Georgia, bossing Archer around like she’s his babysitter,” Silas says. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
“Aunt Georgia is the best babysitter ever!” Noah chimes in. “She buys me extra cupcakes and lets me have sugar in my Cheerios.”
Cohen narrows his eyes at me.
I shrug, ignoring Cohen’s dirty look. “They don’t make it sweet enough.”
The waiter drops off our margaritas, and I wait for Archer to take a drink before touching mine. It’s almost comical, watching him tip his head down and suck the margarita goodness from the straw.
He swallows it, his face puckering. “Sweet as hell, but not too bad.”
I smile. “Don’t lie. You love it.”
He chuckles.
I laugh.
And I wish we’d had this all along.
“You know he’s in love with you, right?” Lincoln says, stealing Archer’s chair after he leaves for a restroom break.
“What?”
Did he say that, or were the margs stronger than what I thought?
He jerks his head in the direction Archer headed. “My brother. He’s in love with you.”
I snort. “Yeah, right.”
He leans back in his chair, tents his hands together, and holds them to his mouth. “Archer Callahan is here for Taco Tuesday. You think that’s the norm for him?”
“Well, no,” I answer softly, chewing on my bottom lip. “You told him it was either come here or there’d be a party at his place. It’s no surprise he chose here.”
Archer has feelings for me; there’s no denying that.
But love?
That’s on a completely different level.
That’s on my level.
He chuckles. “Come on. You know Archer would kick each one of you out if he didn’t want you there. He’s here because he thought I’d flirt and then fall in love with you too. He’s pissed I call you babe.”
I’m silent, processing Lincoln’s claim.
Lincoln squeezes my shoulder. “Give him time, Georgia. He’s opening up to you. Hell, he talked to you about our grandfather’s death—something he hasn’t done with me, my parents, or his ex. You’re someone to him, and the closer you two grow, the clearer it gets.”
I’m in bed, tossing peanut M&M’s in my mouth and catching up on Schitt’s Creek when my phone vibrates. Setting my snack to the side, I stretch across my bed and snatch my phone off my nightstand.
Lincoln: Can you do me a favor?
Weird. Lincoln never randomly texts me.
Me: Depends on what it is. No, I won’t have your baby. Yes, I will let you buy me a new car.
Lincoln: I know it’s late, but can you go to the bar?
No smart-ass response. Not good.
Me: Okay …
Lincoln: Go see Archer there. It’s important. I’ll explain later.
Me: Give me 15.
Lincoln: Thank you.
I jump out of bed, slip on my shoes, and snatch my M&M’s container for the road. Lincoln’s text caught me off guard, and my stomach knots harder with every mile I get closer to the bar.
I swerve into the back parking lot, scurry to the door, and let myself in. The bar is silent—no shocker since we’re closed—and I stroll down the unlit hall. When I reach Archer’s office, the light is on, and the door is cracked open.
I knock.
No answer.
Holding my breath, I peek through the opening. Archer’s shoulders are hunched forward in his chair, and his head is in his hands.
“Archer, are you okay?” I ask, hesitating before tiptoeing into his office.
I gasp when he lifts his head.
His face is red.
Tearstained.
“Archer,” I repeat, “are you okay?”
I’ve seen this man resentful—the night his father went to prison.
I’ve seen him sad—the anniversary of his grandfather’s death.
But this is different.
This is broken.
I creep closer.
“My dad is dead,” he states with a restrained stare.
I halt. “What?”
“He had a heart attack. He’s dead.”
I tense, my hand clutching my chest. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
His chest rises and falls with rapid breaths. “I visited him for the first time in prison last week. It didn’t go well. The entire time he was locked up, I ignored his calls. We hated each other.” He slams his hand onto his desk. “He died in prison. We’d argued, and I’d told him to go fuck himself.” He bitterly scoffs. “I argue with someone, and then they die. I’m the goddamn angel of death.”
He keeps his vacant stare forward when I stand next to him.
“Archer,” I whisper, “that’s not true.”
“Appreciate you trying to make me feel better, but it is.”
“Look at me.”
He spins in his chair, and his gaze cuts to me before he rises. I gasp when his lips crash into mine—hard and needy and desperate. He slips an arm around my waist, yanking my body