Page 66

“What the—”

She heard slamming cabinets downstairs.

“Wayne! Be quiet. Our girl is still sleeping.”

“If she keeps sleeping she’ll miss the blueberry muffins!”

Blueberry muffins. She jumped out of bed, wrapping herself in her robe, and ran down the stairs. But when she got there, the kitchen was dark and empty. No muffins. No coffee. No slamming cabinets. No Pop standing at the counter with a cup of coffee, butter and jam in his beard.

She bolted upright from her bed in Archer’s cabin, skin prickling in sweat and goosebumps. It was cloudy outside and the heat had finally dissipated. She threw on a tank top and shorts, then stepped out of the cabin for fresh air. The grass was wet from the rain that swept through the night before, the clouds refusing to let go of the sky. She looked over at Cabin B, her eyes on the dark windows, wondering how Pop was sleeping.

“Hey, you’re up early.”

Tea didn’t budge. “Weird dreams.”

The screen door swung open, then snapped shut. She turned to Archer as he descended his porch steps. He was wearing gym shorts, running shoes, and a tight dri-fit shirt that hugged his biceps.

His face pinched with concern. “Is it the bed? We could swap if you’re not sleeping well—”

She cut him off. “No. Pop’s been having a hard time breathing. Nan has to take him to urgent care today to see what they can do.”

Archer hooked an arm around Tea’s neck and pulled her to him. She stumbled from the motion, but he steadied her with his other hand, keeping her upright.

He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “He’s going to be okay, Tea.”

Her chest ached. “But what if he isn’t?” Her lips brushed against his shirt as she spoke. “What if something goes really wrong and everything goes downhill…and I’m not there to help?”

“Wayne is active and healthy—and incredibly stubborn. Just like someone else I know.”

She harrumphed, which made him chuckle, his warm breath in her hair soothing her nerves. She relaxed and wrapped her arms around his waist. “So you’re saying he’ll be too stubborn to get too sick?”

“Precisely.”

“I’m not sure that’s how it works.”

“I’m not sure how any of this works.” His hand trailed up her back, and he tucked it behind the crook of her neck, pulling her head closer toward him, inviting her to rest her cheek on his chest. She did willingly as he placed his chin to her crown. “If things go downhill in the next few days, we’ll handle it, all right?”

Tea squeezed her arms around Archer’s body, holding back tears. She knew what he was saying was right. Pop was healthy enough to fight something like this. But so were a lot of other people who’d caught the disease—very healthy in one moment, gone the next. She couldn’t fathom not being allowed around him if something went wrong. She also knew she didn’t have the power to save him. Same as the cancer that had speedily spread throughout her father’s body. No amount of willing or praying could stop it from taking over.

Archer must have picked up on her tension because his hand was at her neck massaging her skin, his thumbs adding enough pressure to calm her down. When her arms relaxed, he tightened his grip at her nape and moved her to face him.

“Better?” he asked.

She nodded. They stood there for a beat, his hands drawing circles in her skin, her shoulders relaxing with each motion. She dipped her eyes to his lips. It was hard not to. His body crowded every inch of hers. She blinked up to look at all of his face.

His gaze was also drawn to her lips. His breath smelt of mint from his toothpaste and the coffee he abandoned inside. His hand moved into her hair, fingertips working at the soft space between her ears.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered.

She knew he wanted to keep that firm boundary between them, like the way he shut her down last night. But today, as the sun finally broke through the clouds across the lake, the resort quiet except for the soft call of the loons, nothing had ever felt more right. She selfishly didn’t want him to stop. She wanted to keep feeling this way.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” he continued. “Tell me it’s a mistake.”

Her eyes trailed back down to his lips. “That would be lying.”

His other hand, which had found the small of her back, moved to cup her cheek, his hands cradling her head like it was a precious gift. She moved her own hands as well, placing them on his chest, feeling his heart rattle between his ribcage, running at the same tempo as her own.

“Arch,” she whispered. The tone of her voice came off more as a plea than a reassurance. Everything else about her life may not make sense—where she would live or work, whether this pandemic would truly upend everyday life like all of the scientists and newscasters predicted, thrusting them into a new normal—but at least she could rely on this. On the constant Archer Vincent had always been for her. And how much she needed him to close the distance.