“Hey.” Archer put his hand on my shoulder. “Hey, Cici, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
“It’s not that.” I sat on the edge of the table.
He sat next to me. “Then what is it?”
I stared at the shelves, still able to smell the ancient paper overthe paint.
He leaned forward, trying to meet eyes with me but failing. “I know you’re the quiet type, but I’m just trying to understand what’s bothering you. If it’s something I said, tell me.”
“My father spent a lifetime collecting these. Now they’re sitting on a shelf in an empty store. Who’s going to buy them in a small town like this? If I can’t find a home for them, they’ll go off to some junk collector. I don’t love the books—it’s not that. But when I see them, it reminds me of how much they meant tohim. It feels like I’m giving away the things he loved. It feels like I’m forgetting him.” I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye.
“Letting go isn’t easy, but you’re not forgetting him.” Archer turned his gaze up. “Your father must have been a smart man if he collected all these.”
“He was.” I anchored my palms against the table and added my weight. “He was around nine hundred when he died.”
“Are you kidding me? How old are you?”
“I’m not five hundred, if that’s what you’re thinking. He had me later in life. I’m thirty-eight.”
“He waited a long time for kids.”
I smiled, thinking about the long life my father had lived. “In the early years, he didn’t have a trade, so he worked whatever jobs he could get.”
“I’m sure. It was the Middle Ages.”
Chuckling softly, I said, “Even older than that. He didn’t remember a lot of his earlier life. I’m not sure if that had to do with his age or if he was just starting to forget things. He worked for years as a historian for several Councils, but he didn’t make tons of money. It was mostly research.” I stared down at my black boots. “He was like me.”
Archer looked across his shoulder. “What do you mean?”
“Reserved. Quiet. He separated himself from the Breed community because of the politics and anarchy. We lived in thehuman district. That’s where I grew up and lived until he passed. I don’t have other family. He was the world to me.”
Archer’s hand inched closer. “I’m sorry.”
Just when our pinkies touched, I gasped as the table spontaneously collapsed beneath us. We hit the floor with a deafeningbang, and everything scattered. Archer fell across my legs, and the paint jars toppled over and splashed everywhere.
“My sign!” I flew forward, nearly crushing his head between my legs as I rescued my sign. Then I breathed a sigh of relief and set it aside. “Are you okay?”
Archer turned over, green paint covering his cheek. “I think you crushed my skull like a melon, but sure, save the worm.”
Streaks of red paint colored my left leg, the green blending in with my dress. The cheap folding table behind us was angled down.
Using his hand, Archer pushed to a sitting position. When he raised his hand to wipe green paint dripping from his chin, I caught his wrist.
“Paint,” I warned him, showing him the daffodil-yellow liquid on his palm. “Stay there. I’ll get something to clean up.”
I stood, and when I stepped around him, my foot slipped on the liquid.
Archer launched forward and attempted to break my fall, but instead, I wound up pinning his hand to the floor with my crotch.
In the aftermath, I located my embarrassment. “Whoopsie-daisy.”
He barked out a laugh. “Did you just say ‘whoopsie-daisy’? You realize my handprint is now on your?—”
I scooted back. His fingers sensually sliding down my leg unlocked a memory but only briefly before I assessed our situation. Laughter felt like the appropriate response, but a sense of rising panic forced me to my feet. “Noah’s going to be here any minute. I need to clean this up.”
After racing into the small bathroom, I stripped off my panties. Running them under the faucet wouldn’t remove the yellow handprint from the white fabric, so I left them floating and wiped off my legs and arms.
“Hand me paper towels,” he called out.
