Page 28 of Archer

She smiled. “Take care of her.”

“That’s the plan.”

Twenty minutes later, I pulled back into Harper’s driveway. The cottage looked different now that I knew I’d be living here. Smaller. More intimate.

I grabbed my duffel and the groceries, then headed for the front door.

Harper opened it before I could knock. She’d changed into yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked younger like this. More vulnerable, if that was possible.

“You came back.”

The words hit me wrong. As if she’d doubted me.

“I said I would.”

“I know. I just—” She stepped away to let me inside. “Thank you.”

I set the groceries on the kitchen counter. “Sloane sent food. Figured we’d both need to eat.”

“Sloane?”

I explained the woman’s position in my life, or rather, my position in hers, and wished I knew when to stop speaking.

“Oh, that’s thoughtful.” Harper peered into the bag. “I should thank her. She’s right, I haven’t been shopping.”

“We’ll figure it out.”

Harper bit her lip, nervous energy radiating off her. “I guess I should show you the guest room.”

I followed her down the short hallway. She opened a door to reveal a small bedroom with a double bed, nightstand, and dresser. Clean, simple, with the same coastal charm as the rest of the cottage.

“Bathroom’s across the hall,” she said. “We’ll have to share, but there’s plenty of space for both of us.”

I dropped my duffel on the bed. “This is perfect.”

“The closet’s mostly empty if you need to hang anything.” She hovered in the doorway, hands twisting together. “And there are extra towels in the bathroom cabinet.”

“Harper.”

She looked up at me.

“It’s good. I’m fine.”

A small smile crossed her face. “I’ll let you get settled. Take your time.”

Harper disappeared down the hall, and I sat on the bed, running my hands through my hair.

I unpacked my clothes, set up my laptop on the dresser, and placed my service weapon in the nightstand drawer. Close enough to reach if I needed it, but out of sight, so it didn’t freak Harper out.

Then I went to find her.

She was in the small kitchen, with its pine cupboards and lemon-print dishtowels, staring at the groceries Sloane had sent.

“We should probably talk about logistics,” I said.

She turned. “Logistics?”

“Bathroom schedule. Kitchen use. Any sort of house rules that will make sharing this space more predictable and comfortable for you.”