The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee made her stomach growl, reminding her of their activities from the night before.
“Thank you for the coffee,” she said, taking a sip. It was perfect—strong but not bitter, with just the right amount of cream.
“Of course, and we’ll eat breakfast soon as well.”
Morgan smiled, wondering what it would be like to wake up to his actual face, to see his eyes and smile first thing in the morning. The thought brought both longing and frustration. When would they move past this barrier?
“What would you like to do today?” Archer asked, interrupting her thoughts.
Morgan considered the question. In her normal weekend routine, Saturday mornings usually involved laundry, grocery shopping, maybe meeting Tessa for some girl time. But nothing about her current circumstances was normal—not her suspension from work, not her relationship with a man whose face she’d never seen, and certainly not waking up in a luxury penthouse with the city spread out below her.
An idea occurred to Morgan, something she’d been curious about since first setting foot in his apartment. “Could you show me more of your place? Last night’s tour was... abbreviated.”
There was a pause, and Morgan wondered if she’d overstepped. Then Archer said, “There are some areas I’d rather keep private until you know more about me, but yes, I can show you more.”
“I understand,” Morgan assured him, recognizing that his need for privacy extended beyond just his face.
After finishing her coffee and taking a quick shower in his luxurious bathroom that featured multiple showerheads and a rainfall fixture that made her own bathroom seem woefully inadequate by comparison. Morgan dressed in the clothes she wore the night before. Archer had thoughtfully laid out a new toothbrush for her use.
When she emerged, he was waiting in the hallway. “Ready for the full tour?”
“Lead the way,” Morgan replied with a smile.
The penthouse, as it turned out, was even more impressive by daylight. What she’d glimpsed the previous evening was merely a fraction of Archer’s living space. Beyond the main living area and kitchen, there was a state-of-the-art home gym, a meticulously organized office with multiple monitors on the desk, a soundproof music room with several guitars and a piano, and a rooftop terrace with breathtaking views of the city.
“You play?” Morgan asked, gesturing to the instruments as they passed through the music room.
“No, my parents did. They had quite the collection. They tried to teach me for years, and I was in and out of different music schools, but the lessons never stuck.” Archer admitted. “It’s strictly sentimental, but I occasionally come in here to read and feel close to them.”
“That’s wonderful. It’s the same with my rotary phones at home. I’m sure you noticed them.” At his nod she continued, “They were my mother’s. It’s nice to have something to remember those you loved.”
The rooftop terrace was Morgan’s favorite discovery—a private oasis above the city, complete with comfortable seating, a small garden of potted plants, and even a hot tub discreetly positioned to take advantage of the view while maintaining privacy from neighboring buildings.
“This is incredible,” she said, taking in the panoramic vista. “Do you spend much time up here?”
“Not enough,” Archer replied, moving to stand beside her at the railing. “Work keeps me busy.”
“Security consulting must be demanding,” Morgan observed, the familiar phrasing causing Archer to tense slightly beside her. She noted his reaction but didn’t comment on it.
“It can be,” he said after a moment. “The hours can be long and unpredictable.”
Morgan turned to face him, studying the inscrutable black visor where his eyes would be. “Do you ever get tired of it? The secrecy, the pressure?”
Archer was quiet for so long that Morgan wondered if he would answer at all. Finally, he said, “All the time. But it’s the life I’ve built.” After another pause, he added, “Until recently, I hadn’t considered alternatives.”
“And now?” Morgan prompted gently.
“Now I’m... reevaluating certain priorities.”
The admission hung between them, weighted with implications neither was ready to fully explore. Morgan reached for his hand, twining her fingers with his in silent acknowledgment of the complexity of their situation.
They stood that way for several minutes, hand in hand, looking out over the city that seemed so distant from this private sanctuary. Morgan found herself wondering what itwould be like to share this space with him on a more permanent basis, to wake up to this view every morning, to make this incredible penthouse feel more like a home.
The thought was both thrilling and terrifying. It had only been a week—far too soon for such considerations. Yet something about their connection defied conventional timelines. The intensity of feeling between them seemed to compress time, making a week feel like months of shared experiences.
“We should go inside,” Archer said eventually. “I thought we could have brunch on the terrace, if you’re hungry.”
“Starving,” Morgan admitted, suddenly aware of the hollow feeling in her stomach. Their late night and early morning activities had certainly worked up her appetite.
