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“And you were right.” My laugh sounds forced, but neither of them seem to notice. “There are so many bee people here. I’ve found my tribe.”
Neither of them laugh, though I think it’s because Colt gets distracted by some guy walking past in full medieval armor. It wouldn’t be an art market without a few eccentrics who think the renaissance festival is a year-long event.
Archer just stares at the grass to his side, plucking blades absently.
“What about you? Rough day?” I ask.
Maybe a little desperate, but hell, I am.
“Huh?” He glances up, but there’s no mistaking it this time—there’s something closed off in his expression. His eyes are shuttered. “No, Winnie. My day was fine.”
Fine.
Nothing about him screams fine.
If he stays this tense, he might just permanently set into stone.
But from the way he’s looking at me, then glances at Colt, he’s not going to say anything about it here.
Okay, Archer. Later it is.
I look down at the lazy river and eventually Colt suggests we go for a walk.
Fine. I grab Archer a beer and he holds it loosely in his hands as he looks at the carvings Colt points out.
It’s a good mask, I’ll admit.
He’s saying the right stuff, going through the motions, and it’s convincing enough for Colt, who just wants his dad here to share this with him.
But maybe I’m more discerning, or just insecure.
Colt’s position in Archer’s life is guaranteed, for heaven’s sake. He’s hisson.
Mine is far less guaranteed.
We haven’t really talked about the future, and things have been good, but that doesn’t mean they’re official. They’re notunbreakable.
Yeah, I’m overthinking.
I bite it back, though, until Colt goes off with some woodcutter guy who knows way more about carving than anyone else. I follow Archer down to the riverside walkway with a growing cactus in my throat.
“So,” I say after a few minutes of standing in awkward silence. Weird how after we’ve been so close—and I mean really freaking close, considering he was inside me just this morning—everything feels so distant. “You can’t keep avoiding me, you know.”
He barely looks at me. “I’m not avoiding you.”
Right, and there’s a giraffe in my pocket.
“Archer, please. Let’s not pretend everything is cool when it obviously isn’t. I got that enough at home.”
The word ‘home’ reaches him. Now, he does look at me.
Cold and distant like unblinking blue stars.
“Fuck, you want to know? My company got a notice from your father’s office,” he says.
What?
Oh my God.