Page 44 of Loving at 40

“You scared me,” Talia yells at him.

“Hey. We do not hit people,” I warn my daughter and glance back at Archer. What he told me last night explains some things. His aggression. His edginess. His gun.

With his hand still on Rosie’s side, he meets my eyes. “Things gonna be weird now, babe?” The return of his voice to that sandpaper sound rescues me from staring at him.

“Nope. Not weird,” I mutter. Instantly, I peer down at the mixing bowl, trying to remember where we were in the recipe. Lifting the next measurement in a teaspoon, I hand it over to Rosie. “Rosie’s turn.” She takes the measuring spoon from my hand over the bowl and dumps the baking powder.

“You made waffles the other day,” Archer states. It hasn’t even been a week of knowing him, so I easily remember a few days back and what I suggested of him mixes with what I now know of him. My shoulders fall. He’d never harm my children. He’d never hurt me. He’s a protector. “You know how to cook?”

I softly chuckle. “If frozen fried chicken and pasta from a box counts, then yes.” Nodding at the bowl, I add, “But this is baking. It’s a different skill set.”

“Mommy can make pizza bagels, too,” Talia adds, as if singing my praise.

“Also frozen, and from a box,” I clarify, laughing at myself. Ryan had been the chef, not me. My talent lay in baking, and I loved that part of TeasMe!, a local tea shop in my hometown where I worked a few summers ago. I keep my summers free now.

“Doesn’t matter,” Archer states. “You’re a great mother.”

For some reason, his comment makes my face heat. It’s a simple compliment but not one I often receive. As I don’t know how to respond, I busy myself with finishing breakfast. Archer remains quiet behind the girls on their stools as they take turns with the remainder of the ingredients, dropping them in the bowl before I mix everything together. When I step over to the griddle, I feel his gaze follow me.

“What are you princesses up to today?” he eventually asks.

“Bike ride,” Talia calls out.

Her enthusiasm has me glancing over my shoulder. “We’re going for a ride this morning.” I pause to look directly at Archer. “You can come with us if you’d like.” While I tried to keep my voice even, it’s too cheery, too hopeful, and instantly, I hear my mistake.

“I’m going to have to pass. Bikes aren’t my thing.”

I nod, weakly grin and turn back to the stove. What was I thinking? Of course, he wouldn’t want to go on a bike ride with a single mother and her little girls. This man has had adventure and danger in his life. The simple things must feel . . . simple. Basic. Plain. I’m so ridiculous.

“Still want pancakes?” I’d doubled the batch as he’s a large man.

“I’m going to bounce over to Anna’s and check in with my nephews, see if they want to do something this morning.” His voice remains casual, but something in his tone is off. Now who’s being weird?

My head shoots up, and I glance at him over my shoulder again. His eyes are still on me, and I chew at my lip. I don’t know what to think of him or what to make of what I now know, but there’s no doubt I want him. I want him more than I should, and he’s never going to want simple bike rides, small towns, and pancakes on Sundays.

Good thing it’s Saturday. What a rebel I am. I used to be wild and carefree, floating through men and ripping up weekends, but that stuff got old by the time I was thirty. By the time I was thirty-five, I didn’t think my life would ever be different. Then I met Ryan. The love of my life, Ryan.

Do you really believe in second chances?

It took me so long to find my first love, I don’t hold out hope for another round, and a man like Archer McCaryn will not volunteer as tribute. He is . . . Vegas. He’s my layover—a little enjoyment of the local scenery. What we do will be between us, and then I’ll go back to who I am come next Sunday.

Suddenly, a hand rests on my lower back, and I jump.

“Where’d you go?” His deep, rough voice at my side turns my head.

“Lost in my head, I guess. Sorry, did you say something?”

Archer stares at me, giving me one of those looks like he’s trying to read me, decipher me. Can he see how I feel about him? Does he know I can no longer separate emotion and sexy time as I once did? Already his kisses mean so much more to me, as much as I want to pretend they don’t.

“You can be kind of jumpy sometimes. Flinching even. What’s that all about?” His fingers reach for my hair and tuck strands around my ear. I glance over my shoulder and lower my voice.

“Back in my twenties, I was in an abusive relationship.” I check once more that the girls are not listening. “I knew it was stupid, but I just didn’t see it. I didn’t want to see it until one night it went too far.” I shrug while Archer hisses.

“He said he loved me.” Every girl’s foolish belief and worst excuse when in that kind of relationship. “The night you and I met, I didn’t know you, and it was an instinctual reaction. I’m over it now. Like I said, I was stupid.” If I’ve flinched at other times, it’s just a response to surprise.

“Don’t say that. Whoever raised his hand to you was a frickity piece of shit.” Archer shifts his eyes to the girls and back to me. “What’s his name?”

“Why?” I softly chuckle. “Gonna beat him up for me?”