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“Dad?” I say, my insides roiling.

“Hi, Jules,” he says, taking off his coat and popping off his shoes.

Boy, am I glad Archer didn’t remove his boots before coming in.

“We didn’t wake you up, did we?” Dad asks.

Tom walks in behind him with a wave in greeting.

“It’s not even ten, Dad. I’m not ninety.”

He laughs. “You just seemed tired before.”

“I guess I got my second wind.” A wind called Hurricane Cowboy.

He nods, then walks forward. I see him in a different light now, having Archer’s insight. I’ll be talking to Dad soon about all I’ve learned, but right now, I have to get Archer out of here unnoticed. If I’m going to convince Dad he can trust Archer, Dad needs to trust me—and having a guy in my bedroom isn’t going to earn me any favors.

Dad moves toward the kitchen with Tom. I try to block the hallway with my tiny frame, glancing over my shoulder to ensure my bedroom door stays shut.

“You guys going to hang out here for a bit?” I ask.

“Yeah, the game’s on,” Tom says.

Dad takes a few cans of soda from the fridge. “The movie was a bit slow, so we took off a little early. Plus, I wanted to make sure you were doing okay.”

My heart twinges. “Thanks, Dad. I’m doing better. I was actually just gonna go out for some ice cream. Want me to grab you boys some? Unless you need the car?”

“Naw, you go ahead. Pick us up some Burnt Almond Fudge?”

“You got it.”

I grab the key and my coat, then walk out as inconspicuously as possible. My footsteps are slow until I close the door, then I fly toward my window at the side of the house.

Archer’s already there peeking out of the blinds, a soft light from the lamp in my room pouring into the darkness.

“Open the window,” I whisper, though I’m not sure if he can hear me.

He slides the window open just a crack. “Excuse me, ma’am, but this ain’t appropriate.”

I laugh quietly. “Hurry up!”

“Isn’t Romeo the one who’s supposed to sneak up to Juliet’s window?”

“Ha ha, very funny. Will you get out of there, please, Romeo?”

He tries to open the window further, but it stops. He looks at it up and down, nudging it again and again, but it doesn’t budge. “It ain’t moving.”

“Stupid ancient house,” I mutter. I try to pull it open myself, but his hand is on mine to stay it.

“You’ll break it, darlin’.”

My heart jumps at the endearment. In that one word, I’ve been launched to the eighteen-hundreds and am now being courted by the ever-charming Curly McClain from Oklahoma!

Archer doesn’t seem to realize he’s called me anything special, still eying the window up and down. “I think I might be able to squeeze through the space. Here, take my hat.”

He hands it to me sideways through the window, and I hold it carefully in my hands, grateful there’s no screen to remove on top of all this. Dad and I had to bend it up once when I was in middle school after we locked the keys inside, and we just never replaced it.

The earthy scent of Archer’s cologne and a small degree of sweat drift toward me with his movements. It’s musty, like a man.