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

by Joy Penny

  She really wasn’t sure how she was supposed to think.

  “Get them both,” he said, smiling and patting the canvas wall art on his lap. She put the mugs down just as his phone buzzed.

  “Damn,” he said, trying to shift the pile on his lap to reach his pocket.

  “Oh, I can…” She stopped herself and pointed toward his pocket. “Should I get that for you?”

  Something like delight danced across his face. “Please.”

  She knew why a second later when her fingers brushed over his thigh to pull it out. She felt her face—her whole body—growing hot.

  He grinned as he shifted the pile back into place and took it from her. His smirk quickly turned into a frown as he clicked the screen.

  “What is it?” asked Brielle, wondering if it was his mom again and feeling a bit turned off by the thought. What was it about her that made her determined to think of all the bad possibilities of this relationship? Why was it when she told herself it didn’t matter because she just wanted to keep it casual, she knew, deep down, that was a lie? She had to turn around and stare at a display of plates because she couldn’t even look at him without wanting to bend over and kiss him.

  “Work.” He started texting a reply, but he looked up a moment, the corner of his lips curling up. “I need to redo a splash page. The writer changed his mind after my deadline.” He raised his eyebrows as he set the phone down. “As the man is wont to do. Hope you don’t mind if we cut the shopping short.” He patted the pile on his lap. “Although I still hope you’ll come back to the condo with me. To help decorate. And for coffee.”

  “There are all of four things there to decorate with.”

  “Ah, but I need your help hanging these,” he said. “Pauline is going to make herself scarce afterward. If she won’t stop talking, I’ll tell her I have work.” He picked up the phone and started typing again, maybe to text Pauline to meet him back by the car. They’d walked—or walked and wheeled—over to the store together after the movie.

  She laughed as she picked at a fraying piece of leather tied around one of her zippers on her purse. “I don’t know what a splash page is, but it sounds important.”

  “It sort of is,” he said, leading the way toward the cashiers. “It’s a full-page single illustration, and this time it’s even the first page of an issue.”

  “What was wrong with it?”

  “I don’t know if anything was wrong with it,” said Archer, rolling his eyes. “Topher just had a different idea for it.”

  There wasn’t much of a line, so Brielle stepped past the cashiers to wait for him to finish paying. Remembering her own message she’d ignored, she dug her phone out of her purse.

  There was a new message on top of Pembroke’s from Gavin.

  She read Pembroke’s first: I just wanted to say I’m really sorry, and I really appreciate what you and your boyfriend or crush or whatever he is and his mom did for me that night. Brielle winced at the word “boyfriend.” I was an idiot for ever falling for Daniel’s lines. He and his ex-fiancée broke up after graduation and he saw me sitting alone and I just needed something then to hold on to. I needed something to look forward to. I knew things ended badly between you, but I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That it might be different. That it might just be a little fun.

  Brielle felt bad. Wasn’t that what she kept telling herself she was doing with Archer? Just having a bit of fun? Not entering into anything serious?

  I still don’t have a job, Pembroke’s message continued. I’ve been applying for practically anything. I didn’t want to become a nurse, but I didn’t want to wind up working retail or something. But now I’m getting desperate and am strangely finding the retail jobs don’t want me, either. That having a degree makes me “overqualified.”

  This sounds like I’m complaining, she admitted. And I guess I am. I didn’t want to bother you—any of you—but I figured I owed you at least an apology.

  Brielle guessed Pembroke didn’t have a job lined up, but neither did she, not really, so it hadn’t seemed entirely odd. But she didn’t realize she’d resorted to looking for grunt work—and that she wasn’t having luck with that, either. Now that she thought about it, Brielle didn’t even really care about the Daniel thing anymore. He and Pembroke hadn’t even been dating a full week. It was just like Daniel to get handsy and possessive after such a short amount of time. She’d email Pembroke back later.

  Lilac wants to come home, read Gavin’s message. I’ve been trying to get her to stop and think things through, to consider the things she likes about being there, but I was right. She was nearly assaulted. And I can’t get her to report her boss.

  “Ready?” Archer rolled up in front of her, a gigantic bag on his lap. “You okay?” he asked after a minute of Brielle just staring at the screen.

  “Yeah.” She swallowed and tried to smile. “I’ll walk you back to the parking lot, then meet you there.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “What are you doing?” Archer asked. Brielle moved a rag up and down his wall above the cabinet where he stored his books. There was no avoiding noticing the way her jeans flattered her from behind, especially when she stood on her toes.

  “It says to clean the wall first.” She rolled back onto her heels and stared down at the cloth, folding it before standing back up again. “And to dry it.”

  “You are the only person who actually follows instructions like that when it comes to Command strips.”

  “I am a cleaning expert.” Tossing her hair back over her shoulder, she placed the cloth on the edge of his kitchen table. It was covered in dirt, even though his walls hadn’t even looked that grimy. She caught him looking at the cloth. “Okay, so I didn’t exactly scrub your walls when I was your house cleaner.”

  He laughed. “Nor would I have expected you to.”

  She peeled both sides of the strip and fixed it to the hook, squishing it hard in her palms with a comical look on her face like it took quite a bit of effort.

