Page 62 of Archer

Archer bent and kissed me, slow and deep, his hand sliding into my hair.

The ocean roared around us, waves breaking at our feet, but I barely noticed. The world narrowed to this one moment, his mouth on mine, the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my palm.

He broke the kiss far too soon and rested his forehead against mine.

“You’re so damn beautiful,” he murmured. “I hate the outside pressure looming over you. If we’d met another way, I would’ve won you over properly, and our first date wouldn’t be a walk on the beach because we’re living in close quarters during a crisis.”

I pressed another kiss to his lips and smiled against his mouth. “Archer Stone, is this a date?”

“I’d like it to be.”

“Well then.” I kissed him again, quick and light. “You should know, I like our first date. And out here, with you, that looming pressure you mentioned feels a world away.”

He pressed our joined hands against his chest. “There’s nowhere safer for you than with me.”

I believed that fully.

We walked for nearly an hour, hand in hand, the conversation drifting to lighter topics. He told me about growing up in Colorado, about his sister and niece. I told him about Gram’s poetry collection, about the summer I was sixteen and thought I was in love with a boy who worked at the ice cream shop.

“What happened?” Archer asked.

“He kissed me under the pier, and I was in love with the idea of being in love. Not with him. There’s a difference.”

“And now?”

“Now I know the real thing is worth waiting for.”

Archer’s grip changed on my hand, and I startled.

“Keep walking,” he said quietly. “Same pace.”

My stomach dropped and my gaze darted, but I didn’t see anything to cause alarm. “What⁠—”

“Don’t look left. Just keep walking.”

I set my gaze on the horizon and matched his stride, every muscle in my body suddenly rigid. “Tell me.”

“Someone’s standing near the public beach access.” His voice was level, almost conversational, but his shoulders had squared. “About thirty yards back, and he hasn’t moved. He’s obviously not on his way to the beach, and he only seems to have eyes for you.”

I fought the urge to turn. “Could be a tourist or a fan.” The wind had blown my hood down the moment we reached the beach, and I’d left it there, feeling protected and unconcerned until now.

“Negative.”

My mouth went dry as I realized the downside to being completely alone out here.

“When I tell you to go, we’re going to split up. You need to run straight to the cottage and wait inside. Lock the door. Don’t stop until you get there.”

I hesitated, my mind stuck between panic and confusion.

“Can you do that?” he pressed.

“Yes.”

Archer turned us in a wide arc that looked like nothing more than a couple heading back from a long walk. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my eyes forward and my steps even. Ahead, the weathered posts of the beach access came into view, marking the path up through the sea oats toward the cottage.

We were twenty feet from the turn when Archer said, “Go.”

The world snapped back into focus. And I ran.