Page 8
We stop at a stop sign with no one behind us, and he looks over at me with those brown eyes of his I want to explore for the rest of my life. Light causes the outside of them to shine almost green. “Will you tell me how old you are?”
We’re two turns from Main Street, still driving down mostly empty roads. It’s time to start bursting my own bubble. “If you really need to know.”
I say nothing else, and he realizes he’s wasted a question. He looks up at the roof of his truck with an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, how old are you?”
“Twenty-two.” I gauge his reaction carefully, but he literally gives none. “Does that bother you?” It’s not like I’m illegal or anything, but some guys might think a five-year age gap is off-limits.
But Archer lifts a casual shoulder. “Not at all. Maybe if you were seventeen.” I stiffen, and he glances at me. “Oh, don’t tell me that’s how old you were when we last spoke.”
I deliver a hesitant smile with clenched teeth, and he laughs. “Maybe it’s a good thing I don’t remember you,” he jokes. “Anyway, this just proves I’m not a creep. Remembering you all these years when you were just a teenager would’ve been weird.”
“True enough.”
Our age difference is why Dad never approved of my crush on Archer. At least, I think that’s the reason. I didn’t exactly go around advertising who I was into, but raising me without a mom, Dad always took on both the Mama and Papa Bear roles in my life.
I have wondered if his protectiveness might lessen if he marries again, but his response is always the same.
“I don’t need anyone else, honey. I’m happy with the way my life is.”
“So does my age bother you?” Archer asks next. “I’m gonna assume you already know it.”
The twenty-seven-year-old is right about that. “I do. And no, it doesn’t.”
We pass beneath the covered, wooden bridge leading to Main Street, the truck darkening from the shade, but as soon as it ends, Archer pulls onto First instead of Main.
“I need more time,” he says with a dismissive shrug. “So what happened with the last guy you dated?”
He really doesn’t care about our age difference. Why else would he be asking me questions about my dating life if he isn’t interested in being a part of it?
All right, Teenage Juliet. Time to relinquish your hold on the castle.
“Oh, things just didn’t work out,” I reply. “He wanted more than what I could give him in our relationship, so I ended it.”
That’s one way to describe an extra handsy man’s actions, but I’m not about to air my dirty laundry in front of a real man.
“Did y’all date for long?”
“You know you’re on nineteen, right? You sure you wanna waste it on that?”
“As sure as I’m sitting here.”
We reach the end of First, driving past Dust & Timber before he turns the car and Main Street comes into view. The quaint shops on both sides of the small road could have been pulled straight out of a picture book. Different colors of brick—red, white, and brown—highlight the care each resident takes in his or her business, and the windows adorned with painted leaves and various autumnal displays fill the space with a warm, cozy atmosphere.
Keller’s Bakehouse and The Velvet Wick have the best ones, and I admire them both as we slowly move down the street. A few people wave in passing, and I recognize some of them—Sloan Avery and Officer Roy—but we’re gone before they register who I am.
“Don’t think you can buy your time by not answering the question, missy,” Archer says. “Speed limit’s twenty-five, but I ain’t above driving under ten.”
I laugh. He really is interested. “Blake and I dated on and off through the summer, but I ended things officially at the end of July. We were never really serious.”
Because he was just a way to pass the time. Make-out buddies for him. And for me? I dunno. Maybe he was a way to explore my freedom.
“Satisfied?” I ask.
“You could say that.”
The town hall appears on the left side at the end of Main—a red-bricked, two-storied, colonial-style structure with a few shops on either side of it. Unoccupied parking spaces stretch before it.
“You can pull right up here,” I say, pointing in front of us.
