Touch of Fondness: A New Adult Romance (Stay in Touch)

by Joy Penny

  She laughed. At least he had that going for him. “No, I… I appreciate it.” She squeezed her fingers together. “I guess I won’t be seeing you tomorrow, huh?”

  “I still need some help redecorating. We didn’t exactly get around to that.”

  More laughter. God, seeing her laugh has got to be the best form of foreplay. “I’d be totally fine with stopping by later this week.”

  His heart sank. Not tomorrow? He’d pushed too hard, come on too strong. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice faltering.

  At least she wasn’t done with him entirely.

  Chapter Twenty

  A part of Brielle pictured Archer at the airport like one of those star-crossed lovers in a movie. Rushing through security in a comical way that would get someone arrested in real life. Pledging eternal love and a desire to make things work, even though there was a reason why the lovers were being parted at the airport in the first place—probably something to do with their plans for life leading to such different places. And those differences weren’t going to vanish just because the credits rolled and the music swept in, portending a happily ever after.

  But she wasn’t the one getting on a plane, leaving him behind—at least not yet. And they hadn’t discussed their future plans. They’d just met—what future was there to speak of?

  Curse you and your gorgeously handsome self. She knew better than to jump in bed with someone too quickly. That hadn’t gone well with Daniel either of the times she’d let her sex drive take over her brain.

  It’d been five days since she’d seen Archer. Her mom hadn’t even pressed her about why Mrs. Ward had considered her to be “fraternizing” with him. She didn’t even ask why he had been at the airport. Perhaps she really did believe it was a coincidence.

  Brielle herself wasn’t sure what him showing up at the airport had meant. It meant he liked her—like really liked her maybe. Or perhaps he just thought it was the nice thing to do. But to go out of his way to that extent—to get a ride from his dad? Did he have it bad for her?

  Did that make her feel good—or bad?

  Her confusion on that matter was why she’d eventually promised to see him this weekend, feigning being busy during the week. Slow it down. Make it more casual. She did have other clients to clean for and jobs to apply for, but mostly she’d been spending her evenings in sweatpants munching on chips while watching YouTube videos. The most activity her brain had had after her grueling five-a-day-minimum jobs she sent resumes out for was getting into a debate with some stupid user about whether or not The Walking Dead TV fans could even call themselves fans without reading the comics. The asshole had even questioned whether or not she knew what a comic was.

  Archer’s Wheels comic sat tantalizingly staring at her every time she was in her room from the top of a pile of boxes next to her desk. She’d read it twice more that week, tracing her fingers over the wheelchair-using Todd she imagined to be Archer’s stand-in. She’d forgotten to get it signed. At a signing.

  “Meh meh.” One of Mrs. Tanaka’s cats—Tigger—rubbed up against Brielle’s thigh as he made cute little chirping noises. She took off her rubber glove and pet the top of his head with one finger. For some reason, this cat really liked her this year.

  “No, Tigger, it’s not lunch yet.” Mrs. Tanaka swooped in to her bathroom to scoop her cat up. She kissed his cheek and Brielle laughed at the cat’s panicked expression. “And Miss Brielle isn’t the one who gives you food.”

  She smiled up at her client—a woman she found far less irritating this summer, along with her cats—as she went back to scrubbing the tiles. She didn’t think the tiles needed it three times a week, but who was she to argue with a client?

  “So,” said Mrs. Tanaka, still holding the cat, “your mother tells me you intend to quit being my house cleaner.”

  The brush in Brielle’s hand stopped mid-scrub as she stared back up at the slightly elderly woman. “That’s not true,” she said.

  “She said you’re looking for a ‘better’ job.”

  “Oh,” said Brielle, moving her hand in a circular motion again. “That’s true, but there’s nothing promising yet.”

  Tigger squeaked and started pushing against Mrs. Tanaka’s shoulder, so she bent over to let him scurry off behind her. “What kind of work are you looking for?”

