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Archer has totally gotten into upcycling and creating recycled art! He’s come up with some really interesting pieces – including the owls that are on display on our bookshelf in the living room – and the therapist believes that the creative outlet will be good for him as well. His sessions right now are twice a week, which is more than he wants – and why I don’t push harder on group therapy – but they’re what he needs. And Presley has been so incredibly understanding about me taking a longer lunch break one day a week to get him to and from his appointment. Part of me wonders if maybe she gets it on a more personal level.

Dinner doesn’t end well, nor do I get enough to eat. Temptation to stop for something fast is strong but getting home to the man I haven’t seen all day due to leaving early for an employee meeting is definitely stronger.

The moment my two feet cross the threshold into our house, Archer warmly shouts from the other room, “Welcome home, sweetheart!”

I silently swoon to myself over the greeting at the same time I drop my workbag on the floor.

Every night. This is how he greets me. Every. Night. Maybe that’s not wild or crazy to you but considering Chris usually just mustered up a smile – especially if he was working on his models – I find this amazing.

“Hey!” I call back on my way to the kitchen. Once I’m there, seeing him look over from where he’s lounging in front of a roaring fire fills me with relief, I’m not sure I could find anywhere else. “Nice fire.”

Warmth floods his green gaze as he rises to his feet to come my direction. “Today’s supposedly the last cold night of spring, so I figured why not try the reassociation assignment, IknowDr. McMahan is gonna ask if I’ve done tomorrow.”

Nodding at his point is followed by me leaning against the edge of the island. “Where’d you get wood?”

“Oh, sweetheart, thanks to you, I’ve always got wood.”

His eyebrow waggle successfully sparks a toothy smile.

“Did you mean for the fireplace?”

He arrives directly in front of me at the same time I reply, “I did.”

“It’s one of those magic log things.” Archer delivers a sweet, chaste kiss to my lips. “Ran into Dane on my way back from getting the mail. Got to talking. Told me he was gonna light a fire and roast marshmallows with his kids since it’s his weekend. I asked if he had an extra one that I could have, and he did.”

“Dane?”

“The recently divorced guy that lives next door to Ada. You know the one Mrs. Prescottswearswatches her out his window during her morning jogs.”

“The Marine.”

“Yeah, the jarhead.”

“Why’d he put his head in a jar?!”

“You just don’t knowanymilitary nicknames?” Archer can’t stop himself from chuckling. “You’re honestly telling me they don’t useanyin the romance books you read?”

“They probably do, and I just don’t remember.” Knowing better than to linger on the subject for too long, I make my way over to where we keep the bread. “And since we’re on the subject of reading-”

“Aren’t we always?”

“What wereyoureading when I walked in?”

“The book club pick for the month.”

“Have I mentioned how much I love that you read those even though you don’t attend?”

“You have,” he playfully grins, “but I’m always open to hearing how you love the things I do.”

This wiggle of the eyebrows receives a giggle.

“Finished listening to the audio book about Gretzky while installing shelves earlier, so I figured it was a good time to startThe Girl on the Train.I know you’re dying to talk about it.”

“Ohmygod, I am.” My overdramatic gushing is accompanied by me grabbing the unopened loaf from its counter space. “We can start discussing what you know and how far you are while I make myself a sandwich.”

His brow instantly crinkles in confusion. “Didn’t you just come from dinner with your parents?”

“I went to dinner there.” The confirmation is given on a fake, chipper grin. “Yes.”