“Well?” I spread my arms to the side, glancing down. The dress was rather demure on the hanger. Perhaps demure now, too, but I rather like the way it’s form fitting enough to look feminine but not so tight as to remove all mystery.

“Nice socks,” he said, jerking his chin toward the fuzzy purple socks I’d pulled on for warmth.

I drop my arms, a little deflated, though I don’t know what I was expecting since he’s already declared the dress an underwhelming fine.

“Thanks for your help,” I say, meaning it. “I promise I won’t make a habit of it.”

“I mean, anytime you want to trot over here in black lace panties . . .” His smile is quick, just a flash of teeth.

“Yes, right. Because you seem very overcome by my feminine wiles,” I say just a bit waspishly as I march back toward his front door, pulling my jacket back on as I move.

Archer follows me out to the foyer, though when I open the front door, he places his palm on it to close it again.

I glance up in question, and his blue eyes are guarded as he briefly clenches his jaw. “Hey. Randy. You look . . . nice. Okay? You look good.”

The guarded gaze drops for a split second, revealing what I could have sworn is a flash of heat before it disappears.