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He grits his teeth, and for a second, I think he’s upset.
But eventually, he says, “Frankly, they’re not convinced this is about the bees. They suspect something else is going on.”
“You told them about my dad?” I hold my breath.
“Absolutely not. But that doesn’t mean they’re stupid. I said you had a personal concern keeping you at Solitude and left it at that. They know there’s more to the story than keeping you around to scare up purple honey.”
I touch my bee earrings lightly between sips of mocha, trying to think past the weird feeling in my chest. Suspecting there’s more to the story isn’t the same as thinking Archer has any secret motivations beyond the kindness of his heart.
I’m getting carried away.
After everything that’s happened over the past two weeks, I need to keep my brain in check. Especially with a generous, bad-tempered, flippingmarried manas drop-dead gorgeous as Archer Rory.
Before I can think too much about why that’s so hard, Junie returns with our honey cupcakes. They look flawless.
There’s honey drizzled neatly over the top with tiny flakes of sea salt. A little like salted caramel, I guess.
“Enjoy!” she says with a wink.
Archer scowls at her, but she doesn’t give him time to think of a comeback before she sails away.
“You guys are on good terms. That’s nice with in-laws,” I observe, because that’s safer than doing anything else. Like thinking about Archer and his motivations or what his brothers must think.
What he’s not saying about getting raked over the coals thanks to my situation.
Holy hell, does his wife know he’s asking for special favors and losing money over a strange woman?
“She’s a nice girl,” he says. “She makes my brother happy, which is a miracle I never thought I’d see.”
“So he’s like you? Grouchy?” He raises an eyebrow at me and I grin.
“I’m a serious man. Dexter just sucks.”
I laugh. “Sure, sure, and I’m just a bee lady.”
His lips thin and he takes a long pull off his coffee.
I do the same with my mocha, loving the balanced dance of dark chocolate and sweet sugar. It’s like a symphony in my mouth.
I lick a dab of whipped cream from the side of the mug and glance up to find him staring.
My face bursts into flames.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” he says abruptly. “When you ran into Rina.”
Oh, crap, he’s reading my mind.
But I guess we have to talk about it at some point, right? Since he’s doing me a big favor, he has to mention the two times we got—way too close for comfort.
Any sane man would do the same and put me in my place, remind me that it can’t keep happening.
“Your wife?” I whisper.
“Ex-wife,” he growls.
What?
Oh. I never considered that.