Page 78 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“It’s just one lady sitting at the bar and I didn’t have the heart,” he answers.
My heart jumps at the possibility … no … it can’t be.
I whirl around in my chair and get up to go look out at the bar, to see if it’s the person I’m hoping it is. But when I swing open the double doors, I see a woman with long chestnut hair where I was hoping to see red.
It was stupid of me to hope. I just talked to Spencer today, and she sounded like she had no intention of coming back. She’s determined to do what she set out to do, and I can’t blame her for that.
“You can get out of here, Finn. I’ll finish closing up,” I say. Anything to keep me from going home tonight. The only thing that held me together last night was having Spencer’s voice on the other end of the line, and I’m doubtful we’ll have a repeat of that now that she’s started her new job. I don’t feel like sitting in the silence where she should be.
Finn leaves, and I spend another hour poring over the books. The bar is doing well financially, and will continue to do well, thanks to Spencer. Thanks to the work she put in to help me preserve local business. Spencer did that for me, but she mostly did it for herself and her own ends. Ends that, unfortunately, didn’t include me. Not in the way I was hoping, at least.
I should be angrier than I am at Spencer. But where she portrays a larger-than-life bubbly, outgoing woman on the outside, inside, she’s still just that girl who felt abandoned whenit really mattered. She’s just the girl that fought for everything she’s ever had.
I tried fighting, too, for the things I care about. Look where that got me. I’m not a fighter, clearly. I never have been.
By the time I’m done in my office, the last straggler is gone from the bar, and I meander between the tables to lock the front door. I make my way back through the kitchen, shutting off the lights as I go, heading out the back door into the alley, and climbing onto my bike to go home.
When I pull into the driveway and approach the house, there’s a light coming from inside that I don’t remember leaving on. Then again, I was so tired and distracted when I left, I wouldn’t have been surprised if the house burned to the ground because I didn’t turn the oven off.
I open the front door, but instead of stale, dark silence, I’m met with soft acoustic music and a smell that makes my mouth start watering. My stomach growls. I didn’t have an appetite all day, and I’m just now realizing I forgot to eat dinner.
There’s a clatter in the kitchen, yet I’m not worried that there’s someone in my house that I wasn’t expecting. Break-ins are rare in Heartwood, and I know that the music doesn’t belong to an intruder. Because there’s only one person that has my spare key.
And she was wearing it on a chain around her neck before she left.
A soft smile spreads across my face.I take my time hanging up my coat, wanting this to feel like any normal night. To soak in the feeling of coming home to Spencer cooking in my kitchen. Of coming home to her listening to music or doing whatever Spencer does when she’s alone.
She appears at the top of the stairs and my smile takes over my face when her eyes meet mine. We stand there a moment, staring at each other. My heart pounds at the sight ofher, my apron tied crooked around her waist, her wool socks bunched around her ankles meeting the frayed hem of her jeans, her crimson waves falling out of the messy knot on her head. Everything about her is wild, undone, untamed, and she’s chosen to come home. I don’t ask what she’s doing here, because it doesn’t matter to me right now. Whatever the reason is for coming back is more than fine by me. Even if she tells me she’s only here for tonight. One more night with Spencer is all I need.
“Have you eaten?” she asks. “I made the risotto, just like you showed me, and it madewaytoo much, so I thought you might want some.”
The question is so casual, and it comes out as if she never even left. It’s a seemingly small gesture, but for Spencer I know it’s not. It’s the way she experiences love. In the small actions that make her feel cared for. Having someone cook for you, having someone get you a cup of coffee, remembering the small details of who you are. Not grand gestures, but little moments. Here she is, giving it back to me.
“I would love some, Rebel.”
“Great.” She turns on her heel and goes to scoop me out some risotto. I follow her and sit at the island, like she and I have done so many times before. One of us cooking while the other watches. Except, usually, it’s me cooking, and her watching. Tonight, I can’t take my eyes off her.
She rounds the island and hovers next to me as she places the bowl in front of me. My eyes roam over her, still in disbelief that she’s here.
“Spence,” I start. Now I need to know what she’s doing here—my curiosity is killing me. Is she here because she’s gotten more time off before she leaves? Does she need me for something? Whatever it is, I can’t ignore it any longer. I can’t get my hopes up just to have my heart ripped out again. Spencer speaks before I can get the question out.
“I love you,” she says. The words crack a little and sound like they come from the depths of her chest. I believe her. Her green eyes pin me. “I love you, and I’m tired of believing that I can’t have the kind of relationship that I want with you. I refuse to believe that you are the kind of person who would leave me. More than anything, I’m tired of self-sabotaging and shutting myself off to love for fear of getting hurt.”
“What about your job? Your apartment?” Spencer just poured her heart out and here I am asking about her apartment, but there are still details of her change of heart that I need before I celebrate her being here.
“I told Sasha I couldn’t take the job. It’s not what I want. I thought that it would give me stability, certainty, and now I’m not sure that anything can. I’ve been so busy chasing a sense of security I’ve never had that I’ve completely neglected the people in my life who make it worth living. Some people are worth taking risks for. You are worth taking risks for.” The fact that Spencer still feels like this is uncertain ground, that this is arisk,tugs at my heart. All I want to tell her is that this isn’t risky because I’m not going anywhere.Iknow that. But her heart is wary, and that’s okay. In time she’ll see, she’ll trust me, she’ll know that she’ll always be safe with me.
“Where are you going to live?” I ask with a quirk of my lips, a playful smirk forming.
“I thought … I don’t know. I thought I would—” Spencer stammers, and I reach down for her hand. I pull her into me, into a tight hug, and I breathe in the scent of her hair.
“I’m kidding. Of course you can live here. I told you your room was here for you whenever you wanted. It’s not going anywhere. I am not going anywhere. I love you, Spencer.”
She pulls back to look at me, her watery eyes searching my face. God, it feels good to have her back here, in my arms.
“I never thought I deserved this. You.” Her voice wobbles and I reach up to her, standing between my legs as I’m seated on the barstool, and gently brush a hair off her face.
“You deserve the world. I will do everything I can to give it to you,” I promise. She wraps her arms around my neck tightly and buries her face into me. The action makes the knot in my stomach loosen and come undone, because I know that she’s here to stay. She’s mine now, but I’ve been hers since the day I met her.
