Page 43 of Compassion

Something about it just doesn’t do it for me like Archer’s does.

Now, he has the most incredible laugh I’ve ever heard from an adult. Only innocent, bliss filled kid giggles can beat it. And that’s barely.

“Let me start by expressing my apologies for not calling sooner. It’s not that I haven’t been interested, it’s just that I haven’t exactly had the time. We’re a bit short staffed at the practice this month. I’ve got one doctor leaving for retirement, another on vacation, and one who caught the flu last weekend, so I’m kind of a one-man magician at the moment. This isn’t me making excuses, although I can hear how it sounds exactly like that,” another small chuckle, “but it’s meant to explain why I would wait so long to contact someone I think I might be a great match with. It wasn’t really my choice, just my responsibility. Your mother’s a doctor. I’m sure you understand how that goes.”

“I do.”

And between you and me and the bumble bee on page three, I don’t like it. I don’t…know that Iwantsomeone who puts their career before me all the time again. Chris did it and asking him not to – even for something as simple as to celebrate my birthday – was like having to read The Polar Express for the thirty-fourthtime during the Christmas season. Utter. Torture.

“I would love to meet up sometime this week for a cup of coffee or maybe even a drink after work?” There’s a small pause prior to him adding, “That is if you’re actually interested, and I haven’t lost my chance to some other guy. And if I have, I hope the son of a bitch knows how fortunate he is.”

Smooth Operator indeed.

“Nah, you’re still in the running,” I playfully reply, grateful when the response receives another chortle. “I’m actually headed out to the gym at the moment-”

“I appreciate a woman who isn’t afraid to take care of herself.”

The new compliment doesn’t settle quite like the first.

I knew what he was trying to convey but what’s so wrong with someone who enjoys a monster cookie eating marathon and a re-read of Bridget Jones’s Diary by Helen Fielding?

“Why don’t you check your schedule and text me what nights are best for you, and we’ll see what we can make work.”

“Absolutely.”

Ending our call happens immediately after cordial goodbyes. I tuck the device back where it originally was and resume my trek to the downstairs hall closet where I keep the yoga mats. To my surprise, Archer’s already waiting and ready to go on the bottom step.

Not grinning from ear to ear just from the sight of him is impossible.

And not swooning over how sexy he looks in gray sweats would be impossible too if it weren’t for my top teeth clamping onto my bottom lip like the jaws of life.

Let’s just say, I totally understand sweatpants season, friends, and I am. Here. For. It.

“You look good,” I thoughtlessly coo only to quickly try to cover my tracks. “Ready.I meant you lookready.”

He cockily leans on the stair railing and flashes me a sexy smirk. “Did you?”

“I meantboth, but you don’t have to look so fucking smug about it.”

“Oh, but I do, sweetheart.” He theatrically winks in reference to when it was said to him.

Loving that he’s a flirt yet hating that I’m not sure if he’s flirting, flirting or just friendly flirty leads to me batting away the butterflies that probably have no business hanging around in my stomach. “I gotta grab us mats. Wanna get the car warmed up?”

“Can do.”

And with one last toothy grin he disappears to complete the task.

Look, I know I’m working on not comparing every little thing he does to what Chris did, but can I just say that I love there’s no resistance to help out with something as a simple as getting the car toasty? Yes, I have auto start, but Archer doesn’t trust that someone won’t slip into my backseat to try to steal the vehicle from me because I have a tendency to forget to lock my doors. He goes out every morning while I’m getting ready for work, starts up the car, makes sure everything is defrosted, and that I have a fresh cup of to-go coffee in the cup holder. I appreciate that he cares so much. It’s…refreshing.

An idea hits me upon my locking the door prompting me to excitedly scurry to the car to pitch it. Unfortunately for me, rather than finding my friend inside where it should be warm by now, I find him with his hands surrendered in the air, trying to calm down a screeching Mrs. Prescott.

This. Fucking. Woman…

“I’d like to report a theft in progress,” she snidely says into the phone while jabbing the edge of a broom Archer’s direction. “Yes, he’s a white male, green eyes-”

“Gwenith!” I loudly shout, interrupting her call, nearly causing her to lose her grip on the device altogether. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“Saving your car from this thief!” She jams the cleaning tool at him again. “You should be thanking me! I saw this filth about to drive off with it – like the scumbag he is – and rushed out here to stop him.”

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