Page 14 of Hot for the Dragon (Saltwater Grove #3)

14

ARCHER

T he setting sun painted streaks of orange and purple across the sky as Daphne's words hit too close to home.

"The sun's almost down," Archer said, standing up quickly from the wooden bench. His muscles tensed, uncomfortable with how easily she seemed to read him.

"Wait." Daphne rose beside him, her green eyes earnest. "There's one more place I want to show you."

"It's getting late-"

"Please? It's important."

Something in her voice made him pause. He gave a curt nod and followed her through the winding streets until they reached a charred storefront. The acrid smell of smoke still lingered in the air.

"This was my shop," Daphne said softly, pushing open the damaged door.

Archer ducked through the entrance, taking in the blackened walls and scorched shelves. Broken pots crunched under his boots. In the fading light, he could make out the ghost of what the place must have been - cheerful displays now reduced to ash, vibrant flowers turned to cinders.

"These were my first roses." Daphne's voice cracked as she knelt beside a burned planter. "I grew them when I was learning to control my magic. And these-" She touched a shelf of destroyed ceramic pots. "Mrs. Henderson brought these back from Italy for me. She said they reminded her of my spirit."

Her shoulders trembled. Archer shifted uncomfortably, unused to dealing with emotions. But as he watched her fingers trace patterns in the soot, something clicked into place. This wasn't just about destroyed inventory - this was someone's dreams turned to ash. Their livelihood. Their passion.

And Carmen had destroyed it without a second thought.

He thought of all the other shops they'd helped today, all the people picking up pieces of their lives. Each attack wasn't just property damage - it was crushing hopes, destroying futures, ripping apart the fabric of people's lives.

"I get it now," he said quietly. "What you've been trying to show me all day."

Daphne looked up at him, a tear tracking down her cheek. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." He offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet. "Carmen has to be stopped. Not just because she's dangerous, but because of this. Because of what she takes from people."

Archer's chest tightened as he watched another tear slip down Daphne's cheek. The sight stirred something unfamiliar in him, an emotion he hadn't felt in years - empathy, mixed with a protective instinct that caught him off guard. His fists clenched at his sides as anger surged through him, both at Carmen's destruction and his own conflicted feelings.

"Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his auburn hair. The charred remains of Daphne's shop seemed to mock him, a stark reminder of the consequences of his actions. "Look, about the supplies..."

Daphne turned to face him, her green eyes still glistening.

"Maybe I acted without thinking it through completely," he admitted grudgingly. The words felt foreign on his tongue - he wasn't used to acknowledging mistakes. "But we can't just sit back and wait for Carmen to make her next move. That would be just as devastating as what happened today."

He paced the length of the burned shop, his boots crunching on broken glass. The smell of smoke clung to everything, reminding him of battlefields long past.

"Your idea about turning her followers..." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It's not completely without merit. Dragons respect strength, yes, but Carmen's taken that principle too far. Some of them must see that."

The admission cost him something, but seeing Daphne's shop in ruins, witnessing the aftermath of Carmen's attack throughout town - it had shifted something in his perspective. He might prefer solitude, might bristle at working with others, but he couldn't deny the evidence before him.

Archer watched Daphne's expression brighten, her smile catching him by surprise. The last bit of sunlight filtering through the burned shop caught the green flecks in her eyes.

"Thank you for understanding," she said. "About the town, and about trying to turn Carmen's followers. Maybe we could combine our approaches? Keep disrupting her supplies while showing her dragons there's another way?"

He suppressed a smirk. "Might work."

"And thank you for saving my life earlier." Daphne's voice softened. "Outside the Cauldron & Cup. I feel silly now - couldn't even get one person to safety without needing rescue myself."

Archer's brow furrowed. The self-deprecation in her voice didn't sit right with him. He'd seen trained warriors flee from dragon attacks, yet she had run straight into danger.

"Hold up." He stepped closer to her, his presence filling the cramped space. "You ran out there knowing full well what could happen. That's not weakness - that's guts. Crazy guts, maybe, but still guts."

She blinked up at him, surprise evident on her features.

"Besides," he continued, rolling his shoulders, "you've been... useful these past few days." The admission came grudgingly, but he meant it. "The jewelry store stake-out? That was good thinking. And you kept your cool surrounded by hostile dragons."

