Page 51 of Archer

And I couldn’t discount the possibility that, if he had been out there, maybe he wanted me to see him. That this was a ploy to lure me away from her.

I rewound and reviewed the recording, tension binding my muscles more painfully with each passing second. The shadow existed for six minutes. Then it blended seamlessly into the darkness cast by the dune.

I gripped the back of my neck, then forced myself to pour the promised cup of tea.

I had to tell Harper, but it would ruin her night.

And whatever it was, might’ve been nothing.

So, I sent the footage to Colton for a digital review, then I delivered the tea to Harper and simply said goodnight.

Harper

I woke to a silent cottage and a few quick check-in texts from Alexis. We’d talked late into the night again while I’d ranted about my frustrations with life. My situation in general, but especially with my growing feelings toward Archer.

Alexis was a goddess of wisdom and suggested I simply kiss him and see what happens.

I sighed. If I thought he wanted me to kiss him, I wouldn’t hesitate. But I also didn’t want to ruin our growing friendship, or make living together a nightmare.

He’d already been weird enough after he’d hugged me when I cried.

I threw back the covers and forced myself into a seated position.

Why did the connection I felt for him have to be so one-sided?

And how had I mistaken the fact he was exceptional at his job for real feelings of friendship or anything else?

Archer made me feel safe and protected, physically and emotionally. He made me feel cared for, not because I could bring him into my world, share his music with my management team, or take him to parties with his favorite celebrity, but because he genuinely seemed to like me.

Still, I’d misread him, and the rejection, on top of everything else this week, might as well have been a slap. It was subtle, but humiliating, and I’d taken a night to lick my wounds. No hugging the bodyguard. It freaked him out, and that in turn freaked me out.

Now, I had to suck it up and leave my room.

I checked my phone, already seven-thirty, which meant Archer had been up for hours.

I padded to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. The woman staring back from the mirror looked exhausted. There were dark circles beneath her eyes and visible tangles in her hair. “Not a good look, lady,” I complained.

I dragged a brush through my hair while running down the facts.

Archer was just doing his job by comforting me.

Anything that made me believe otherwise was in my head.

Holding me while I cried. Sitting up for hours, trading stories about our lives. Bringing me tea and cool compresses for my puffy eyes. Part. Of. The. Job.

Looking at me with the same intense longing I felt?

My imagination, apparently.

I braided my hair into two low pigtails and dressed quickly in a crop top and sweatpants. The cottage was warm despite the season, and I was eager to add coffee to my system.

I went to the kitchen, thankful for the freshly brewed pot on the counter, then carried a full mug onto the deck for some fresh air.

Archer was already there, tattooed forearms braced on the railing, staring at the sea. No coat as usual. He looked good. Huge. Grouchy. Why was that my catnip? Why did I want to be the one who made him smile?

“Morning,” I said.

He turned at my greeting, and something in his expression made me pause. Was that guilt on his face? “We need to talk.”