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Was he still married? Because of the partial argument he’d overheard at Restaurant Roma and the fact that Beau didn’t wear a ring, Archie had concluded that Beau was, at the very least, separated. Maybe that was more wishful thinking than a logical deduction.

Anyway. No point standing here feeling frustrated, disappointed, confused. And very lonely.

Maybe Beau would be back tomorrow night.

Maybe better not to pin too much hope to that.

Either way, they had finally talked, finally explained, finally had a chance to express regret, and that was the main thing. Right?

Like hell.

But it would have to do. So, take the win.

He reached for the wall switch, and went immobile as someone thumped on the front door.

“It’s me.” Beau’s voice was muffled.

Was that Beau’s voice?

Archie moved to the window, warily checked the porch, and sure enough, Beau stood motionless in that haze of yellow light, gaze pinned on the front door.

Hastily, Archie unlocked the door, opened it, and Beau stepped inside, handing him a Glock 43 in a side holster. “Here’s my backup piece.”

Wordlessly, Archie took the holstered weapon.

Sounding a little out of breath, Beau said, “Is it too late to change my mind?”

Chapter Eighteen

“Do I shoot you or myself if the answer if the answer is no?” Archie asked.

“Don’t say no.” Beau pulled Archie into his arms, kissed him. A soft, coaxing kiss. “I moved my vehicle behind the house and phoned my mom.”

“Huh?”

Beau gave a funny laugh. “My kid’s with his grandparents. They’ll keep him overnight. Don’t worry. I’m not regressing.”

“Uh, right.” Archie opened his mouth, and Beau said, “Riley and I’ve been divorced for two years. We share custody.”

Two years.

It had been a long night and Archie was very tired. It took him a second or two to process. Two years would have been around the time of Beau’s second phone call. He didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

Archie said, “But you’re on duty, aren’t you?”

“I cleared myself. But if you’ve changed your mind—”

“Hell no, I haven’t changed my mind.” Belatedly, Archie kissed Beau back. “I just don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

“I guess you’re being ironic.”

Not really. But if Beau changed his mind again—not about the sex, but about what the sex seemed to imply—Archie wasn’t sure he could take it.

Beau was saying, “I climbed into my truck and thought, you jackass, it took you seven years to get back here. What the hell are you doing?”

“What the hell are you doing?” Archie inquired. It had been a long time since he’d flirted with anyone, and he probably sounded more pugnacious than playful.

Beau didn’t seem to notice. He took Archie’s hand, tugging him toward the tall, curving staircase. Archie laced his fingers through Beau’s, following. It was very strange. But then again, the whole evening had been strange. So, in a way, this seemed like the most normal thing so far. This, at least, they had done before.