A light blush colored her cheeks. "Really?"

"Don't make me repeat myself." But there was no real bite to his words. Something about her earnestness made it impossible to maintain his usual gruff demeanor. "Though next time you decide to play hero, give me a heads up first."

Her laugh echoed through the burned shop, somehow making the devastation around them feel less oppressive. Archer found himself fighting back a smile of his own, wondering when exactly this cheerful witch had started breaking down his carefully constructed barriers.

Archer cleared his throat, desperate to break the heavy emotional atmosphere that had settled between them. The streetlights flickered to life outside, casting shadows across the cobblestones.

"It's getting late. I should walk you home," he said in a low voice, as he headed for the shop's exit.

"I'd like that," she said, falling into step beside him.

The evening air carried the lingering scent of smoke mixed with the salt breeze from the harbor. Archer found himself hyper-aware of her presence, of how her shoulder occasionally brushed against his arm as they walked.

"So," he said, searching for neutral territory, "how'd you end up running a flower shop?"

Her face lit up. "Would you believe it started with a cactus?"

"A cactus?"

"Mmhmm. My first attempt at growing anything. I killed three of them before I figured out you're not supposed to water them every day."

Archer couldn't help the low chuckle that escaped him. "Somehow that doesn't surprise me."

"Hey!" She nudged him playfully. "I got better. Started with hardy plants, worked my way up to the delicate ones. Before I knew it, I had more flowers than I knew what to do with."

"And people actually bought them?"

"They did once I learned to stop making them dance."

His eyebrows shot up. "Dance?"

"Early days of magic control." She winced. "Let's just say there were a few... interesting incidents involving singing violets and a tango-ing tiger lily."

The mental image struck him as absurd, and he found himself laughing again. When was the last time he'd genuinely laughed twice in one conversation?

"The shop just grew from there," she continued, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke. "Started in my garage, then moved to that little storefront. Built up a loyal customer base who didn't mind if occasionally their bouquets hummed show tunes."

Archer watched her as she talked, noticing how her eyes sparkled when she described her favorite arrangements. The dragon in him prided itself at having such an attractive woman so comfortable in his presence, even while another part of him warned against getting too close to her.

They'd only made it halfway to her house, but Archer found himself slowing their pace, oddly reluctant for the evening to end.

"So, what's your latest carving project?" Daphne suddenly asked, her breath misting in the cool evening air.

Archer tensed, caught a little off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. His first instinct was to deflect, but something in her expression made him pause.

"A ship," he admitted, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Three-masted schooner. Working on the rigging details now."

"That sounds incredible! How do you get all those tiny ropes right?"

The genuine curiosity in her voice threw him. Most people's eyes would probably glaze over the moment he mentioned woodworking. "Small tools. Steady hands. Lots of patience."

"Do you sketch it out first or just... go for it?"

"Both. Sometimes I'll rough out a design, but other times..." He gestured with his hands, trying to explain. "The wood tells you what it wants to be."

"That sounds like my plants!" Daphne's eyes lit up. "Sometimes they have their own ideas about growing, no matter what you planned."

Archer found himself nodding, surprised by the apt comparison. "Exactly. This maple piece I'm working with now - kept fighting me until I realized it wanted to be waves instead of calm water."

"How long have you been carving?"

"Since I left the wing." The words slipped out. He stiffened, waiting for the inevitable probing questions about his past.

But Daphne just smiled. "It must be nice, creating something beautiful with your hands instead of destroying things."

The insight hit uncomfortably close to home. Archer studied her face in the streetlight, searching for any hint of manipulation or judgment. He found none.

"It's... peaceful," he admitted quietly.

They reached her front steps too soon for his liking. Daphne turned to face him, and the warmth in her expression made his chest tight in ways he didn't want to examine yet.

"I'd love to see your workshop sometime," she said. "If you're willing to show me."

The dragon in him preened at the idea of showing off his skills, while his more cautious side warned against letting anyone close. But looking at her hopeful expression, Archer found himself nodding.

"Maybe. Sometime."

Her brilliant smile made something flutter in his stomach. He needed to leave. Now. Before he did something stupid like return that smile or, worse, ask to see her again outside of their mission.