Page 93 of Compassion

“How did you-”

He presents me a wink alongside a chuckle.

The man really is too good at his job.

“We’ll try this again whenshe’sready.” One more glance is given my mother’s direction. “Whenshe’sready to accept that the man I once loved isgone.Whenshe’sready to accept that I have actually moved on like she hasn’t.” Meeting Dad’s stare occurs again. “Text me when you get home to let me know you made it safe?”

“Isn’t that my line?” Dad playfully jeers.

He’s given a good-natured eye roll, a goodbye kiss on the cheek, and a cordial handshake from Archer.

Our ride home consists of the aforementioned stopped for Gloria’s Grande Burgers, although instead of getting it to go, we opt to eat there. We don’t discuss the disaster we left behind but use the chance to talk about the book club book he’s a little further in than he was on Friday. Gushing about books calms me down like he knows it will while it also lifts his mood to feel like he truly has the active role in my life we spent the evening claiming he has.

Upon entering our house, Archer immediately ditches the sweater alongside our shoes, giving me a reason to snicker enroute to the couch. “The sweater was notthatuncomfortable.”

“It felt like Dune, Dane’s toddler, had me in a hug he refused to let me out of.”

“It wasn’t that tight.”

“You could practically see my tattoos etched through the damn thing.”

I flop onto the sofa on a girlish giggle. “I fucking wish.”

He pauses instead of sitting down. “You know if you want me to take my shirt off, all you gotta do is ask, sweetheart.”

We walked around naked all afternoon yesterday and most of this morning. It made it very easy to fuck literally all over the house.

The memories of yesterday prompt me to declare, “I think you should move in with me.”

Archer drops down onto the couch beside me at the same time he lightly chuckles. “I uh…already did that, sweetheart. Almost five months ago. This is the address on my driver’s license.”

Realizing that didn’t come out the way I wanted causes me to roll my eyes. “I mean, I want you to move all of your shit out of the garage and into the house. Into the master bedroom. I want us to…repaint it. And get rid of the photos I hate so much. And change out the furniture. And get a real bed. A bed that’sourbed instead of this couch, which wemadeinto our bed.”

His hands fold together as he leans slightly forward to rest his arms on his knees. “You sure you’re ready for that?”

“I am,” I declare without hesitation. “Ireallyam.”

“Are you? Or is this about what happened at dinner with your mother?”

“This has nothing to do with her.”

He tosses me a sarcastic eyebrow lift.

“Okay. It has a little to do with her.”

“Jaye-”

“But not in the way you think!”

Archer kicks his chin towards me to continue.

“I meant what I said. This isourhome. Which means you keeping your shit in the garage and me hiding away from a bedroom I never felt comfortable living in to begin with is fucking ridiculous. If this is reallyourhouse,ourhome,oursanctuary, then we should be living inourbedroom. One that has colors and books and style we both like. Who gives a shit if it ends up looking like a coloring page done by a first grader?” A small, happy laugh slips loose. “What matters is that it reflectsus.Whoweare. The relationshipwehave.”

Archer takes a slow, long lick of his lips.

Nods.

Drops his stare to the ground for a moment in thought.

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