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And I’m right, of course. Theydolove Archer.

I had a momentary hot flash of panic when we first walked inside the house. I saw Archer standing in his very expensive suit against the backdrop of my parents’ very normal, very middle-class home. Framed family pictures that all need dusting, some of the photos slightly out of focus. A house plant clearly no one has remembered to water based on the leaves it’s shed all over the floor.

Has the rug in this front hallway always been so worn and faded?

Before I could start hyperventilating, Archer stepped forward, right into the center of the definitely-needs-to-be-replaced rug and smiled at my parents. The big, wide smile I never would have imagined him capable of when I first met him but looks so dang good on his handsome face.

Issue the man a ticket for public disturbancegood.

“I’m Archer Gaines, and I’m going to pretend I’m not nervous to meet you even though I want to run right back out the front door.”

With that adorably honest statement, he handed my dad the bottle of wine, let my mom give him a hug, and basically won my entire heart.

It only got worse from there. Worse, as in, losing all chance at protecting myself against tumbling Jack-and-Jill style down a steep hill for this man.

I tried to stop Dad from dragging Archer to the basement but couldn’t. And when I was no longer physically able to keep myself upstairs, I crept down to find Archer wearing Dad’s Optivisor, the two of them bent over a piece of track, discussing train stuff.

Archer glanced up at me, his eyes distorted and swimming through the magnifier, and I wondered what was wrong with me that seeing him like that made me want to yank him into the nearest closet to steam up the lenses of the Optivisor.

During dinner, Archer is charming and polite, if not a little quiet. My parents do enough talking for him and me both. I play referee—issuing penalties and yellow cards for any too-nosy questions and kicking Mom under the table whenever she and Dad get a little lovey-dovey. I’m not sure I stop smiling the whole time, even when I’m chewing.

Angel hair pasta wasn’t necessarily the best choice for a meeting-the-parents dinner, as all four of us end up with tiny splatters of tomato sauce on our cheeks and chins. Archer’s going to need to dry clean his shirt. Or is he the type to just throw away dirty clothes rather than trying to get a stain out? Another fun fact I need to learn.

It’s not until we’re all sopping up the extra sauce with garlic bread that my dad commits a personal foul. “So, Archer. What’s it like to be a billionaire?”

I choke.

Not legitimately—though needing someone to give me the Heimlich might have saved Archer from having to answer the question. But enough bread goes down the wrong way that I need a long gulp of water. Too bad I don’t have time for such trivial things now.

“Dad!” I scold through hacking coughs, my eyes watering. “You can’t just say things like that!”

I glare at him, but he just smiles his gap-toothed smile, which makes it hard to stay angry with him. “What? It’s not rude if it’s a google-able fact.”

Archer passes me my water, squeezing my arm and giving me the kind of pure male look that says,Step aside, little lady. I can handle this.

“I wouldn’t know what it’s likenotto be a billionaire,” Archer says simply. “And though money certainly makes a lot of things easy that might otherwise be hard, I wouldn’t say I had an ideal childhood, by any means.”

I reach over and squeeze his hand under the table. He squeezes right back.

“I’m sure you might have other questions if you actually did search for my name or my family name.” Archer leans back in his chair, still keeping our fingers linked. “I’m happy to answer any questions you might have.”

“Within reason.” I shoot my parents warning glances, which they ignore.

“Orunreasonable,” Archer says firmly.

My parents keep it reasonable. Mostly. They ask about his relationship with his father, before and after his arrest. I can see both Mom and Dad getting fired up and protective when they pick up on how lacking in any paternal instincts Archer’s dad is. Archer skates over the subject of the mother he never knew and doesn’t mention the fact that he’ll have to testify at his father’s trial. I think my mom might have pulled out a pitchfork and marched straight to New York if he had.

They ask about The Serendipity, and Archer uses this as an excuse to talkmeup and how I solved simple problems that stumped him. Only when Dad asks if there are any big plans for the building is there any hesitation on Archer’s part.

Immediately, my radar goes off. I haven’t moved to stage two yet, suggesting that Archer pull back on—or set fire to—the rent hike and pet policy. His guilty expression has me wondering if Archer has some bigger picture I haven’t even thought about yet. I guess it won’t matter if I’m no longer a resident, though I have developed sentimental feelings about The Serendipity.

Will Archer actually stick with his plan to raise the rent if he knows it means I’ll have to find a new place to live?

I’d like to think no, but then I also don’t want him to make exceptions just for me. It’s easier to think about him doing it for the good of the whole building. Not, like, a personal favor for his girlfriend.

But also—maybe living in a building owned by your boyfriend while also working for him is a complication we’d do better without.

I’m both relieved and suddenly fearful when the phone rings, interrupting Mom’s latest question about Archer’s education.