“Which superhero?”
“That depends. I’ve been trying to decide between Robin and Kato.” He studies me for a moment. “You’ve got the build for either, but Robin requires more acrobatics, and you favor your left shoulder when you’re tired, so Kato’s probably safer.”
I stare at him. “How did you?—”
“You always carry the prop bag on your right side, even when your left hand is free. And you rotated it twice during the dinosaur party when you thought no one was looking.” He waves a hand. “Anyway. Kato. Green suit. Very dashing. Minimal tumbling required.”
I don’t know what to say to someone who’s apparently been cataloging my physical limitations while making balloon animals.
As I chew another mouthful of dumplings, I think about a party where Archie and I are dressed up as superheroes, which leads to thoughts about yesterday’s party. About Samuel’s face when he pulled that gold token from the bag.
“You know, you’re kind of a hero to those kids,” I say.
“Ah yes. Captain Giggles. Defender of balloon animals. Scourge of sticky fingers everywhere.”
“I’m serious. Like what you did for Samuel the other day, that’s heroic. It’s something he won’t ever forget.”
Archie hesitates. “I was that kid, you know? I was the kid who was too weird, who stuttered, who other kids avoided. Except no one ever handed me a gold token.”
He picks at a loose thread on the sofa cushion, not meeting my eyes.
“Is that why you’re a children’s entertainer now?”
“I spent my childhood learning every magic trick possible because if you can make people laugh, they won’t notice you don’t have any friends,” he says softly.
For a moment, neither of us says anything. Archie continues to pick at the loose thread on the sofa cushion. He’s wound it around his finger twice now.
“Well,” Archie says. “This got unexpectedly deep for a conversation about Lycra.”
“Just slightly,” I say.
I turn my attention back to my dumplings rather than think too hard about what he just told me.
I can’t help moaning as I scrape the bottom of the bowl.
“Good?”
“You have no idea.”
“Ah, you have a bit of gravy…” Archie touches his lip to show me where. It’s distracting, watching his finger tap against his own mouth.
I swipe at my mouth. Miss, apparently, because Archie shakes his head.
“You’re just making it worse. Hold still.”
He reaches over. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
We both freeze.
His hand is still on my face as his expression shifts into something I can’t quite read. My pulse does something inconvenient.
“Got it,” he says quietly.
He doesn’t move his hand.
I don’t move away.
Fuck. All the attraction I feel for Archie—that I’ve tried so hard to bury—is bubbling to the surface.