  “I can do that much,” he said, grabbing the package to get the second hook ready.

  She watched him. “You’ve got to press really hard,” she said. “Really hard. To make sure it sticks to the wall when the art is hanging on it.”

  He flexed one of his arms. “I can handle it.”

  Biting her bottom lip, Brielle danced her fingertips across his bicep. “How do you get arms this ripped?”

  “Not easily, considering my muscles aren’t exactly the strongest throughout my body.” He dropped the hook on the table and wrapped an arm around her waist, causing her to cry out—happily, he thought, or hoped, at least—as he spun her to sit on his lap. “But I have to get physical therapy in every day anyway.” He lifted his chin to nudge his nose into her shoulder. Her hair smelled of flowers.

  Brielle shifted on his lap and turned her head slightly to look at him. “Is Pauline your trainer then?”

  “Pauline and a basketball,” he said, inhaling her, wrapping his arms around her torso completely.

  “What do you do when it’s too cold to play?”

  “We play indoors. At the YMCA.” He pulled back. “Although I don’t get there as often as I’d like, especially when the weather is bad.”

  Brielle went quiet. “I never even thought about that. Using a wheelchair in the snow.”

  He laughed. “I take ‘snowed in’ more literally than some might. But I don’t know a lot of people who relish going out there before the snow plows have even gone through if they don’t have to.”

  She fidgeted, turning around somewhat, and Archer loosened his grip. “Yeah, but even after it stops snowing and the main roads are clean… I mean, I’ve slipped on store sidewalks not very well salted.”

  “Believe me, you’re not telling me anything new.” He watched as her face fell and he scrambled to make the situation lighter. “Are you saying I should move to Florida?”

  That was a mistake. She looked downright grim now.

&nb
sp; “What is it?” he asked. “I wasn’t serious…”

  She shook her head. “No, it wasn’t you. I just… have a lot on my mind.”

  “Like what?”

  She didn’t say anything. Instead, she slipped off his lap and went back to standing on her toes, affixing the hook he hadn’t realized she’d still had in her hand the entire time she’d sat on his lap.

  “You can talk to me, Elle.”

  She visibly winced and Archer remembered how she’d asked him not to call her that because her ex had. “Brielle,” he said, tripping over the name in his rush to correct his mistake.

  “I barely know you.” She looked irritated as she hung the Dick Tracy canvas on the hook. Archer couldn’t even focus on the way her back arched as she tried to line it up just right because her face had soured.

  It was like she’d slapped him. “On the contrary, I think you know me better than anyone ever has before.”

  She twirled around, crossing her arms tightly across her chest. “Can you stop doing that?”

  “What?”

  She gestured toward him vaguely. “That. All that. Speaking like someone out of an English lit essay—”

  “I didn’t realize my vocabulary was a problem.”

  “—acting like last weekend was a bigger deal than it was.” The way her eyes widened as she stared down at him, he couldn’t help but feel like she’d pulled back the veil on something he’d known all along. That she didn’t feel the way he felt about her, that he’d messed up every step of the way thus far, that he seemed like a love-stricken, idiotic fool.

  He didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. If that was how she felt, he couldn’t change her mind. He’d tried to give her some space, even though being apart from her for a week had killed him, had almost made him call up Scrubbing Cherubs to request her and pay for her services out of his own pocket. But part of him had known. She couldn’t have been that busy, especially since a slot in her afternoons had suddenly opened up unexpectedly.

  “Look, I’m sorry.” She threw her hands in the air before leaning back against the wall space beside the cabinet, her head brushing against the canvas she’d hung up. “I shouldn’t have pushed you—”

  “You didn’t push me.”

  “I should have figured out you were a virgin because you said you’d never been kissed before. I should have backed off.”

  Archer felt acid run over his tongue. “I wasn’t saving myself, Brielle.” He gestured to his lap. “I had additional concerns most people don’t when it comes to making that decision. Was I supposed to remain a virgin forever?”

  “No. No, that’s not even what I mean.” She tousled her hair, and he would have found it alluring if they weren’t arguing. “It just shouldn’t have been with me.”

  “Because you didn’t want to have to deal with me afterward? Because you couldn’t picture yourself dealing with someone in a wheelchair forever—because you could see the burden that lay before you after you’d just taken one step through that doorway?”

  “You’re putting words in my mouth.” Her eyes narrowed. “This isn’t about you being in a wheelchair. Or about you at all.”

  “Don’t give me the old, ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing.” He gripped his wheel rims tightly, although he didn’t even know where he planned to go.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Because you’ve heard that so many times?”

  “How would you even know? You never ask me about anything.”

  “You’re proving my point. We barely know each other.”

  He slammed his fist against his armrest. “I want to know you. I want to support you through whatever’s bothering you. But you act like I’m this pest, like you just wanted to jump me once and then walk out of my life entirely.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?” She gestured around her.

  “So why are you?”

  “I don’t know. I… I might not even be here in a few months. In a few weeks. We just met at a really bad ti—” She bent down to pick up a piece of paper that had fallen beneath one of the kitchen chairs. “Your mom forgot my information? Did she put it into her phone or…?”

