Because I am upset.
I do have feelings for him.
And I thought maybe, just maybe, he’d call me and tell me he missed me. That he’d try to come up and see me on his weekend off, or he’d invite me down for a mid-week booty call.
I’m a hopeless—and hopeful—romantic at heart and I can’t help it.
“Well,” I say, pushing my shoulders back, trying to regain as much composure as I can for someone who just threw up in the kitchen sink. “Thank you again, Archer. Goodnight, and good luck on your interview tomorrow.”
Instead of giving me his cocky smile, his brow furrows and he looks, dare I say, sad. His hand lands on the back of his neck, a subconscious gesture I’m starting to realize he does when he’s uncomfortable.
“Of course, Quinn,” he says my name softly, and it rolls off his tongue like velvet. “If you get sick again, you can come get me. I am a doctor after all.”
“Right. I’m glad you reminded me because I almost forgot.”
His frown starts to turn. “We can’t have that now, can we?”
“You probably should start wearing your white doctor coat around the house. And have one of those gold-plated stethoscopes around your neck like the TV doctors do.”
“Mine’s platinum.”
I laugh. “Even better. Goodnight, Dr. Jones.”
“How do you do this every day?” I fall into a lounge chair, over exaggerating my exhaustion. Though I am dragging, even with sleeping in past ten this morning.
Wes shrugs, a slight smile on his face as he watches his son run around the yard with the dogs. “You just do.”
“You’re like a superhero. Literally. Saving lives as a cop and rocking the whole single-parent thing.”
He bypasses the compliment. “Keep your shoes on, buddy!” he shouts to Jackson. “He’s going through a barefoot phase right now.”
“Better than his bare-butt phase when he wouldn’t wear pants.”
Wes laughs, adjusting his gun on his belt before sitting on a chair next to me. He’s on his lunch break, and came by for a homemade meal and to see Jackson.
“You do know the crime is really low here, don’t you? Or have you been away so long you forgot? I’m not saving lives in Eastwood.”
I shoot him a look, trying desperately hard to ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. “Fine, you’re no Avenger, but you keep this town safe. We’d have higher crime if we didn’t have good police on our force.” Wes rolls his eyes. “Can’t you just accept a compliment?”
I flatten my hand over my stomach, swallowing down the lump rising in my throat. “He starts preschool this fall, right?” I grab the can of ginger ale I brought out and pop the top. This is my third one today and the only thing so far that helps. I’ve made a point to avoid junk food, even though the cookies that made me sick last night look oh so appealing today.
“Yeah, he’ll go two days a week.”
“Are you sad about it?”
“Not right now,” Wes says. “On the first day, I think it’ll hit me. Though it’ll be good to have him in school for a few hours those days. Mom loves watching him while I work, but Dad’s been getting busier and busier. Mom will never admit she’s crunched for time, but I’m sure she is.”
“Have you thought about hiring a nanny?”
“I shouldn’t have to hire a nanny,” he grumbles, looking away. I know where his thoughts have gone, and I feel bad for directing them that way. Wes’s wife left when Jackson was only a few months old, leaving a note saying she cracked under pressure. She showed up on his first birthday, played the role of perfect housewife for a while and then left again.
Jackson doesn’t remember her, but he still asks if his mommy will come home. I hate her and I never want to see her again. Well, only so Wes can divorce her once and for all.
“So,” I start, changing the subject. “I made a fake video of the Batmobile for Dean. Want to see it?”
Wes chuckles, blue eyes sparkling. All my brothers have blue eyes like our parents. I’m the odd one out with green eyes.
“Of course.”
I show him the video, and we both laugh. Then Mom calls us all in for lunch. She made homemade mac and cheese, along with a cucumber and avocado salad that I usually devour. But right now, a small bowl of mac and cheese is all I can handle.
After Wes leaves, Jackson and I go into the living room to watch a movie and hopefully get the crazy kid to nap. I end up falling asleep before him.
I wake up to the sound of Jackson playing with PAW Patrol on in the background. Archer is sitting on the ground with Jackson, pushing toy cars around on the ground. He’s still wearing the suit he wore to his interview. His tie is loosened around his neck, and the top few buttons are undone.
Good Lord. It should be against the law for a man to look that good.
Don’t even remind me of the fact he’s sitting on the ground talking in funny voices to a three-year-old who I just happen to love more than life itself. Feeling hot and bothered, I sit up and push my hair out of my face.
“Aunt Winnie!” Jackson exclaims. Quinn was too hard for him to say, and ‘Winnie’ just stuck. “Come play with me!”
Archer turns, eyes meeting mine. He looks happy and relaxed sitting there playing, and it’s doing bad things to me. Fuck, I want him so bad.
“How was the interview?” I ask, deciding it’s best to just stick to polite conversation. He did hold my hair back as I threw up last night. And as much as I want to hate him, I can’t.
“I think it went pretty well,” he says, eyes meeting mine. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
His eyes go to the ginger ale on the coffee table in front of me. “Really?”
“I haven’t thrown up again, so that’s a plus, right?”
“Right.”
I get up and move to the floor, tucking my hair behind my ear. Jackson can be a little bossy when he plays and tells us all what to make his toys say. It’s nice sitting here with Archer, and with Jackson here as well, there’s no risk for drama.
Not yet. Not until Archer and I are alone together. Which is something I’m going to make sure doesn’t happen.
About fifteen minutes later, Jackson’s finally tired. Mom comes out of the home office, saying she needs a break after arguing for an hour on the phone with a plumber they hired for a job. Jackson snuggles up with her on the couch and falls asleep almost instantly.
“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Mom asks me.
“Just hang out here. Jamie is working a double today, so she can’t do anything.”
Mom covers Jackson with a blanket, kissing the top of his head. “I have a few errands to run before dinner tonight, would you mind possibly doing a few of them for me?”
“No, not at all,” I say eagerly. Getting out of the house and away from Archer is a good idea anyway.
“Great! Archer, why don’t you tag along? One of my errands is to go to the feed store and some of those bags are heavy.”
“I can handle it, Mom,” I say dryly.
“I’m sure you can, but why not enjoy some company? And I don’t think Archer wants to sit in the house with me all day,” she adds with a wink. “My list is on my desk.”
“I’m going to change first,” Archer says, not meeting my eyes. I don’t want to hurt his feelings, even though I don’t think he considered my feelings when he had sex with me three times and then never called.
“Good idea,” I say. “It’s hot. Out. Outside. It’s hot outside, I mean. You should change into something not so hot. Not that what you’re wearing is hot like that. I mean in temperature.”
Archer nods, smiling slightly at my word vomit and goes upstairs to change. I use the bathroom, shove a few mints in my purse to help my unsettled stomach, and get the list from Mom’s desk.
I get into my car, cranking the air to cool it down, and fiddle with the radio until Archer joins me. We leave in silence, with nothing but the radio between us.
It doesn’t take long to get into town, and since downtown isn’t very big, we can park in the middle and walk to most of the stores.
“What’s first on the list?” Archer asks once we’re out of the car.
“The feed store is right there,” I say, pointing across the street. It’s been a while since I walked around Eastwood’s downtown. It’s worlds different than Chicago, and for some reason, the nostalgia is hitting me hard.