Spellbound

Original Edition: Eleven

After my late-night conversation with Hunter and Caden, I decided I'd shove the book in the nightstand for a while and "forget" about it. I did deserve to have a bit of fun, and Archer was the first guy I'd met in months that showed any interest. I'd be dammed if Hunter was the only Fox having a good time.

I'd barely been able to concentrate during the workday, constantly spacing out and daydreaming about what tonight would be like. The last thing I'd done before getting ready was straighten up the suite, making sure it was presentable. I figured Archer had been inside before if he and his brother were as close with Hazel as he claimed. I didn't want to tarnish that memory with a messy kitchen.

Standing in front of the closet, I debated what to wear. It would be my first date like this—staying in and cooking instead of going out to a restaurant or the club. Eastern Connecticut State University wasn't exactly full of college boys who were interested in a lowkey night at home. And that was the last time I could recall going on a real date.

I had only brought a fraction of the clothing I owned with me, but when I remembered the burnt orange fit-and-flare dress that accentuated my legs and waistline, I snatched it from the hanger. Slipping into it, I cinched the satin ribbon around my waist and rested my hands on my hips, admiring the two parts of my body I didn't mind drawing attention to. My blonde hair fell in natural waves around my shoulders, and while I had already started losing my summer tan, a smattering of freckles remained on my nose and cheeks. I looked pretty good for working with limited resources.

In the bathroom, I reached for my makeup bag and closed my eyes when I realized it wasn't there. How in the hell could I have forgotten to grab my makeup? Pressing my palm to my forehead, I exhaled sharply before examining my bare face and all its flaws—the scar under my chin from the time Hunter spun me around and I landed face-first in the coffee table, and the light red marks along my hairline from teenage acne.

A knock interrupted my harsh criticism of my "natural beauty," and I groaned, crossing the room and sliding the chain from the door before swinging it open.

Archer was a sight to behold, his hair brushed back from his face and a powder-blue button-up rolled to his elbows. He held a bouquet of vibrant tropical flowers in one hand and a bag from a nearby grocer in the other. His gaze traveled my body from my feet to the top of my head and he smiled. "Good evening, Miss Fox. You look beautiful tonight," he said, handing me the flowers.

A warm flush crept from my chest to my neck, all the way to my forehead. "Thank you. I'd say this is a vast improvement from my snowman pajama shorts." I held my arms out and did a spin. When my back was to him, I mouthed the words, oh my God. He was absolutely sexy and ready to spend a night with me. "You look very handsome," I said, facing him again.

He lifted a brow and cocked his head to the side. "Are you going to invite me in, or should I figure out a way to cook the chicken Florentine out here?"

For fuck's sake. I did a mental head slap and stepped to the side. "Sorry, I've never done something like this before. I mean, I've been on dates, but the whole inviting a guy over. Not that a guy hasn't ever come over, it's just that..."

"You've never had a man make you dinner before."

"Yeah," I confessed, following him into the kitchen.

Archer motioned for me to take a seat on the chrome and vinyl stool Hazel had in the corner, and he began to unload the food. I was impressed that everything he pulled out of the paper bag was fresh. Even the chicken was wrapped in butcher paper. He moved around the kitchen, pulling out pots and pans, like he had spent many hours in this very space.

"Did you cook a lot for Hazel?"

He finished washing his hands and used the dish towel hanging from the oven to dry them. "She insisted that we have a family dinner every Sunday night, and no meal could be the same unless we were celebrating a holiday. She said it made every meal with her special, and it did."

My eyes filled with tears at the thought of Hazel having a routine with Archer and Soren, and my guilt flared. I should have been the one sitting across from her during family dinners. Instead, she spent her Sundays with two beings that according to them were not even human.

"That's really sweet. I—" My voice cracked, and I cleared my throat before continuing. "Thank you for being here with her. That means a lot to me. She was the only one who really understood me, but I spent too much time trying to please my unpleasable parents. I feel terrible that I wasn't here more often."

Archer looked up from the skillet where he was seasoning the chicken. "You don't have to thank me, and you don't need to feel guilty. Your father is Christopher, correct?" I nodded and he continued, "She told us about him and the extravagant life he leads. She said it was surprising that he raised a daughter as well-rounded as you. I know she was excited to see you step out from under the expectations he and your mother had for you and start living your own life. Never feel bad for doing the things that made you happy; I promise you that Hazel was doing the same until the end."

His words stunned me into silence, and I was not only proud that Hazel felt that way about me, but the fact that Archer seemed to agree with her after knowing me for a couple of days made me feel warm all over. "Thank you for saying that." I chewed the inside of my cheek and jumped off the stool, suddenly desperate to lighten the conversation. "Can I help you do anything?"

"Can you slice that loaf of French bread in half?"

I bit my bottom lip as I surveyed the knife block, unsure of which utensil to choose, but I settled for the big one with a smooth-edged blade. After removing the bread from the packaging, I began sawing at the soft loaf.

Archer glanced over at me, and his laughter filled the kitchen. "Stop, stop," he said, taking a knife with a serrated edge from the top of the block. He moved behind me and took my hands in his. "If you keep hacking away at it like that, we are going to be left with nothing but breadcrumbs." He exchanged my knife for his and placed one of my hands on the top of the loaf as he guided the other in smooth strokes down the middle of the bread.

My eyes fluttered shut, and I inhaled his woodsy scent laced with citric undertones. The heat from his chest pressed against my back was calming, and as I watched his hands, my skin tingled with the desire to feel them on me. How in the hell did slicing bread turn me on?

"Nice and gentle always does it," he said, against my ear.

I felt an electric jolt shoot straight to my core, and I inhaled sharply. I stared at the counter, not daring to move and whispered, "Is that so?"

"Well, there is always a time and place for everything. I'd be happy to demonstrate after dinner."

I would be perfectly fine with attending a demonstration now and just forget eating. But he worked hard on this meal, and I owed it to him to eat it. I plucked a piece of bread off the counter and turned around to face him, popping it in my mouth. "In that case, let's eat."