Page 59 of A Magnolia Move-In
He turned, dusting his hands off as he faced me. “Well, I’m making fajitas. I’m hoping you’ll join me?”
My stomach grumbled my response. My mouth watered, and I suddenly realized that I hadn’t had lunch at all. In my desire to stop thinking about the man standing in front of me, I’d managed to stop thinking all together.
“Um, yes,” I finally said when it appeared that Spencer’s eyebrows were going to disappear into his hairline.
He clapped his hands. “Wonderful.” He glanced around. “I’ll go finish up. You clean up and join me.”
I nodded, and before I could process what I’d agreed to, he was gone.
I collapsed onto my bed, not bothering to move mybags. I draped one arm over my eyes and took in a deep breath.
Maybe this was a good thing. Forcing myself to be around Spencer meant that I was going to have to get over this girlish crush I had on him. There would be no hiding when I was face-to-face with the man.
Maybe then I would discover that I didn’t really care about him like I’d convinced myself I did. I would discover that we really had nothing in common, and this schoolgirl crush would disappear.
At least, that was my hope.
I took my time changing into stylish but comfortable clothes. I washed up, and as I was patting my face dry, I felt more human. I threw my hair back into a low bun and checked the mirror just to make sure I looked presentable.
Penny Brown always looked presentable.
Satisfied with my reflection, I turned off the light, grabbed my cream-colored cardigan which was draped over the armchair in the corner of the room, and headed into the hallway.
The house smelled of spice when I walked into the dining room. Spencer was standing next to the stove, effortlessly flipping what looked like onions and peppers in a pan. They sizzled as they flew into the air and fell onto the hot pan. My mouth watered once more.
“Fresh salsa and chips are on the table,” Spencer said, not taking his gaze from the food, and motioned toward the table behind me with his head.
I glanced in the direction he motioned and saw a largeglass bowl filled to the top with fresh diced tomatoes, onions, and cilantro. Before I could think twice, I pulled out the nearest chair and sat. I didn’t wait as I grabbed a chip and scooped up a heaping pile of salsa.
The taste was impeccable as it hit my tongue. I closed my eyes, and a soft moan of satisfaction slipped from my lips. This was what I needed. A home-cooked meal after a long, exhausting day.
“That good?” Spencer’s voice drew my attention. He’d left his post at the stove and was dipping his own chip into the salsa.
I nodded. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
He paused for a moment, and I wondered if I’d overstepped.
“My late wife, Rosalie. She was a Mexican immigrant. She taught me how to cook all of this.” He motioned toward the table and the stove. Steam was rising from the vegetables, making swirling motions in the air.
I wasn’t sure if I should say something, so I just kept quiet. I busied myself with eating and tried to not look too eager so he would keep talking.
“Rosalie would cook every weekend with our girls. Occasionally, I would join.” His voice filled with emotions, and my heart ached for him.
“Are they still around?” The words left my lips before I could stop them. I didn’t want to stop his flow of thought, but I wanted to know more. I feared that he would suddenly stop opening up to me.
Spencer glanced over at me. “Who?”
I scooped another chip. “Your girls.”
He paused and looked to the side, a nostalgic expression passing over his face. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. He returned to his post, where he proceeded to tend to the onions and peppers. “It’s been ten years since I’ve talked to them.”
I paused, the chip that I’d just dipped hovering in front of me. That was not the answer I was expecting. Not after I heard the affection in his voice. “Really?” I asked. The word came out as a whisper.
My daughter and I had had a strained relationship, but that hadn’t stopped us from seeing each other occasionally. To go an entire decade without talking to Maggie would have been heartbreaking.
Spencer nodded. “I moved to Magnolia twenty-five years ago. Just after my wife passed. I got in the car, and I drove until my engine died. Dirk took me in and gave me a job. He never asked me why I was running or where I came from. He just let me be me.”
Spencer sighed. “My girls wanted me to come home. They wanted me to return.” He shook his head as he closed his eyes. “But I could never go back home. Not when it was filled with so many memories.
