Page 17 of One Weekend in Quebec City

Eager to get ready and not wanting to be late, I wash quickly, step out of the shower, and wrap myself in a plush towel before moving to the vanity. After wiping the steam from the mirror, I gaze at my reflection. My cheeks are flushed, my eyes bright. I look happy. I can’t remember the last time I saw that look on my face. Smiling, I apply my makeup with a light touch, enhancing my features without hiding them. I want Spencer to be the real me.

I slip into the dress, the silky fabric cool and smooth against my skin. It fits perfectly, hugging my curves in all the right places. I opt for my contacts, wanting nothing to hide my eyes tonight, and curl my hair, letting the soft waves frame my face. Finally, I step intoa pair ofheels that give me just enough height to feel confident without being uncomfortable.

Taking one last look in the mirror, satisfaction courses through me. I look good. I feel good. I’m ready.

I didn’t think to bring a clutch, so I grab my one and only purse and double check that I have my room key. I pause, hand on the doorknob, taking a deep breath. Then I open it and step out into the quiet hallway.

The elevator ride down is a blur, my blood pounding in my ears in excitement. As the doors slide open, I spot Spencer standing in the lobby, his back to me. He’s dressed in a dark suit that fits him like a glove, his hair styled in that casually perfect way that makes my fingers itch to run through the soft waves.

He turns as if sensing my presence, his eyes rounding slightly as I close the distance between us. I easily dismiss the other hotel guests milling about the lobby, some checking in, others lounging, possibly waiting to begin their evening out.

“Shelby,”he breathes, his voice a low rumble that thrills me. “You look stunning.”

“Thank you. You look pretty good yourself.”

He offers me his arm, a gentlemanly gesture that makes my heart flutter. I slip my hand into the crook of his elbow, feeling the firm muscles beneath his suit. The man really is gorgeous. From the corner of my eye, I catch a few female heads swiveling in our direction as he leads me out of the hotel to where a sleek black car is waiting at the curb. He opens the door, and I slide in, the leather seat sticky and cold against my legs.

As he settles in beside me, the driver pulls away from the hotel, merging into the evening traffic. Spencer turns to me, his eyes soft in the dim light of the car. “I hope you’re hungry. I’ve heard amazing things about this restaurant.”

“Starving,”I admit, my stomach rumbling not quietly enough as if on cue. I laugh, pressing a hand to my midsection. “I didn’t realize how much energy today would take.”

He chuckles, the sound warm and inviting. “Today was easy. It’s your interview that’s the hard work.”

I shift to look at him full-on. “Why would that be? You only answered a few questions.”

“Because I’m telling you things I haven’t told anybody else.”

“Oh.”I’m not sure how to respond to that. Does he mean because I’m a journalist or because it’s me?

The car winds through the streets, the historic buildings casting long shadows in the setting sun. We stop at a restaurant tucked away on a quiet street, the exterior unassuming but elegant. Spencer helps me out of the car, his hand lingering on mine as we walk inside.

The maître d’ greets us warmly, leading us to a secluded table in the back. The inside is intimate, the lighting dim, the atmosphere charged with a quiet energy. Spencer pulls out my chair, waiting until I’m seated before taking his own.

The waiter arrives with a wine list and fills our water glasses. “So, what do you feel like having?”Spencer asks. “I’m told everything here is excellent.”

I scan the menu, my stomach rumbling in anticipation. “In that case, I think I’ll have the lobster.”

“Excellent choice,”he says, signaling the waiter. He orders for both of us, his voice smooth and confident, as we discuss the perfect wine to accompany our meal. Then he turns his attention back to me. “This time, I want to learn about you, Shelby. Not the journalist, but the woman.”

I take a sip of my wine, considering his request. “Well, I grew up in Kingston. I have a brother, Shaun. Our parents died when I was young, so my aunt raised us. I’ve always loved writing, loved telling stories. I guess that’s why I eventually became a journalist.”

Spencer nods, understanding in his eyes. “I can relate to that. It’s hard to find someone who understands the demands of our jobs, the passion that drives us.”

I smile, feeling a connection growing between us. “And what about your personal life? Any serious relationships?”

Spencer shakes his head, a wistful look in his eyes. “Nothing serious.”

“Never?”I find that hard to believe.

He shakes his head. “I’ve been too focused. First on school and then on the job. I knew one day I’d take over for my father, so that was the agenda.”

“You deserve a life, too.”

“The women I usually date, also have an agenda. I’ve always wanted something real, something lasting. That’s been difficult to find. But maybe I just haven’t found the right person yet.”

My heart skips a beat, a sense of hope rising within me. “I feel the same way. I’ve been so focused on my career that I haven’t had time for a serious relationship. But someday, I’d like to have what my brother and his wife have.”

Spencer reaches across the table, his hand covering mine. “Maybe this weekend is just the beginning.”

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