Page 5 of Autumn Kissed
My head starts to spin, and I realize I’m not breathing. Is this real life? Am I really sitting in a truck next to Archer Kade? The same Archer I used to spot in town and stand taller just to see if he’d find me across Main Street? The same Archer I would laugh loudly around, hoping he’d hear me in the white church, turn around, and fall in love with me at first sight?
I draw a few breaths, settling my spinning head. Teenage Juliet was a bit of a hopeless romantic. Adult Juliet is far more mature.
“So where exactly am I headed?” Archer asks.
“Main Street. That counts as your first question, by the way.”
He casts me an amused glance. “Is that how this is gonna be?”
“That’s question two.”
“Hold up, what?”
“Question three.”
He pauses. “I’m gonna have to watch my step around you.”
I give him a mischievous smile, and he chuckles.
I’m flirting with Archer, and I’m totally chill about it. I’m just going to ignore my pitching stomach.
“I suppose you ought to take a question before I lose all mine,” he says.
I think for a minute. “Are you married?”
He lifts his left hand. “I already saw you ring-check.”
My cheeks threaten to overheat, but I don’t try to stop them. Dad told me when I was a little girl I had a flattering blush.
“Only your cheeks grow rosy,” he’d say. “You got that from your mama. Unlike your daddy. My whole face goes beet red.”
“I’m not known for my subtlety,” I reply. “Did you ring check me?”
His easygoing, half-grin shoots straight to my heart. “Can’t say I didn’t.”
We round the bend in the road, light flickering through the thick leaves above and speckling his thin, blue-plaid, button-up shirt.
“Are you still running Horseshoe Holler?” I ask for my third question.
“I am. And there you go again, proving just how well you know me.”
I blush a little harder this time. “Your turn.”
“How long you been away from town?”
“Three years since I’ve lived here, though I’ve come back for visits during Christmas and random weekends.”
“Have I seen you on any of those visits?”
I shrug. “I’ve seen you.”
“How could I not have noticed you?” he mumbles.
He scrubs a hand along his jawline covered with short hair. He was always clean shaven before, but I can’t find one thing to complain about with this new, lumberjack version of the cowboy.
“When did you stop shaving?” I ask.
He smooths his scruff again. “The last six months or so.” He glances at me. “Do you prefer me with or without it?”
