It was hard to imagine him planting them himself, but there was a half-used bag of potting soil leaning against the door that led into the garage, so it must have been him.
With the press of a few buttons, the house was flooded with light as Archer ushered Analise toward a staircase that led to a basement. “I’ll be right back,” he told me.
Analise gave me a tired wave and a smile. “Thank you for coming, Remi.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
“I’m really glad you’re here for my brother.”
Archer ducked his head, keeping his expression hidden, and I chose not to respond to that one as they disappeared down the steps.
Loaded. Every part of every exchange tonight seemed to be loaded with a weight I wasn’t entirely sure I was ready to carry. Like studying his house because I wanted to soak in the details that would help bring this man into focus.
As I wandered through the main floor, I shook my head. It was damn-near annoying how much I loved it. If someone plucked my home fantasies straight from the part of my brain that didn’t think about things like budget or plausibility, it would be this one.
There was a mudroom with lockers off the three-stall garage, and a spacious guest room tucked away past the laundry. I wondered how many spare bedrooms he had in this place, if there was a full basement too.
This guest room held a few boxes and a queen-size bed with a deep-green comforter, but nothing else.
The kitchen was big and inviting, but not intimidating, everything done in warm wood tones and creamy whites. The island sat four, and the kitchen table in the area off to the side sat another six.
Next to the kitchen sink were a coffee mug and a small plate. On the island lay a stack of mail and a folded shirt in Buffalo’s colors. Little signs of life that made it easy to picture him filling the space, returning here at the end of the day.
Off the kitchen was a smaller room with a couple overstuffed chairs and a floor-to-ceiling rock fireplace with windows on either side facing out into the woods. It would be a perfect place to read.
For ... Archer. Not me. I didn’t need to be reading anything in any of the very nice chairs in his house.
I swallowed roughly, then blew out a harsh breath as I wandered out of the kitchen and into the gathering area on the main floor.
Like the guest room, the family room was sparsely furnished, only a long oversize couch facing the television over the fireplace and a few pictures set inside the mostly empty bookshelves on either side.
It needed artwork on the walls and more furniture to make it feel like home, but every inch that I could see was warm. Cozy, even, despite its impressive ceilings and high-end finishes.
Past the stairs that went to the lower level, I could see the entrance to the primary bedroom suite. No amount of curiosity would convince me that it was wise to wander that way.
Seeing his bedroom was a bad, bad idea.
There’d be no bad ideas tonight. Only good, healthy adult choices that would keep my clothes right on my body, where they should be.
As soon as he came upstairs, I’d make sure he was all right, then head home.
I could do this.
If I closed my eyes, I could still hear the thwack of his father’s fist on his face, picture the horrifying way his head snapped back from the force of it.
I’d touched him, and he’d stopped.
Touched him with my own very normal, average hands, and even through the haze of shock and betrayal and anger, he’d restrained himself on my request.
Power comes in different shapes and sizes, and I still wasn’t sure how I felt about the power I seemed to hold over him. I glanced down at my hands, turning them until my palms faced the ceiling. Dried blood was on the edge of my thumb. Archer’s blood.
In the kitchen, I washed my hands with brisk efficiency and found a drawer with a first-aid kit, selecting a small butterfly bandage and some ointment. I pulled open the freezer and quickly found a stack of flexible ice packs—a sure sign of an athlete who used them on a regular basis.
The sound of his feet coming up the stairs triggered a burst of nerves, but I kept my hands steady as I laid the ice pack on the island and busied myself finding a thin towel to wrap around it. Archer walked into the kitchen while my back was turned. I tore off a few squares of paper towel and got them wet with warm water from the sink, squeezing out the excess while the heat of his stare built on the back of my neck.
“Sit,” I instructed gently.
“Yes, ma’am.”