  She crossed her arms and stared down at Brielle, strangely interested in Brielle’s life instead of her own for once. “I’m not sure,” admitted Brielle, cringing. “I studied history and philosophy, so I thought maybe a museum. Or research. Or something.”

  “You don’t sound like you have much of a plan.”

  Dipping the brush in a bucket of water, Brielle shrugged. “I never knew what I wanted to be. I just knew what I liked studying. I figured the rest would fall into place later.”

  Snorting, Mrs. Tanaka fluffed at her hair in the bathroom mirror. “To be young and hopeful,” she said. “And what about a boyfriend or fiancé, hmm? How does he play into this?”

  “I don’t have one.” The words came out so quickly, she almost regretted it. No, she just had a guy she couldn’t stop thinking about, a guy she practically had to force herself to wait and see. Part of her wasn’t sure why she’d feigned being busy until the weekend, but she was afraid of giving him too much hope. Only one more day. Archer had said he’d blocked off the entire day for her, had asked her to a movie and said Pauline was giving him a ride so he could meet her there. Maybe he thought it too awkward for them both to ride with her like school kids.

  Her blurting didn’t go unnoticed. “You sound defensive,” said Mrs. Tanaka. “Recent breakup?”

  “Yes,” said Brielle, knowing she wasn’t lying since she had just been dating Daniel a few months ago. The thought made her want to hurl just a little. “But that was definitely for the best. Believe me, I’m not having second thoughts there.”

  “You should get back into the dating scene.” Mrs. Tanaka grabbed her hair brush off the sink—Brielle hoped she wouldn’t expect her to wipe the stray hairs away again. “A rich husband could solve all your problems.”

  Brielle had to laugh at that. Somehow, she couldn’t picture herself wining and dining the days away, arm-in-arm with a rich guy in a suit who would trade her in for a newer model in a decade or two. Archer’s rich, apparently. Sort of. Or his parents are. She wasn’t sure why she’d thought about that. Even if she married him, she wouldn’t be hobnobbing about town arm-in-arm. Where did rich people hobnob in a small town anyway? The country club? That tiny downtown art gallery? But that was all beside the point. She was in no position to consider marriage.

  “I’m not opposed to dating again,” said Brielle. “I’m sort of seeing someone,” she added before Mrs. Tanaka could offer up some nephew or cousin’s son. “But I don’t want to get settled in a relationship when I don’t even know where I’m going to be in a few months.”

  “Be here,” said Mrs. Tanaka, looking over her shoulder, where several drawn-out meows were echoing throughout the hallway. She patted Brielle. “You’re a good cleaner.”

  “Thanks,” said Brielle, spraying some more cleaner around the base of the toilet.

  For some reason, being told she was good at this job instead of just being talked her ear off about how she needed to do better made her feel even worse about the prospect of being stuck with it.

  The breeze was that deceptively tepid kind that made you feel like if you closed your eyes, you just might be on a tropical island instead of the Midwest (before the occasional blast of cold air snapped you out of it), so Brielle waited for Archer outside of the cinema. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen a movie in the afternoon instead of the evening—or the last time she’d seen a movie in a theater, period.

  Her eyelids were still closed when she jumped at the sound of a van door opening and a familiar voice. “Did we keep you waiting so long you fell asleep?” asked Pauline. “You’ll have to excuse him. My grandpa drives faster.” She stepped as
ide and gestured behind her through the open passenger door toward the driver seat. Archer sat there in his wheelchair in front of the steering wheel.

  Brielle covered her mouth in surprise. “You can drive!” It sounded stupid when she said it.

  She could have sworn she saw his cheeks color. “Driving’s one thing. Parking is another.”

  “Oh, you can park just fine. It’ll just take some more getting used to.” Pauline turned around to grab her purse from the van floor. “In fact, I’m going to let you handle this one solo.”

  “I’m not supposed to drive without supervision yet,” said Archer, the panic clearly coloring his face. He winced as his gaze brushed past Brielle’s. “Learner’s permit.”

