“I’ll be the judge of that.”
Archer’s stare burns into my back like a hot brand. I do my best to ignore it, but it’s not easy. There is a storm brewing inside me. One I cannot tame or temper. My stomach rolls with nausea. My veins churn with an uncomfortable emotion that, after a few seconds, I identify as guilt. I try to quell it with flimsy assurances that I haven’t done anything wrong. That I haven’t cheated on my boyfriend. That I haven’t somehow — and quite illogically, might I add — betrayed Archer by having a boyfriend in the first place.
As hastily as I can manage, I extract myself from Oliver’s arms. Nerves jangle as I glance back and forth between the two men. Two radically different men. One bare-chested and bearded, his skin tan from long days working in the sun, his hands callused with evidence of long labor; the other every inch the business man, a gleaming Rolex at his wrist and platinum cufflinks on the sleeves of his custom-tailored suit.
Oliver, a sunny southern breeze; Archer, a storm cloud with sentience.
They are night and day.
Worlds apart.
And me, standing between them.
They stare at one another with equal parts curiosity and wariness. Both smiling strangely stiff smiles that do not reach either of their eyes.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to…” Oliver trails off. Beneath his friendly facade, there’s a ramrod tension in his posture he can’t quite hide.
“Right. Of course. This is—” I look at Archer and clear my throat uncomfortably. “This is Archer Reyes. He’s… an old friend.”
A ghost of a smile touches my old friend’s mouth.
“I’m Oliver Beaufort. And any friend of Josephine’s is a friend of mine,” Ollie says amiably. He sticks out his hand to shake. “We’re a package deal, you see.”
“I do see.” Archer’s eyes flicker to me for a heartbeat before he steps forward and grips Oliver’s hand. The air seems to crackle with tension as they shake… and shake… and hold. The moment drags on forever, neither of them willing to release first. My eyes widen a bit when I see their knuckles are turning white. I’d bet my bottom dollar, if you put an acorn between their palms right now, it would crack wide open.
Archer’s surgical scars have gone pale beneath Oliver’s grip. He must be in excruciating pain. If he is, he keeps it well concealed, his indifferent mask never flickering. I let out a relieved breath when they finally break apart.
“Funny,” Oliver says after a long moment, winding his arm around my back as soon as it’s free; pulling me close like I’m a prize he’s won in their contest of wills. “Josephine never mentioned an old friend.”
Archer smiles coldly. “She never mentioned a boyfriend either.”
“She’s not one to brag.” Oliver forces a laugh at his own joke. Archer does not join in. When silence descends again, it’s even more stagnant than before.
“So,” I squeak. “Uh—”
They both look at me.
I fight the urge to squirm like a bug beneath a magnifying glass.
Kill me now.
I glance up at my boyfriend. “Sorry, Oliver — I’m just so stunned to see you standing here, I’m at a bit of a loss for words. I had no idea you were flying in.”
“Wouldn’t have been much of a surprise if I’d warned you first, darlin,’ now would it?”
“Right,” I agree weakly. “When did you get here?”
“Touched down just over an hour ago. I came straight here from the jetway.” Oliver glances at Archer. “Josephine’s parents were kind enough to lend me the company Gulfstream for the journey. Can you believe that?”
“Oh, I’d believe just about anything when it comes to Blair and Vincent.”
I glance at him sharply, eyes narrowing at the cutting edge in his tone.
What’s that all about?
Oliver doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. “They’re great, aren’t they? I’m lucky to have two bosses who don’t mind me dating their daughter. Or taking a personal leave to surprise her halfway across the world.” He grins wide, a flash of bright white teeth. “Hey! Here’s a thought. You’re an old friend — maybe you can convince Josephine to fly back to Switzerland with me in a few days. Everyone knows it’s where she belongs.”
Something inside me quails.
Archer’s jaw is locked down tight. He doesn’t look at me when he speaks, but his words are low; nearly guttural.
“She’s all yours, Beaufort.”
With that, he turns and stalks away, disappearing down the dock in a handful of strides. I watch him go — muscles in his broad back rippling, long legs carrying him swiftly away from me — and have to swallow down the urge to lean over the edge and vomit straight into the water.
“Not the friendliest chap, is he?” Oliver murmurs, watching Archer untie his dock lines and step aboard. “I guess all those stereotypes about grumpy New Englanders aren’t too far off, after all.”
“He’s just…” I shake my head, trying to clear it, then force my eyes away from the yellow lobster boat. “A little rough around the edges, right now. He’s been through a lot since I left.”
“Hmm.” Oliver looks down at me. “You’ve been friends a long time.”
Despite the curiosity lurking beneath the words, they are not phrased as a question. He sensed the strange, electric intimacy between Archer and me a mile off.
I nod. “Since we were kids.”
“You never told me about him.”
“No,” I say softly. “I didn’t.”
There’s a long silence. Oliver stares at me, weighing my words. Parsing hidden meaning from the gaps I’ve left unfilled. “I’m guessing you dated,” he says with forced nonchalance. “First boyfriend?”
“No. We never dated.”
Not exactly.
His brows furrow for a few seconds, then smooth almost instantly back into his familiar open expression. “So, I don’t have anything to worry about.”
I swallow hard. Trying not to think about the almost-moment I just shared with Archer. Trying not to wonder where that moment might’ve led, had Oliver not interrupted us.
Nothing happened.
So why do I feel so guilty?
“No, Oliver. You don’t have anything to worry about.”
“For a minute, when I first walked up… I thought maybe he was the reason you came back here or something.”
I jolt in surprise. “I told you, I came back here to sort out my academic leave with Brown. That’s all. I promise.”
“Good.” He’s not looking at me. His eyes are sweeping around the cove, examining the view in the setting sun. “Gosh, it’s beautiful, here. I can see why you love it.” His arm tightens at my waist. “I’m glad I’m finally getting to see it in person.”
I lean a bit closer to him, wrapping my arm around his lower back. “Me too.”
“That old boathouse is amazing, by the way. I love how it hangs over the water like that. I’d love to see inside. Maybe you can give me a tour?”
I hope he can’t feel how I stiffen. The thought of him in the boathouse — a space I cannot step foot inside without being swamped by memories of Archer — is hard to reconcile.