Page 58 of The Backdraft
Archer led us through the tables, weaving in and out of chairs and people alike, before reaching the table Ralph had indicated. He took my coat, draping it over the back of an empty seat, then grabbed my hand and started pulling me in the direction of the bar.
“What would you like? It’s an open bar, so the world of non-alcoholic beverages is your oyster,” he joked as we approached the marble countertop.
I smiled. “A cranberry seltzer would be great.”
When the bartender walked over, Archer ordered two then threw some cash in the tip jar. I mulled over the question on the tip of my tongue while Archer watched the man make our drinks.
He must’ve felt me staring because he glanced my way. “What’s up?”
I debated not answering, not wanting to make him feel weird, but gave in a second later. “You’re not drinking?
“Nah, not tonight.”
“Why? You’re not the pregnant one. You can have a beer if you want to.”
He shrugged. “I know I’m not, but I’m the reasonyouare. Doesn’t really seem fair for me to drink when you can’t.”
I let his answer settle for a minute, my thoughts going back to Thanksgiving, Christmas, and every other time I’d seen him. My mouth popped open slightly. “Wait. You haven’t been drinking this whole time?”
“It’s nine months and I’m not an alcoholic. I can do it.”
I shook my head in disbelief. “You don’t have to do that.”
The bartender slid our drinks across the counter, and Archer passed me mine, a soft expression on his face. “I know I don’t, but Iwantto. You’re doing all the heavy lifting, and I’m just . . . here.”
“Well, yeah. That’s pregnancy for most men, I think.” I snickered.
“Well, most men are idiots then.”
“I won’t argue that,” I replied, taking a sip of my mocktail as he pushed off the bartop and held out his hand to me. Placing my hand in his, he led us back toward the table, all the while his confession raced through my head. He may not have outwardly stated his exact reasoning behind joining me in sobriety, but I thought I had a pretty good idea. With the night I told him I was pregnant aside, Archer had been nothing but considerate of my feelings and needs, and that had my chest warming and tingling despite not having had a drop of alcohol.
***
As it turned out, Ralph was as talkative as he was loud. I’d originally blamed the music for his shouting, but once it had quieted for the dinner service and he was still speaking loudly, I chalked it up to who he was, and I loved it. It was clear he was one of those people who was high on life, and his excitement was contagious. He probably would’ve talked to me the whole night if Archer didn’t step away from his conversation with the chief and a few other men to introduce me. Of course, I already knew a fair amount about Chief Abrams from living in the same small town as him, and from what Archer had told me, but I pretended to know nothing all the same. He was different than I’d thought he’d be. In press conferences, and at community events, he seemed all business—kind, but driven and dedicated to his role. Somewhat serious. But here, he was cracking jokes and laughinglike everyone else, and after a few beers, he was dancing with his tie wrapped around his head, his legs twisting in different directions. It was a sight I’d never get out of my mind.
I stood on the outskirts of the dance floor, watching in bewilderment at how comfortable some people were letting loose at a work event, when a warm body snuck up behind me, a tattooed hand dropping to my waist. We hadn’t been so openly handsy in public yet, granted everything else prior to this had been with my family, but I had to wonder if this was part of the act, or part of our truce.
“You going to get out there?”
I glanced over my shoulder, colored strobe lights dancing across Archer’s face rhythmically, and snorted. “Absolutely not. Dancing really isn’t my thing.”
He bent down, shouting over the music. “Is Irish goodbye-ing your thing?”
“That won’t look bad for you?”
“Half of them wouldn’t remember my goodbye if I said one anyway. The other half know me well enough not to expect one or take offense.”
I motioned with my eyes towards the table with all of our things. “Then please, lead the way.”
The second we snuck out the banquet hall’s doors, my ears rang with the loss of the cacophony inside, the cold of the night assailing us as we hurried to my car.
“Thank you,” Archer said, shortly after closing his door.
“For what?”
“For going to that with me? For leaving? Take your pick.” His eyes sparkled in the glow of the dash.
“Of course.” I smiled over at him, and then decided to get the answer to the question I’d been asking myself most of the night. “It’s kind of part of our deal, isn’t it?”
