Everything is ready, so I grab myself a Curveball to calm my nerves when I spot Archer walking in.
He beelines right for me, tugging at the buttoned collar of his dress shirt. He was always uncomfortable in a shirt at all, let alone a dress shirt. I never minded when he’d walk around the house shirtless with those gorgeous abs served up on a platter, to be honest.
“Thanks for your work on this. It looks great,” he says. He orders himself a Curveball, too, and once it’s in his hand, he holds it up. “To raising a bunch of money tonight for Archway.”
I tap my glass to his, and we each take a sip.
“Anything you need me to do?” he asks.
I shake my head. “It’s all under control.”
“You’re the best.”
I shoot him a tight smile, not sure I really believe his words considering where we find ourselves at the moment.
Guests start arriving, and I’m in full planner mode as I keep tabs on catering, manage photo opportunities as I introduce guests to each other, and make sure Archer is mingling and always has a drink in hand.
Everything is going smoothly. Too smoothly. When it’s going off without a hitch, I try to remind myself it’s because of my careful planning. I never really believe it. My brain always goes to if it’s too good to be true, it probably is.
Archer catches my eye from across the room.
It used to be so comforting when he did that.
We rarely ever spent time together at these types of events because he always put me up to the task of entertaining everyone while he sipped a drink quietly in the corner with one or two people at a time. I chalked it up to him being an introvert intimidated by events like these, but I’m not really sure that’s true.
I’m not sure he’s an introvert at all as much as he’s just protective over his personal space.
He let me in there once.
He said he wanted me back, but it seems like the door is closed now. He gave me his blessing to be happy, and that’s all I want, too.
And as Ford’s face flashes through my mind, I think I’m finally untraining the years of practice I had assuming my happy ending would be with Archer.
CHAPTER 20: Tatum Barker
Butterflies
I stay the weekend in Vegas mainly to tie up any loose ends I have before I head back to Tampa for a while. It’s open-ended, I guess. I’ll be throwing myself into planning Devon and Lindsay’s wedding, but my brand is destination forward, so I’m used to planning remotely. I guess I just want to plan remotely from the humid beaches of Florida for a while instead of the dry desert.
It’s a three-hour time change plus a five-hour flight, and the direct options from Vegas to Tampa are few and far between. I book one on Monday afternoon that’ll get me in around seven, and when I texted Ford my details, his response was immediate.
Ford:Perfect. My place has been too quiet without you. I’ll pick you up by baggage claim.
That’s Ford. Reliable. Dependable. Kind.
I don’t know why I didn’t see that before. I mean, I did, but not to the extent I seem to be studying it now. Before, I didn’t allow it to be with anything other than friendliness asthe motivator. But now, I look at everything through the lens of Archer’s words.
He’s in love with you, you know.
Those words play on a frustrating, endless loop in my mind. Interesting thatthoseare the words on repeat and not Archer’s own words about how he wants me back.
I keep trying to pulse those words into my brain, but I can’t seem to muster them. I can only focus on the fact that Ford is in love with me, and everyone knows it except me.
And maybe I have feelings for him, too.
Feelings I pushed down and buried deep, feelings I never bothered to acknowledge because I couldn’t.
But I can now.
