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It takes a moment for this phrase, an echo of our conversation the night we met, to click. She grins, fast and bright.

Her cheeks are flushed, and I’m not sure if it’s from the kissing or the trapped heat in the room or my words. A flash of my own vulnerability pulses through me—does she like me? Andwhy?

I’ve been horrible to her on several occasions. From the night we met—I shove away the uncomfortable reminder that she still hasn’t told me the truth about how she got into my closet—to deciding she needed to pay rent for using the kitchen. Sure—I took it back. But the damage was done from doing it in the first place.

Guilt slices through me. I’ll fix the rent issue later. And pay her for the cookies today if Angie doesn’t.

There’s a bang outside the door, making us both jump—the sliding glass door again. Voices in the kitchen. Laughter and then a male voice saying, “The bathroom’s in the front hall.”

“Uh-oh.” Willa takes a step back, but she’s smiling as she pulls her hand out from where it’s been burrowed inside my shirt. “Sorry I wrinkled your shirt. Can I iron it for you later?”

“Absolutely not.”

She narrows her eyes as footsteps approach. “Why? Is that not in the list of tasks for me? Or are you going to fire me now that we’re … whatever this is?”

I lean forward, pressing a soft, lingering kiss against her lips that makes me want to start all over again. “It’s not that,” I whisper, kissing her cheek, then her jaw, ignoring whoever is now jiggling the door handle. “It’s that I don’t trust you with a hot iron.”

Chapter Sixteen

Willa

“You’re takingme to the rooftop garden?” Archer asks.

I stop on the stairs, my hand falling limp in his as I turn back to face him. I’m a step above as I’ve been basically dragging him, so now we’re eye to eye. “You’ve already been up here?”

Archer lifts a hand, slowly drawing his fingertips down my cheek. “Hey.” His rumbly voice is a shade softer. “Don’t be disappointed. Galentine gave me a brief tour when I moved in. Yours will be better.”

I wanted him to experience it with me for the first time, but when his lips find mine, disappointment falls away. My eyes drift closed. “Mm-kay.”

When he chuckles, his mouth moves deliciously against mine, and I find myself chasing the sound.

“Don’t be so easy to convince,” he murmurs.

“Don’t be so convincing, boss.”

He wraps an arm around my waist, tugging me closer. “You’re the one in control here, Willa. Not me.” Archer’s voice sounds strained as he deepens the kiss, like he really is barely holding onto a very thin shred of control.

Stairway kissing is highly underrated. I like having Archer on my level. But I also like his height when we’re on even ground. His height makes me feel small and sheltered. Protected.

But then … that’s just how I feel around Archer.

It’s been a few days since our first kiss. A few days of walking on sunshine or rainbows or cloud nine. (What makes cloud nine the special one, by the way?) Archer and I have slipped so easily into this new…thing without pausing to examine the fine print of what the parameters are.

Because nothing is more of a buzzkill when you’re on a kissing high than having a conversation about things like boundaries and exclusivity and whether you want to get married and start having babies.

I donotplan on discussing the last one anytime soon—I’m smart enough to know that’s exactly how to lose a guy inless thanten days. But I’d be lying to myself if I claimed that seeing Archer with Angie’s baby didn’t have me thinking about it. My ovaries started revving their idling engines the moment he made eye contact with Baba—worst baby name ever—and started talking sweetly to her. I was agoner.

And that wasbeforeI pulled him into the bathroom and he kissed me.

Now, I’m just plain ruined.

Which is fine by me! Because being ruined by Archer Gaines is the best outcome I could hope for.

I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t keep me up when I leave his apartment at night. I can surmise that we’re exclusive because Archer is with me almost all day, every day since I’m working out of his office. And though we’re still getting to know each other through quick conversations between actual work and frantic kisses in work breaks, I knowthisabout him—he is too serious about everything else to beunserious about relationships.

This gives me some security when my panic at the lack of defined boundaries rears its head.

We’ll talk about the future, including when or if he’ll return to New York and why I wouldn’t be able to see him or go with him—a thought that has me going icy-cold down to my toenails.