Page 64 of Loving at 40

“Yes, baby. Mommy’s with Archer.” I don’t know where this line of questions is leading, but I’m standing in the hallway near the restrooms instead of sitting with Archer. The man who just told me he didn’t have a home and asked if maybe I could be his. He wants to see me again, but what does that mean? How would that work if he returned to his job? I have so many questions, but I need to soothe Talia right now.

“Talia, I love you. Now go to bed and put Mila back on the phone.”

“I love you, too,” she says in a small voice, and rustling occurs before Mila is back on the phone.

“I’m sorry about that,” Mila says. “I thought if she talked to you, she might finally settle down.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask the twelve-year-old I left responsible for my girls.

“She just said she missed you.”

I sigh. It doesn’t make sense, but I’ll tackle that later. I haven’t been on a date in forever, and I really had high hopes for this one, but it seems to be one heavy conversation after another, and now this.

“We ordered a little bit ago, so our dinner should be arriving soon. We’ll come home right after that.”

“Don’t rush,” Mila assures me. “I’ll just get Mom over here if she asks for you again.”

What a frickity-frack clustermuck. I don’t want Anna involved because she has her own thing going on. Tellinger her Archer asked me to dinner was awkward enough, and I tried to play it off like it was nothing. He was trying to make up for us getting off on the wrong foot. I wasn’t certain we were fooling anyone, though.

“I’m sorry she’s acting like this,” I say again.

“It’s okay. Take your time. Enjoy your dinner with Uncle Archer.”

Uncle Archer. See, he does have a family waiting for him, but I wasn’t opposed to him joining mine. I’d had too many visions of him doing just that, but it seems impossible if he returns to his department. I might have been a bit harsh in stating what I wanted in a second chance. What I need is to get back up to the table and explain myself.

“Thank you. I’ll text you when we are on our way back.”

Mila and I say goodbye, and I click off the call. As I’d been facing the wall, I quickly turn around and bump into someone standing rather close behind me.

“Goodness. I’m so sorry,” I say, glancing up and immediately scanning the woman before me. She’s wearing a body-hugging white dress that accentuates every curve and dip of her form along with emphasizing her large breasts and her deeply tanned skin. She’s the woman who bumped into Archer, and I don’t even know how that happened. He was leaning on our table, not hanging out in the aisle. Her knocking into him seemed rather on purpose, but that wouldn’t make sense.

“So, you’re with Archer, are you?” she says to me with a soft accent I can’t identify. There’s also a strain of venom in her voice when she says Archer’s name. “Is that what he calls himself now?”

“Excuse me?” I blink. “Do I know you?”

“I doubt it.” Her eyes appraise me, skimming down my body as I did hers, but her nose wrinkles like she smells something rotten.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know who you are.” I don’t add that she might have the wrong Archer. I’m not giving whoever this woman is anything to go on. I move to the left, to return to our table. Stepping right, she blocks my retreat.

“Excuse me,” I snap a little louder and a little harsher.

Her dark eyes narrow, and a smirk curls her plump lips colored in a deep plum. She’s strikingly gorgeous while at the same time nasty-looking. Her demeanor screams entitled and arrogant, that she was a woman who gets what she wants.

“Babe.” We both turn in the direction of the strong male voice, rugged and rough, and reminding me of the first time I heard it. “Let her go.”

My mouth falls open, ready to defend myself, when I realize Archer isn’t looking at me. He isn’t addressing me either. His gaze is narrowed in on the woman in white, who crosses her arms.

“I wondered when we’d meet again,” she says to him, jutting out a hip.

My insides seize. I shiver.

“Not here.” His tone is harsh, like a knife through glass. He’s cutting her down with his glare, and even though I can’t fully see her face, I imagine she’s giving it back to him.

“I hate you,” she says as Archer steps forward, coming closer to her.

“No, you don’t,” he states, softening his voice toward her.

I do not want to be a witness to this. I do not know her, and I suddenly do not recognize him. I don’t want to be in this hallway near either of them because the way Archer is peering at this woman, she is his home. She’s his entire world.