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We’ll figure it out. All of it. But for now, I feel utterly safe. If not a little impatient.

Archer’s trying to say something, but I’m not ready to break the kiss. Not yet. After another moment of his mouth moving slowly and purposefully against mine, he gently cups my jaw and pulls us apart. We’re both breathing heavily, and his dark hair is mussed.

Did I do that? I want to do it more.

“I like this look on you,” I tell him, smoothing back the unruly strands. “You’re a little messy. Like me.”

“I like your mess,” Archer says.

From anyone else, I’m not sure I’d take this as the compliment I know it is coming from him. He’s also not a man who says things he doesn’t mean. And normally, he isn’t a man who appreciates disorder. So if he says he likes my mess, he means it. And that means something.

“Hang on,” I say. “I have a question.”

“Yes?”

I keep my face as serious as I can. “Did you kiss Galentine on the roof?”

Archer laughs, the sound deep and rich, echoing down the stairwell in full surround-sound effect. I’m grinning by the time his gaze returns to mine. “Why? Are you planning to kiss me on the roof?”

“Maybe. Answer the question, boss.”

I cannot in any world imagine Archer and Galentine kissing. I asked mostly as a joke. But now I’d really like him to answer.

“Would you be jealous?”

“Yes,” I say simply. “But also it’s important factual information to know before we go up there.”

“I did not kiss Galentine. On the roof or elsewhere. I must disclose that I gave her a handkerchief?—”

“You carry handkerchiefs?”

Without missing a beat, Archer pulls one from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, like some kind of magician. It’s monogrammed with his initials, though I realize I don’t know his middle name. “—and she told me she prefers her men blond.”

Now I’m the one laughing because I can totally picture it. “That is so very Galentine.”

“Here.” Archer presses the handkerchief into my palm. “It seems only right that you have one too.”

“What’s your middle name?” I ask, tracing my finger over the scrolling letters. The G for his last name is larger in the center with the initials spelling outAGO.

“Oliver. What’s yours?”

“I don’t have a middle name. But I wish I did because my full name is one letter away from Will Smith. Which means if theagets left off, people expect Will Smith. Then they’re disappointed.”

Archer kisses the corner of my mouth. “I, on the other hand, would be highly disappointed if I got Will Smith instead of you.”

“Perhaps the best compliment I’ve ever received.”

“That is a low bar. I’ll make it a point to raise that bar very soon and very often.”

Whenever Archer says things like this, things that imply a future, my stomach dips and then soars, like a kite with the strong breeze of hope carrying it along.

“So … the garden?” he says.

“Hm?”

“Were you going to take me up to the roof?”

“Right. Yes. Come on.” Biting my lip, I turn quickly before I can get lost in him again. Bolting up the last stairs, I tuck the handkerchief in my pocket and pull out the roof key. It’s the same one that unlocks the front door, and I’m sure Archer has one. But I’m not waiting for him.