Page 87 of Dead Vengeance

“Liam,” he says, “I think… I think we need to talk.”

Well, fuck.

He might have said that before he kissed me like that.

“I’m sorry,” I reply instantly, stepping away. “I didn’t mean… You don’t have to…”

“No.” He chases after me, wrapping his palm across my waist again, while his other hand grasps mine. He looks into my eyes, and he’s so mesmerising. It’s this warmth about him, that’s been there since I first laid eyes on him, and I just feel like… like I can trust him. All at once, he makes my heart flutter, yet also feels strangely familiar. That rightness I feel with him.

Maybe I’m not reading this wrong. And he’s certainly not reading me wrong. And how amazing would this be? Such a simple thing. I like him. He likes me. So maybe we just… go out together?

“I want to,” he confirms for me, raising my heart straight into my throat. “I do. I like you, Liam. And I want to be clear about that.”

I can’t stop the flattered laugh that bubbles up. “That’s good. Because I’d feel really weird about last night if you didn’t.”

He lowers his head with an answering laugh. “No. Um. Last night was…” Have I ever seen Archer looking this bashful before? He’s cute on top of handsome. I want more of him.

Unfortunately, his tone becomes more serious. “Last night was great. You’re great. I like having you here. I like everything… so far. It’s just that…” He chews over whatever he’s about to say, and as he does, my stomach turns to lead. It feels like a year, but he finally drops, “I need to… fire you?”

Humour? Relief? I don’t even know, but it all hits me at once, and a laugh rips out of me at the words and the delivery. “Don’t worry. This is my last day working here. Then I’ll just be a normal London guy, a short train ride away. If you want. And it won’t be weird. Not that I’d make it weird, working here. Or, I’d try not to. But it doesn’t matter. Because it’s… It’s not weird. Because this is my last day.”

He glances over my shoulder, up the stairs, worry flashing in his eyes before they return to mine. “No, I don’t mean that. Not the working in my house thing. It’s more… It’s… Will you join me for breakfast?”

I mean, obviously. Still, it seems like the polite thing to offer, “I can kill it first if you—”

His finger falls on my lips, silencing me. “Let’s not.” With the slightest shake of his head, I nod mine in perplexed agreement, then he slips away towards the kitchen.

I follow him, heading straight to the window where Edgar’s sunning himself patiently. It’s only when I get close that I see the jagged bit of metal in his beak, the twisted pull-tab of a soft drink can. My immediate urge is to take it to stop him from hurting himself, but as soon as I open my hand, he drops it straight into my palm.

“A gift for you,” comes Archer’s voice from over my shoulder. “He’s taken a liking to you.”

“For me?” I practically gasp the words. This is the sweetest thing that’s ever happened to me. I feel like Snow White.

Edgar’s head dips, as if he’s saying, ‘Yes, that’s for you. Do you like it?’

“I love it so much!” His feathers are warm to the touch. He stretches and spreads them when I run my hand down his back. Then he raises his beak, asking for a scratch on the neck.

He’s the loveliest creature. I really can’t imagine why Archer was funny about him at first. But he’s funny again now, only with me this time.

He’s saying nothing, his movements a little sharper than they need to be while he moves around in his kitchen. As if he’s nervous about something. Killing the thing? That’s understandable. But then why does it seem like it’s directed at me?

“How was the train ride?” he asks, sizzling bacon, cracking eggs.

“It was fine. Same as the last two days.”

“Huh.” Washing his hands, cutting the bread. “It’s great they’re running on time.”

What the fuck? “Yeah. Yeah, it’s good when trains do that.”

“Yeah. It is. On time. Like the timetable.”

“Yep.” I wait patiently with Edgar, while Archer wanders around, compiles things. Wait and wonder what’s coming next, until finally we’re sitting at the table, he’s filling my teacup, and I’m eyeing him. Still waiting.

“Do you like bacon?” he asks.

“Yeah, I like bacon.”

He nods.