Page 167 of Three Reckless Words

‘Next year’ is a whopping promise I’m not sure I should make.

Even if Archer and I decide to explore what we’re meant to be, that doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll still be living here. I have a whole life to figure out, including a new career since I’m done with the DC scene.

“Did you say your dad could meet us here?” I ask Colt.

“Yeah.” Colt looks unbothered. “He said he would.”

I check the time on my phone. Archer said he’d be here a while ago, and that’s okay, seeing how we hit him up on such short notice during a workday.

We’re all sprawled out on the grass by the river, resting on Delly’s thick handcrafted blankets.

I bought myself a beer and Colt a milkshake. I’ve got a thick handful of leaflets about beekeeping in northern Missouri in my bag.

If Archer were here, it would be perfection.

A minute later, he is, sitting beside me like he just materialized from my thoughts.

“Hey, you two,” he says with oddly low enthusiasm. “How’s it going?”

I kiss his cheek, but there’s something reserved about his voice.

Something cold that isn’t normally there.

My stomach sinks.

Is he having second thoughts?

Rejection always tastes the same, no matter who it comes from. Didn’t Colt say he was meeting Rina earlier today? Maybe it didn’t go well.

Or maybe it wenttoo well.

My jaw clenches as my brain spins through horrible possibilities.

Lyssie’s parents were divorced for ten years before they reconnected and ended up getting married again. These things happen, especially when they share a kid.

Especially when a kid gets to be Colt’s age and they’re approaching early middle age—just in time to reevaluate life. The idea of being a family is a tempting one, I’m sure.

At least, it could be.

It’s not like I’m an expert with knowing what normal, loving families look like.

But Colt chatters on about all the cool carvings he’s seen and how excited he is about them. The latest piece from some place called Redhaven leaves him awestruck. It’s a giant crow, painted white, and the guy selling it couldn’t shut up about how he got to work with some famous local guy named Gerald Grey on it.

I stare at Archer’s hand, willing it to land on my leg like before.

I think he knows I like to feel him touching me, warm and secure and always sexy.

But it doesn’t.

No matter how much I stare, his hand doesn’t move.

Call it stupid that I’m disappointed.

It’s laughable that something so small could open this pit inside me, but it does.

“That sounds great, Colt,” he says, but there’s still this flatness in his voice. Something empty that makes my chest ache.

“Winnie had fun talking about bees,” Colt says proudly. “I thought it would be a good idea to bring her here.”

---