Page 65 of Autumn Kissed

He flashes a grin. “Did he find out they were from me?”

“No, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Anyway, that’s all I needed.”

“You sure?”

“Yup. I’ll probably be done soon after this,” I lie.

“Oh, well, if you’re free...”

A smile is pulled from me at his third attempt today. “Sorry, got plans with my dad tonight.”

“What if I give you a better offer?”

“Than steak on the grill at home? I don’t think you could top that.”

“You’d be surprised at what I could do to top it.”

A moment of weakness overcomes me. His deep voice—smooth and promising—coupled with that warm look in his eyes, tells me he means what he says.

I imagine what a date with Archer would look like. He’d no doubt open his truck door for me. Help me down with a firm grip of his hand around mine. Would we end the evening with a kiss or⁠—

A muffled thud sounds in the backroom and breaks the enchantment from my mind.

I shake off his spellbinding presence and take a step away. “I’m sure I would be surprised. But I guess I’ll never know.”

He nods, still unfazed. “Just like you’ll never know what I was going to say at that crosswalk today.”

Dang it all. I’d almost forgotten about that.

Who am I kidding? I was never going to forget about that. Or Archer.

Genevieve returns from the back room with a small box of products that smell of vanilla, fresh linen, cinnamon, and lilacs.

“Have her choose her favorite,” she instructs, handing the box of samples to Archer. “But these will be your best bets. Either that, or the bride can come in here and find something else that fits her liking.”

Archer thanks her profusely, then takes a step back. “I’ll let you two get back to your business now.” He turns to face me. “And Juliet, you let me know⁠—”

“If I change my mind. Got it.”

He grins, then leaves the shop with a jingling of the bell above it. I watch him walk past the window, the light of the afternoon sun gracing his features like a Greek god.

I blow out a slow breath, trying to release my nerves as Genevieve appears next to me. “What was that all about?”

“Oh, nothing. Just dealing with...”

“How much he likes you?”

I wonder if she overheard our conversation, but she holds up her hands. “It’s pretty obvious that boy has it hard for you.”

I know this already. The asking-me-out-a-few-times gave me the clue. But having someone else see it—state it—makes my shoulders a little lighter.

So light, I do a little digging of my own. “It’s just complicated because...because my dad doesn’t like him.”

I watch her closely, but she doesn’t flinch. “Dads are touchy sometimes. I’m sorry you’re having to deal with that.”

A perfectly diplomatic answer. Given because she’s in love with my dad or because she couldn’t give two hoots about him?

“Do you have experience with protective dads?” I ask.