embarrassed that I walked out, slightly mortified that I let him do what he did.

“And I can be a warrior,” Rosie adds.

Archer turns to Rosie. “You can be whatever you want, princ—er . . . warrior.” He winks at her, and she smiles around the thumb still in her mouth.

As he continues the story, the girls are enthralled by his voice and his interpretation as he rattles the book in parts, causing both the girls to flinch then giggle. His storytelling is rather animated, and he’s fun to observe and listen to. Watching him read to my girls, my heart warms more toward this mystery man. He’s so good to my girls, and he’s been more than good to me. Migraine care and orgasm relief rank up there. But it’s also the little things. He fixed me a plate the other night. He kept my wineglass full tonight. He’s there, circling me, watching me, and I don’t want to misinterpret what I see, but the yearning in his eyes is hard to dismiss. It’s a reflection of my own feelings. I want to know more about him because just like Rosie, I like him.

When the book is finished, Archer sets it behind his head on the nightstand and uses his hands on each bed to pull himself upward. Only, he stumbles as he rises, and his left knee gives out.

“Whoa,” he cries out as he pitches forward, and I stand to catch him. His face contorts for a second as if pain rips up his body. He even hisses a little. What is this all about? He clutches at the edges of the beds another second, holding his balance in a bent position. Standing before him, I keep my hands poised to touch his shoulders.

“Are you alright?”

In response, his arms wrap around my waist, and I’m hiked up and over his shoulder. Head dangling, my eyes are level with his backside. I screech, and the girls laugh. Spinning in place, Archer faces the girls, and I grip the waistband of his jeans in need of something to hold.

“Archer,” I shriek, laughing, which hurts as my belly presses into his shoulder.

“Say good night to Mommy-butt,” he teases the girls.

“Good night, Mommy-butt,” the girls cry out in unison.

“What are you doing?” I continue to struggle, fighting the laughter while my face heats, blood rushing to my cheeks.

“Sleepover with Mommy tonight,” Archer announces.

“What are you saying?” I hiss, my voice dropping.

“What?” he whines, still facing the girls, still holding me over his shoulder. “They get to share a room. I want to share a room.”

I can hear the pout in his voice and imagine one on his face. He probably looks kind of cute.

“Will you be our new daddy?” Rosie asks, and everything stops. My laughter. My heartbeat. Slowly, Archer lowers me before him, and I quickly spin to face Rosie, swiping at my hair which has fallen before my eyes.