Page 11 of Archer's Awakening

At least you didn’t…whatever…before you kicked douchebag out. He’d have freaked. Might’ve even called a doctor. Hey, when was the last time you saw a doctor? Aside from the pneumonia last year when you overworked yourself and—

Shut up. Seriously. Please shut up.

Yet I dutifully addedcall Doctor Yeardleyto my to-do list. Just, farther down. I had a ton of stuff to do that was way too critical. That couldn’t wait.

What if this is a sign you need to slow down?

Nope. Wasn’t going there either. Construction of the second home was well underway, and I was headed out to see the place soon.

I would. I swore.

You’re always too busy. You’re just leaving it up to the professionals and getting regular updates.

True. But I planned to go out soon. I even planned to spend some time poking around Mission City. I’d been more concerned about the plot of land than the town it was closest to. An escapefrom Vancouver but only an hour’s drive away. A place with most amenities I might want while still having the small-town charm I craved.

What do you know about small-town charm?

Well, nothing. But I could learn. Hell, I wanted to learn. I was tired of the anonymity of city life. Would it be so bad to know the grocer’s name? To have a server greet me when I went into my favorite dining establishment? To have the dry cleaner know how I liked my suits pressed?

Wait. I wasn’t going to need my suits. I planned on changing into jeans and a chambray shirt before heading out of the city. No tailor-made jackets. No fitted pants. No starched shirts. Nope. Just clothes I could wear while chasing bears off my property and chopping wood.

Do you even own an axe, let alone know how to wield one?

Uh…no. But I could learn. I could accomplish anything I put my mind to.

Well, maybe not bear chasing. There were people for that.

Right?

My phone rang.

Jesus Fucking Christ.

Riley’s ringtone.

With some effort, I snagged the phone and then, despite my strong desire to sleep, I swiped to accept the call. “Archer.”

“Hey, Mr. Chamberlain—”

“Archer. Please, Riley, just Archer.”

She chuckled. “Years of habit. Many of my clients are more comfortable with formality.”

“Riley?”

“Yes?”

“You’re installing the crapper in my new home. We discussed a bidet along with pros and cons.”

“That’s true.” Another chuckle. “Okay, Archer.” She sighed. “I have some news.”

My chest tightened. I’d been working with the woman long enough to know she didn’t just call for the fun of it. We had our regular check-ins. “What’s happened?”

“Nothing too serious. Knight was out last week, and he’s happy with how we’ve implemented the design. Orlando came with him, and they consulted about some of the accoutrements—his word, not mine.”

Knight was my architect, and Orlando, his husband, was my interior decorator. Best in Mission City. I could have chosen someone from Vancouver, but I wanted a team who knew the surroundings, the town, and—most importantly—the mountain I was building my retreat on.

“They had a problem?” Hadn’t she just said they werehappy?

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