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When he finally speaks again, his voice is still littered in shock. “You’re really not afraid of me.”

The fact that he says it as a statement instead of a question causes me to smile wider. “Nope. There’s no reason to be.”

Mr. Green Eyes’s expression shifts to one of scolding.

“Pizza Dude, my dad’s a police lieutenant – if you couldn’t tell by my interaction with the two officers out front – and my mom’s a thoracic surgeon, which means I have the capability of stunning you, cuffing you, and then carving out your organs to donate them to science becauseOperationin my house wasn’t a game so much as a monthly study session on the human body and how to create a foolproof alibi.”

The smirk that slides onto his face sends the dormant butterflies in my stomach into a full tizzy.

“Truth bombincoming.”

Intrigue rips through his stare.

Has his body lean forward, anxious for more information.

More knowledge about me.

“I’ve taken several self-defense classes – enough to basically teach one myself – am always packing some sort of protection on my person – knife, pepper spray, dog whistle – and sleep with a fully loaded Beretta at my bedside.” Folding my arms across my chest is done on a teasing beam. “Maybe it’syouwho should be afraid ofme.”

His chuckles are so warm they damn near cause me to break out in a sweat. “Maybe.”

You know he’s the first person outside of my family and book club since Chris’s death that I’ve wanted to be around for longer than five minutes? That means something, doesn’t it? Even if it shouldn’t. Even if it’s bizarre. Even if it’s unideal or illogical, it doesn’t erase the fact that it does. Or that it’s true.

I casually change topics to one that’s just as important as his shelter situation. “Have you eaten?”

“I had lunch.”

“Which was?”

He hesitates to answer; however, he eventually does. “Some crackers.”

“Crackers aren’t lunch, Pizza Dude. Crackers are asnack. And not a very healthy one according to the two page email my mother sent me about avoiding things that are so high in sodium due to their ability to cause bloating, heart attacks, and strokes.” The eye roll given is absentmindedly done. “The irony is thatsheis probably going to be what gives me the latter.”

Another small, amused smirk is shot my direction.

“You like lasagna?” Keeping hope out of my tone is impossible. “It’s not made from scratch or anything, but it’s still pretty good. Wouldn’t kick it out of bed for eating the aforementioned taboo crackers.”

My joke successfully receives another light laugh.

“How about I put that in the oven while you get settled?” A new wave of questions rushes over me. “Have you had a hot shower lately? Or just…access to hot water period?”

The joy on his face falls prior to a headshake.

“Okay, thenyouhop in the shower and get warmed up while I put the food in and get the space heater working. After you’re all done, we can get the mattress setup and pick out some sheets and blankets and pillows. I wanna say I have some non-floral print stuff for guests, but it’s hard to remember. I haven’t had one in…um…ever…and my mom has a hard on for gifting flower décor items, insisting ‘visitors find it welcoming’. Not sure that that’s true; however, we may be putting that theory to the test tonight.”

More laughter leaks from his parted lips wrapping around me the way I guiltily wish his arms would.

“I’m Jaye Jenkins, by the way.” An awkward unnecessary wave is given to him. “Just in case you missed the officers calling me that.”

“Oh no, I heard them. Loud and clear.” The amused expression lingers. “Little Jaye Jenkins.”

“Don’t make me get the dog whistle, Pizza Dude.”

“Archer.” His warm correction is followed by him bridging the gap between us, extending his open palm, and properly introducing himself for the first time, “Archer Cox.”

Chapter 6

Archer