“Someone’s blushing. You should message him,” she urged. “Just a friendly hello. Who knows where it could lead?”
“Oh, no. What is he, fifty by now?”
She snorted. “Hardly. If he were, I’d be after him myself, sweetie.”
“I don’t think your Westley would appreciate that,” I teased. HerWestleybeing the man she’d met in the AOL chat days. All these years later, they still talked by phone for hours every week but had never met in person.
She blushed bright pink. “Archer’s maybe thirty-five. You’re twenty-six. A respectable gap.”
Gap? I looked closer at his picture again, breath catching. Time did wonders for his looks. I squirmed in my seat, apparently into older men. Who knew? But could he ever be into me?
“That would be too awkward,” I rushed to say. “Especially after what Brianne did to him.”
“What that little hussy did is something you’d never dream of. Your mother raised you better than hers ever did.” Brier’s fingers stabbed the yarn harder.
We’d all been shocked when Brianne’s long affair with a grad professor came to light, especially when she ended up pregnant with his child. Archer’s heart had taken the brunt of it as he walked away from her for good.
“I’m sure he wants nothing to do with me—”ding.My eyes widened, body jolted, as my phone turned to electricity in my hands. “Oh my God. He messaged me.”
“What does it say?” Brier grabbed my hand like this was better than the spinning wheel on TV.
Archer: Is that you, Penny? I don’t know if you remember me. It’s been a while.
“Invite him over for tea and cookies,” Brier said, tossing her creation aside. She and Goldie both leapt off the couch like he might knock on our door tonight. Her energy and youthfulness never surprised me. Several years younger than my mother, we were not only aunt and niece, but more like besties.
“Stop. I’m not inviting him over. I’ll just say hello, that’s all.” I typedHellothree times but deleted each one.Hellowas lame. Couldn’t I do better? He used to be so witty. I took a moment to think of a great opening, as if this was a personal challenge. Not that any of this mattered. He probably reached out only to say hi.
Still… the app’s algorithms called us a match.
Me: Is that you, Archer? Or some other architect who made me fall a little in love with cornices and balustrades one night long ago.
Stomach in knots the second I hit send, I sucked in my lips and watched the three dots appear, vanish, reappear. This was a mistake. He’d probably reply politely, remember Brianne and all the cruel ways she hurt him, and then block me forever.
Finally, his message dropped in.
Archer: Yep. It’s me. The poor sap who waited for Brianne that night. Unless she was dating more than one architect back then.
Ouch. Still bitter, apparently. What the hell should I say now? I should have thought this through beyond the initial text. To make matters worse, Brier demanded a play-by-play from the kitchen as she put the teakettle on for her nightly shot of chamomile, and gave Goldie a treat.
Me: I thought Architectural Abode did a brilliant piece on you and your firm last year. I read it at the library.
Archer: You saw that? I figured only bored people in doctor’s offices would read that.
Me: Great cover of you, too.
Archer: I thought their photographer posed me to look too smug. I was going for confident.
Me: You looked like a distinguished man who’d worked for everything he wanted and reached the pinnacle of success.
Archer: Pinnacle? Not yet. But I expect to conquer the world by the time I’m done. And don’t confuse distinguished with old. I have plenty of good years ahead of me.
Brier again demanded play-by-play from the kitchen. I read her each message. She giggled at the “old” remark.
“Did you invite him over yet?” She was like a backseat driver to this entire situation.
“No. And I won’t. I’m telling you, he’s not interested in me. He’s simply reaching out for old time's sake. That’s all.”
Archer: You still there?
