Page 83 of Call of the Loon

“Hard to sleep when you’re talking to me.”

A low laugh rumbled from his chest. He released his hold on her stomach. “I’ll leave you alone.”

She snatched his hand then shimmied backward, pressing her body against his again. “I didn’t say leave.”

He grinned, settling back in with her, his face buried in her neck. He let himself lie there, ignoring his to-do list, which was fine; it wasn’t that long these days. Tea made sure of that. Plus, when did he ever get the chance to sleep in? Better yet, when did he ever get the chance to sleep in with her?

As he listened to her breathing go heavy, Archer’s mind wandered. He thought about his summer, about how differently things could have gone. Moving up here was temporary, or at least it was until he could figure out his life in Minneapolis and whether he even had a job at Hermes Lounge anymore. But now, he wondered if maybe that wasn’t what he wanted after all.

His brother’s words from earlier that summer drifted into his head. Stand up for yourself and what you want. Don’t give up on the dream.

But what if I have new dreams? he thought as he opened his eyes, examining miles of freckled skin. He kissed her back, and allowed himself the smallest pleasure of what if. What if he gave up on Minneapolis? On Wild Pines? What if he packed up his stuff and followed Tea back east? Would he be happy with that? Would she?

She rustled, waking back up. “Coffee,” she pleaded.

He grinned. “Coffee.”

He kissed down her spine, then sat up and got out of bed. He glanced at himself in the mirror and fixed his hair, then watched as Tea wiggled behind him, burrowing herself deeper in his sheets.

The sight of it left a goofy grin on his face that he couldn’t control. The entire thing made him inexplicably happy. He wondered why he’d held himself back from having this for so long. Then he remembered that it wasn’t only him who’d needed the time. Tea needed to work things out as well. If he hadn’t given her that space—given himself that space—their conversation yesterday likely wouldn’t have gone the way it did. It probably wouldn’t have happened at all.

He stepped into the kitchen and started his routine for making coffee; grinding the beans, heating the kettle, setting the filter.

“Psssst!”

Archer followed the sound to the door. Rhonda stood outside, wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, mug in hand.

“Are you alone, or do you have a visitor?” she whispered through the screen.

He glanced back at the bedroom, the door slightly ajar. He turned back to Rhonda. “I have a visitor,” he whispered back. “Also, go away, I’m barely dressed.”

Rhonda lifted her arms in silent celebration, then did a little dance.

He rolled his eyes. “Stop. This is still really new.”

“New my ass. You guys have been tiptoeing around each other for years.”

“Yeah, well, this”—he pointed at himself, then at his bedroom door—“is very, very new. Go away.”