  “No,” said Archer, swallowing. “She forgot all about it. We fought that night—”

  “Over what? Over me?”

  I thought she didn’t want to know anything about me. “Over a lot of things.”

  She held the paper up between her middle and index finger. “But I was one of them. She has no intention of getting in touch with the museum people for me.”

  “No, I suppose not.”

  “And you knew? Last Sunday you knew even, and you didn’t think to mention that to me?”

  “I didn’t really think it bore mentioning. It’s not like she guaranteed you a position. I hope you weren’t counting on that.”

  “No, I wasn’t counting on anything. Just hoping. And, after all the rejections and silences and frustration I’ve dealt with during this job hunt, it would have been nice if you’d have torn down that hope as soon as possible so I didn’t spend all this week thinking just maybe…”

  “Really? You’re blaming me for my mother making a stupid, casual offer and then not telling you not to rely on it? If it’s that important to you, I can press my dad—”

  “That’s not the point!”

  “Then what is the point? Brielle, I’m sorry I keep doing everything wrong—”

  “I never said that.”

  “Then I’m sorry. Okay? I’m just sorry.” He ground his teeth. “I’m sorry for caring too much about you, for coming on too strong or whatever it is you think of me.” His brows lifted. “I’ve never had the luxury of knowing how to act after a girl jumps into bed with you on a whim. Stupid me, I always thought that was the sign of intimacy, but no, I guess it’s all the stuff one does when clothed that’s too much for you right now—”

  She pushed past him, standing on her toes to squeeze between his chair and the kitchen table.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Home,” she said, snatching up her purse.

  The full realization of what he’d said hit him. Sleeping with him on a whim? That seemed to imply such a thing was a habit with her. Not that there was anything wrong with girls who did that in general, but in the heat of the moment, he’d known what he was saying—how he was saying it—was hurtful and he’d kind of meant it to be. Because her recoiling just now had hurt him. He ran a hand over his face, then followed her down the hall. “I’m sorry, Brielle.”

  “You said that already.” She lifted a foot up and unceremoniously slapped a shoe against it.

  “No, I mean, I’m sorry for what I said just now.”

  “Noted.” She squeezed her foot into the other shoe.

  “I don’t want this to be the end,” he said, more quietly. “I’m not saying you have to marry me, be trapped here, or whatever, but I just feel… I’d hate to have us end like this.”

  “There is no ‘us.’” Her lips trembled. “There’s nothing to end.”

  “If you really feel that way—”

  “I do,” she said, turning on her heel.

  Archer watched her go, feeling as if she’d sucked out all the air in his home along with her.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Nora was out of school. And surprisingly, more than a few of her friends had summer jobs—or, as Nora so sullenly remarked, summer camps—to go to, so she had no one to really hang out with. And she kind of owed their mom a quiet summer of working for Scrubbing Cherubs after the stunt she’d pulled several weeks before.

  “If I have to be exposed to a lot of chemicals, my polish is going to wear off.” Nora picked at a chip on one of her pinky fingers as she approached Mrs. Tanaka’s door with her sister. She’d agreed to carry a bucket over her arm full of clean sponges and brushes, but she’d balked when Brielle had told her Mrs. Tanaka bought her own cleaning sprays and scrubs and they wouldn’t need the soap Brielle kept in her trunk for clients who didn’t care so much about what prod
ucts were used to clean their homes.

  Brielle nodded at the yellow elbow-length gloves peeking out from the top of the bucket. “That’s what the rubber gloves are for.”

  Running her fingers over the rubber, Nora’s nose wrinkled. “They feel gross.”

  “Not as gross as pulling clogs out of sinks and bathtubs will be without it.”

  Nora made a gagging sound and reached into her pocket to pull out her phone.

  Brielle put a hand on her arm. “No phones while on a job.”

  Nora rolled her eyes and shoved it back into her pocket. “Well, we’re not technically on the job yet.”

  Before she could even knock, Mrs. Tanaka opened the door, a smile plastered on her face. “Welcome, ladies! Your mother told me she would be sending the new girl to do training. You must be very excited.”

  “Yes. Ecstatic,” muttered Nora. “It’s not like I’ve ever cleaned before.” Her gaze roved over the open doorway. “Kitties!” she squealed.

  Before she could run out to pet them—not a good idea, since the cats were already twisted sideways with arched backs in an effort to seem scary instead of cute (they failed)—Brielle whacked an arm in front of her chest. “What do we say?”

  “Oh my god,” said Nora, crossing her arms tightly and looking away.

  “No…” said Brielle. She stared at Nora until the girl finally opened her mouth.

  “Scrubbing Cherubs, here to shoot your home with the arrow of cleaning power!” She put her fingers over her brow in a V-shape like a magical heroine.

  Mrs. Tanaka laughed and clapped. “Very good. Now come on in before one of these two rascals slips out.”

  Brielle considered what a good client Mrs. Tanaka made for one of Nora’s training sessions. (True, she had worked last summer, but barely, considering all of her social commitments and summer school, and not particularly well. Their mom had insisted she start from scratch this time, working as a trainee first)