Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69877 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“How can my thoughts annoy you?”
“Everything about you manages to,” he grumbles, draining his wineglass.
He puts that into the dishwasher as well, then starts to move to the front door. I reach out and grab his wrist. “Archer. Please?”
Archer’s blue eyes hold mine for a moment, then roll in a dramatic, impatient fashion.
Wordlessly he slips his wrist out of my grasp, but instead of ignoring my request, he grabs a pen and a notebook off the table. He scribbles something, then drops both pen and notebook in front of me.
I look down. In addition to the year of his birth, he’s written April 10, 4:11 p.m., Denver.
“You know your exact birth time?” I say, surprised. He doesn’t seem the type. “Off the top of your head?”
Archer shrugs. “One of my mom’s favorite stories was how she wished she’d pushed just a little harder so that I’d have been born at four ten on four ten.”
“Ah. Well, thank you. Seriously.”
He shrugs and heads toward the door. “No big deal.”
“Any chance I can get your mysterious lady friend’s chart, too?” Or your ex-fiancée’s, while I’m at it…
“Don’t push it, Randy,” he calls back.
I smile.
* * *
Later, watering can in hand and layered up against the cool autumn evening, I climb onto the roof, surprised but pleased to find Archer in his usual spot despite the cloudy weather and crescent moon.
“Okay, I know I said I wouldn’t talk about it, but I lied,” I say as I give the Buzzes their nightly watering. “Brace yourself for this, but I analyzed our synastry charts, and we are not a match made in heaven. Total disaster on nearly every aspect, in fact.”
He makes a hmm noise that is either distraction or complete disinterest. Probably a bit of both.
I look over. “Is that devastation I hear in your voice?”
His teeth flash quickly in the darkness, a smile that I’m guessing was unintentional. “Just bummed I’ll have to return the ring I’ve been carrying around in my pocket since the day we met.”
I let out a dramatic sigh. “And I had to burn all the notebooks covered in Dr. Miranda Reed Archer doodles.”
“Covered in hearts, I hope.”
“Obviously.” I smile.
I set the watering can down and pull off my top sweater, because apparently I’ve added one too many layers, and it’s not winter yet. The thought makes me realize that in a month, maybe sooner, it might very well be too cold for these rooftop chats. I try not to think about that.
“In all honesty,” I say, readjusting my glasses, which were knocked askew. “The reading of our charts was a point in favor of synastry.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, it’s pretty obvious that we’re not meant to be romantically entangled, and the stars confirm this. Point, astrology.”
“How is that pretty obvious?” he asks, looking over and sounding genuinely curious.
“Well, for starters, you have a girlfriend. Sorry,” I say quickly, because he gives me the same glare he always does whenever I slip and use that word. “You have a person you see when you’re in the same city, which is not very often. Am I getting close?”
“You can stop fishing for details, Randy. It’ll be a futile endeavor.” He straightens and stretches, looking at his easel critically before turning to face me. He tucks the charcoal behind his ear. “So, you ready for the high-stakes move now?”
“Hmm?”
“You said my chart was low-risk practice for when it counts. You going to ask Christian for his info now?”
“Well, actually…” I look down at my feet, feeling strangely hesitant about next steps.
“I’ll probably regret this, but… spit it out, Randy.” He says this with more patience than usual, as though understanding my discomfort.
“Kylee just texted me a little bit ago. With her dad’s birth information.”
“You asked his daughter?” He sounds horrified.
“No! No,” I clarify. “She’s doing this all on her own. She wants to find her dad a girlfriend.”
“Ah. She’s playing matchmaker.”
“Well, she didn’t say she wanted me to be the girlfriend.”
“How am I so much smarter than you about this?” he says, coming toward me, dipping his head slightly and rubbing his forehead. “Of course she wants you to be the girlfriend.”
When he glances back up, I smile, because he has a little smudge of charcoal on his forehead.
“What’s the problem here? Isn’t everything marching along perfectly according to your plan? To your horoscope?”
“It’s just…” I cross my arms, feeling vulnerable. “I feel like there could be something there. With Christian. But it’s also important to me to see through this journey I’ve started. Trusting that the stars and the universe have a plan for me. Letting something besides my brain guide me.”
“Are those two things incompatible?”
I swallow and meet his eyes. “They could be. Right now, it’s an unknown. Schrödinger’s cat. So, it’s a paradox, where—”
“Yes, Randy. I know Schrödinger’s cat. Until observed, a cat in a box can be both alive and dead.”