Page 31 of Sunrise Arrows

“Now this ishow a man should apologize,” Briar announces walking into the kitchen. In her hands is a textured glass vase with a massive floral arrangement. There’s honestly no other word for it but huge. The vase is overflowing with the most beautiful and eclectic bunch of wildflowers in every shape, color, and size. She sets it on the island and plucks out a card, handing it over and informing me, “He went and ordered these in person.”

“How do you know?”

When I turn it over, I know how. No florist would have such horrible penmanship. The cramped chicken scratch on the tiny card is all Archer.

“Read it out loud,” Briar demands, crossing her arms as she leans onto the counter and buries her face in my flowers.

“‘Tinsley, saying I’m sorry doesn’t even begin to feel like enough, but I am. I would never dream of belittling what it is you do. It’s nothing short of incredible, and I hate that I’ve kicked at something that has hurt you in the past. I’m in awe of you—I always have been—and everything you’ve accomplished. You went out and conquered the world, making it fall in love with you one beautiful song at a time. Please forgive me, Archer.’” Taking my own turn to breathe in the sweet perfume, I murmur, “No one’s ever given me flowers except him.”

“Never? How did I not know that?”

I meet Briar’s empathetic blue eyes and shake my head. “Never.” Caressing a peach colored petal, I tell her, “These were the flowers he brought me on our first date. He was all Southern charm when he showed up at my door: crisp white button down, dark wash and starched jeans, his ‘dress’ boots and Stetson, and a bouquet of these in his hand.”

I never thought about what my favorite flower was but after that night, it was these.

“I had my first kiss that night too. Right at the door like a proper gentleman.”

My fingertips trace my lips as I remember the way Archer held my hand all the way to the door. How patient he was while I dug around for my keys, having wanted to delay his leaving me as long as possible. And how when I found them, he took off his hat and bent down to kiss me. He’d used his other hand to tilt my chin up and cup my cheek, and when his lips brushed against mine—frozen and completely unsure what to do—he guided me through until I was dropping both my purse and my keys to fist his shirt, pulling him into me as I fell back against the closed door, whimpering into him.

I’m pretty sure had Archer not had the will of a god, that kiss would have led to us losing our virginities. But he did. He kissed me until I was breathless, then picked up my things, unlocked my door for me, and waited in the hall until he heard me turn the lock.

That kiss was frenetic as was every single one after it.

Frenetic.

Rapturous.

All-consuming.

He could break me apart with the touch of his lips and build me back up with the caress of his tongue.

Briar pulls me back from the brink of the abyss and asks, “Do you forgive him?”

It’s a self deprecating smile that graces my lips. “They weren’t his words to apologize for. Not that it matters. This changes nothing.”

“How can it not?” she cries. “He sent you flowers with an apology he wrote himself. Tins, that’s, like, so incredibly romantic. We would be total simps for one of Skylar’s men if they did that and yelling at the FMC for saying blasphemous shit like, ‘this changes nothing.’ It changes everything! It shows his contrition and how much he cares. Tinsley, please, please, please! I’m begging you. Give the man a chance—a proper chance.”

“Briar,” I mumble, willing the tears that are threatening to fall over back inside. “It can’t go anywhere. He doesn’t understand my life. Yesterday made that perfectly clear. Doing anything now would only lead to more heartache.”

She plops down on a stool and reaches across the island for my hands. Giving them a light squeeze, she waits for me to look at her. When I do, she has a soft, beseeching smile.

“He doesn’t have to understand, babe. He supports you and inspires you. That’s infinitely more important. Just think about it,” she finishes, patting my hand before hopping back down. “I’m gonna go put my face on so we can log on for the interview on time.”

“Okay,” I absently acknowledge, my attention already blurring as I stare at the flowers. I have an hour to obsess before I have to pack it all away and meet with the reporter who's doing a cover story aboutSummer Hazefor a monthly pop culture focused magazine, and I plan to use every minute of it so I don’t accidentally spill any details about the Hayes behind my summer haze.

* * *

It’s wellafter lunch by the time my interview with Tia is finished. I don’t know how she’ll possibly condense the hours of conversation we had into her article.

We talked about the process behind the songs’ original creation and how it differed to my process now; the unconventional, surprise release I had for the album; and the reason behind why I’m quoted as sayingSummer Hazeis my most personal and vulnerable album to date. And, of course, like a dog with a bone, she held on tight to her probing questions about the man behind the album. In a moment of complete candor, I confessed that the album was for the only man I’ve ever loved, the one I let get away. Thankfully, I had Briar there and she squashed any further questions in order to stem the resulting deluge that would have occurred.

It seems when it comes to how I feel about Archer, I can’t keep my mouth shut about him. Unless of course he’s the one I’m talking to. Then I clam up, shut him out, and shutter any trace of feeling I still have for him.

With a bit of time to kill before meeting Ellie and Ryder at the ranch and groceries that need to be purchased—a weekly errand I love getting to do for myself again—we followed the interview with a trip into town. Our first stop was, of course, Berry Station, where Tiff immediately started making my strawberry frappé and Briar’s iced Dirty Hippie Chai Latte when we walked in.

Drinks in hand, we strolled the town square, popping in and out of shops at our leisure. Not so subtle glances and less than hushed whispers still happen, but they’ve already begun to die down, continuing to prove my point to Briar. They’re not overly impressed. If anything, the chatter around my being in town isn’t so much about my celebrity but about my history with Archer. There’s still a few moments though—Ellie’s number one fan status aside—that are most definitely related to my name recognition, but they’re few and far between, and much more polite than I’m used to experiencing in L.A. They don’t treat me like a zoo animal here.

Inside Between the Covers—the cheekily named romance bookstore in town that’s owned by Ames’s younger sister, Ember—we’re browsing through books on the hunt for Skylar’s name on the shelves. The store is absolutely adorable, with an eclectic mismatch of shabby chic decor, much like our vacation rental.

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