Page 78 of Loving at 40

“Good night, Archer,” I whisper, swallowing a large lump in my throat.

His eyes open, and his hand draws back.

“Good night, Jenna.” He emphasizes my name in that manner he has. Two soft syllables, like the rise and fall of a heartbeat. Thump-thump. A shiver ripples up my spine. The slow crook of his lips hints he knows what he’s doing to me. He’s wearing me down, one syllable at a time.

31

[Jenna]

The next day, Archer is quieter than I remember and a shadow around me. However, he entertains the girls. And he cooks. I don’t question how a man who’s never had a home knows such a thing, but I do question him when he offers to paint the girls’ nails.

“I hate to ask, but how do you know how to do this?” Skepticism fills my voice along with the fear of his answer. Did he do these things with Viviana? He isn’t an expert manicurist, but he’s doing a good job of sticking to the tiny nails and not painting entire fingers like Talia has a tendency to do.

“I have two younger sisters, remember? When they were little, they were close, and I wanted to be included sometimes. Then again, I might have been seven the last time I did this.”

The answer is not what I expected. “Oh.” I chuckle at the thought of a miniature Archer painting Anna’s nails.

Archer’s concentration doesn’t leave Talia’s nail or the stroke of the brush across it. “Not everything is about her.”

A moment passes before I understand who he means.

“You’re just such a mystery,” I say, watching him focus on the color filling in Talia’s nail.

“Being mysterious can be alluring. Isn’t that what your romance novels say?”

“This isn’t fiction,” I sharply remind him. This is his life. My life. And while I like a bit of mystique, I want the truth.

Archer finally glances up at me. “Want the hard topic now?” His eyes shift to the girls sitting at the table, staring down at their fingers colored Luscious Lilac and What’s Up Pink.

I shake my head.

“Later then,” he warns and returns to Talia’s nails.

I’m left wondering if a good nail polish color for him would be a shade of gray because he isn’t black or white. He isn’t hard or soft. He’s somewhere between.

+ + +

When the girls finally go to bed, Archer brings me a glass of wine as we settle in to watch the first episode of Schitt’s Creek, but I find my mind wandering.

“What’s going on over there, ’Locks?” Archer asks after I shift positions for the third time in my corner of the couch.

“How long are you staying?” My aggressive tone isn’t necessary, but my desire to know what this man is doing here outweighs everything.

“I asked you for a month.”

“And I asked for answers.”

Archer leans forward for the remote. “Are you watching this?”

I shake my head, disappointed that I’ve lost interest in something I’d been anticipating. Maybe that’s what’s happening between Archer and me. Am I losing interest in him? Or am I just losing my patience? In less than thirty seconds, I answer the first question. I’m definitely still interested in him, even if I don’t understand him.

When the television switches off, only the dim light from the lamp near me illuminates the room. Archer remains sitting forward on the edge of the cushion, his forearms braced on his thighs.

“Her name was Viviana Quintero. Her father, Victor, had been our target. My mission was to get involved with her and infiltrate their organization as deeply as I could.”

Instantly, I understand. He was involved intimately with her.

“The best way to get close to the family was to be part of the family. At first, it was chance meetings and casual dates. She was attracted to me.” Archer swipes a hand through his hair, which is a little longer than his typical close crop cut. “And I used it to my advantage.”