  “Dear me, I think you already technically put the car in park just now.” Whipping a pair of sunglasses out of her purse, Pauline slid them over her nose and shut the van door. “Guess I’ll be on my way.” She slid her glasses down to wink as she passed Brielle. “Seriously, though, come get me if he crashes into anything. I’m going shopping while you’re at the movies.”

  Archer visibly took a deep breath and then shifted gears on the wheel, pressing some buttons that didn’t exist on a typical car to get the car moving. His eyes widened as the car pulled away from the corner a little too fast, but he pushed some buttons again and seemed to get a handle on it. Brielle lost sight of him as his van found an open handicapped spot a few rows over from where she stood. She walked down the sidewalk and watched as his door opened and a ramp extended to get his chair down. It was actually pretty cool. She didn’t know cars could be made that accessible for disabled drivers.

  He started heading toward her, then turned in the completely opposite direction. Brielle stood puzzled for a minute and then felt dumb when she realized there was only one ramp up to the sidewalk and she was standing nowhere near it. She walked toward him.

  He paused in front of the theater door, rifling through his pocket to pull out his wallet. Brielle realized the door wasn’t one of those automatic ones, so she pulled it open for him.

  “Thanks,” he said, pulling out his credit card and going through.

  “Oh, I’ll get it,” said Brielle. “You made the lunch we had the other day.”

  “Already bought,” said Archer, heading for one of the automatic ticket kiosks. Brielle clutched her handbag as she stood behind him, wondering if this was okay. He may have more money than her—and her school loan was about to come due before she knew it—but him treating her more than once made this feel more real.

  Like the start of an actual, real relationship.

  The thought filled her with more panic than the thought of finally getting a positive response from one of her job applications.

  She took a deep breath. This wasn’t Daniel. This wasn’t a mistake. But it wasn’t in her plans, and that’s why it felt like it was.

  “That’s so cool that you’re driving,” she said, for want of something else to focus on. She needed her heart to stop beating quite so quickly every time she looked down at him.

  “I just started this week,” said Archer, and he surprised her by wheeling ahead of her and getting the next door. He pulled it open with such finesse, she felt stupid for scrambling to get the door for him before. “Long overdue, I know.”

  “Thanks,” she said, referring to the door. “No, I understand. I was scared enough learning to drive as a teen. I couldn’t imagine learning how to handle all those buttons and levers.”

  He laughed as he handed the tickets over to the greeter. “Now I feel like I’m piloting a spaceship or something.” He pointed to the concession stand. “Want anything?”

  “No thanks. A bit overpriced.” And I don’t think I should encourage you to offer to pay again. “But I’ll get you something if you want it. To pay back for the ticket.”

  “Don’t worry about it. So,” he said, swallowing, “you’ve had a busy week?”

  “Yeah.” Brielle tucked her hair behind her ear as she walked into the theater. “Cleaning. Applying for jobs. Applying for more jobs.”

  “You’re really determined to leave this place, aren’t you?” He winced as he headed toward their seats—or more accurately, her seat next to an empty spot in the front row. “Sorry, he said, as she sat down. “I’m not saying I blame you.”

  There was a bar practically at her chin level in front of her, and she shifted uncomfortably, gripping both armrests and trying to slouch slightly so her neck didn’t strain as much looking up at the screen. She’d never sat so close before. “I’m not trying to leave,” she said, shrugging. “Although I guess I figured I would. But if I found a good job here that could help me afford to live on my own…” She left the sentence unfinished. “But I don’t think this place is ripe with jobs for history and philosophy majors.”

  “We have a few museums downtown,” said Archer, examining his hands. He’d pulled his chair close. Really close. Like practically slamming into her armrest.

  “I guess I could get some experience there and leave later,” said Brielle, thinking it over. “But I haven’t seen a single job posting for any of them.” She watched Archer for a minute and wondered what he was thinking. “What about you—have you ever thought about leaving the area?”

  “I can do my job anywhere.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and checked the screen before switching it off, reminding Brielle to do the same. She saw a message from Pembroke waiting for her and felt a jolt in her stomach. To be fair, she’d been ignoring her for far too long after that comic shop fiasco. But she didn’t feel like dealing with it all just then.

  “Then why not go elsewhere?” She switched off her phone. Then she felt obtuse again—he had concerns she couldn’t even dream of, probably needed to be closer to his family than she did. His family certainly cared about him staying closer than hers did. She didn’t even have grandparents or aunts or uncles to speak of, not if you didn’t count her dad’s family, which she didn’t. It was just her, her mom, and Nora, and they seemed to be functioning (or disfunctioning) as their own little two-person unit, letting her stop back in as a guest, eager to get her back out the door.

  “Why not?” he pondered, and he genuinely seemed curious. “I couldn’t tell you, really. Just that… I’m too scared to. I’m not sure my parents would support it. Well, maybe my dad would…”

  “Do you even want to go somewhere else?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a reason to. It seemed too much work to bother.”

  Brielle wasn’t sure if he really wanted to and his situation was holding him back or if he actually didn’t care. She opened her mouth to say something more, but the theater darkened and the commercials before the previews before the movie began. She slid back into her seat and did her best to get comfortable.

  But it was hard to focus when, a few minutes into the movie, Archer slid his hand over hers.

  “I could see this on your wall,” said Brielle, pulling a canvas print of an old cover of The Uncanny X-Men out from behind a display of city scenes, flowers, and inspirational sayings. “Although it’s too bad there’s none of your art in here.”

  Shimmying his wheelchair backward into the cramped aisle to try to get a closer look, Archer laughed. “The Mystified is popular, but not ‘generic wall art’ popular. I don’t think anyone outside of comic circles really knows it. And I haven’t been doing the art long enough to be the one whose work would be a print.”

  “I was thinking more of Wheels.” The fake-faded design on the canvas appealed to her. She wasn’t even sure where she ranked the X-Men in terms of favorite superheroes, but they looked more colorful here than they did in the movies.

  “That would never happen.” His chuckle and that smile—the slight, sensuous curve of his lips—made her knees buckle. This was why she’d waited to see him again. This was why this was all a bad idea. Because part of her really, really wanted this to make sense.

  “Oo, I bet you could get some canvas of your art prin
ted from a place online.” She started putting the X-Men canvas back, but he grabbed it out of her hands. She smiled and shifted other canvases around until she found a faded Captain America printing. “Like Cap?” she asked, holding it up.

  “Give or take. Not really until the movies.” He studied the X-Men canvas a moment and settled it on his lap. “You know, when you said I should add some comic book décor to my condo, I didn’t actually expect us to go looking at a general discount store.” He nodded toward the fluffy, bright pink pillows stuffing a shelf to capacity a few feet away. “I didn’t think we’d find anything crammed among general décor like that.”

  “That’s probably because you haven’t ever shopped at this type of place before.”

  His resigned nod told her she was on the right track. She put the Captain America one aside and kept sorting through until she found one of Dick Tracy. Flipping it around, she said, “How about this one? Stylish—but in a pop kind of way.”

  “Nobody still reads Dick Tracy in the twenty-first century,” he said, laughing. His head tilted. “But I do kind of like it.”

  She placed it atop the canvas already in his lap. “Now for something to liven up those plain white dishes in your kitchen.” She squeezed past an overly large display to get over to the mugs and dinnerware. It wasn’t until she’d spotted and grabbed the sort-of matching Wonder Woman and Batman mugs that she realized Archer was nowhere to be found.

  A display of tote bags hanging at the end of the aisle wobbled, almost toppling over, but two hands shot forward to steady it. “Sorry,” said Archer, wincing. “Not a lot of space to move around in here.”

  Brielle felt stupid for not considering that. For not realizing all of the simple things she took for granted.

  “You want me to buy those cups?” he said, not even seeming that bothered by the claustrophobic displays.

  “Oh? Yeah.” She examined the cups in her hands, her joy at picking out these cute touches of flavor for his condo slightly diminished when she started thinking about how hard things must be for him. Then she felt guilty for even thinking about him differently.