2. Spencer
CHAPTER 2
SPENCER
There’s a six-and-a-half-foot wall of muscle and tattoos climbing off the motorcycle on the gravel drive outside the cabin, and I can’t breathe. Whatever Ally has just said to me has gone in one ear and out the other. My eyes dart around the kitchen where we’re sitting at the island, and I’m trying to look anywhere but towards him. Grady Landry.
Grady Landry, whose T-shirt is creeping up his waist, showing a sliver of his tanned skin as he lifts his helmet off. His dark brown hair is perfectly mussed in a way that makes me want to run my fingers through it. God, he’s hot. I thought so the very moment I saw him, but who wouldn’t? With his thick arms covered in matching inked sleeves, his short, groomed beard, and the almost child-like way he’s smiling at Mason, he looks as if he came out of the same mould used to make all my other boyfriends. I give my head a shake. I’m strictly off men for now.Especially men who look like Grady.
It was stupid of me not to expect to see him here—my best friend is having his brother’s baby, after all—I just didn’t expect it to happen the night I arrived in Heartwood. Something Ally says sneaks its way past the all-consuming thoughts swirling around my mind, and I hear her repeat the question she just asked me.
“How’s your mom?” Ally asks. It’s a loaded question, and she knows enough not to even bother asking about my dad. Not that I would know how to answer anyway, given that we haven’t spoken in over six months.
My mother is a different story. Marla Sinclair likes to make me aware of everything that is going on in her life. It has always been that way. She flits around, generally only caring about herself and whatever boyfriend or husband she has on the go, while I’m the stable one in our relationship.
“She’s Marla,” I offer. She is like no other. My eyes flick over to the large front windows of the A-frame cabin, out to where Grady is pulling Mason into a quick hug before moving out of sight around the side of the house. A muffled whoop from one of the Landry brothers, who has already arrived and is probably a couple of beers deep, drifts through the front door. “Living her best life in wine country, you know how she is.”
“Still with Roy?” Ally asks.Marla moved to the Okanagan after her second marriage fell apart, found herself a house by the lake that she loved. I really thought she was getting her life together, finding herself, thriving in her own independence. Then she met Roy, and he gave her attention, and her pattern repeated.
“Yup. Still with Roy.” I don’t elaborate. Ally knows that Marla’s relationship with Roy is her longest one yet at three years out from their nuptials. But the clock is ticking. Roy isn’t a bad guy per se. He is just another replica of the other men my mother has dated—and married—in the past. Their love feels lukewarm, a by-product of the fact that Roy tells my mother she’s pretty.All her past relationships have been the same. She is so easily swayed at first, but then the honeymoon period ends, and the butterflies fade, and the man she thought was so charming moves on to the next best thing.
The Sinclair women have whatever is the opposite of a green thumb when it comes to dating. Any long-term relationship just withers and dies under our care, no matter how well we think we water it. I think we subconsciously pick men who are like orchids—pretty to look at, but a bitch to keep them that way. I seem to have inherited this trait from my mother.
That’s why I stick to casual flings, ‘situationships’ if you will. Different city, different guy. It’s a perk of being a travel influencer; I never stay anywhere long enough for anyone to catch feelings. Some of the men I’ve dated have been just memorable enough that I’ve kept them around for more than a night, but they all end the same way; a half-hearted “we’ll keep in touch” as I head for the airport. None of the assholes I choose are around for the long haul anyhow, so it’s better for everyone if no one gets attached.
“She’s nothing if not consistent, at least,” Ally says, rounding the small kitchen island with a plate of burger patties in one hand and placing her free one on my shoulder as she passes by. “I’m going to take these out so Mason can fire up the grill. Can you bring that tray of condiments?”
I nod. “Of course.”
I set my wine down and turn to pick up the tray Ally has prepared on the counter. My eyes rake over the bottles. Something is missing. She’s forgotten the ketchup. Ally has already disappeared around the side of the cabin with her plate of burgers, but it only takes me a second to locate the bottle on the door of the fridge. When I pick it up, the liquid inside is separated. I’ll just give it a good shake, we’ll be good to go.
Putting some necessary force into it, I lift the bottle and shake, but the lid must have been ajar, and it pops off almost instantly. Bright red ketchup bloops out, right onto the centre of my camisole. It’s my favourite one, too. Jade green silk with cream-coloured lace trim around the bust.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” I mutter, turning to the sink to grab whatever kind of cloth or towel I can find to clean the front of my shirt. Whatever I do, the blob of red only gets bigger as it smears around and soaks into the smooth fabric. “Fuckity fuck!” It comes out as a shout, but I get cut off from the rest of the string of curse words I want to scream when I hear heavy footsteps on the porch.
I swivel around to see Grady on the steps up to the cabin and I would love to just disappear into thin air. He’s the type of attractive where I can’t picture him doing anything embarrassing, so I’m not ready to face him with half a bottle of ketchup on my shirt. Scrambling, I look for anywhere to hide. Bathroom? No, maybe he’s coming inside to use it. Jesus, why is this cabin so small?
With nowhere else to go in the tiny, open-concept cabin, I decide the pantry is my only option. It’s a fair size with enough room for one, if not two, people. I slink inside quickly and slide the door shut behind me.
The slats in the bifold doors are parted just enough that I can see Grady stalk into the kitchen and crouch at the open fridge to find a beer. His broad shoulders curve around as he reaches down to grab a bottle, the muscles in his back rippling under his shirt.
I am such a creep , I think. This is one secret that I will take with me to my grave.
The beer bottle lets out a pffth sound as Grady pops the cap on the handle of one of the kitchen drawers. He takes a sip—okay, more than a sip—and rolls his shoulders. Something about him seems tense, and he cranes his neck to look around the corner. He’s scanning the cabin almost like he’s looking for someone.
As he turns around, I realize the gaps in the door might just be big enough for him to see me, or at least the outline of me. I slowly back away, into the shadow of the pantry, my breathing shallow and quick. My gut roils when I realize I’m going to have to explain my sudden appearance at the barbecue, and what the hell took me so long getting the condiments.
My elbow bumps something behind me that lets out a puff of dust on impact. I turn to find a bag of flour leaning precariously over the edge of the shelf. Shit. Moving as silently as I can, I push the bag back to a secure spot, but it’s too late. The cloud of powder has made its way to my nostrils, which are now flaring as I wrinkle my nose in a desperate attempt to stifle my sneeze. No luck.
I sneeze, and I sneeze loud. Like the kind of sneeze that I would imagine only your middle-aged father is physically capable of—one that rattles the house. I cover my face with my elbow, hoping the sound was muffled enough that Grady will assume it came from outside. The heavy footsteps I hear cross the kitchen tell me that it didn’t work, and I squint in the sudden bright light as Grady opens the closet door.
The way his hazel eyes rake over my body makes me very aware that I’m still covered in ketchup and now have a fine layer of flour adorning every inch of me. Grady’s jaw flicks as the corner of his mouth quirks up into a playful, lopsided grin. His expression is amused but not mocking.
“This isn’t—” I start, but he interrupts me.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” Grady says with a casual nod, as if assessing the pantry the way he would if I was showing him around my home. “Ally said you had a … unique living situation, but this isn’t quite what I pictured.”
And then, as if I’ve casually invited Grady in for coffee after a date, he squeezes himself in next to me and slides the door closed behind him. His broad chest takes up the vast majority of my field of vision and I crane my neck to look up at him. There’s a playful smile on his lips as he waits for me to respond. He wants me to play along with the little scenario he’s made up to ease the sting of my embarrassment. Colour rises to my cheeks as I realize what he’s doing. I can’t tell if this is more humiliating, or if I’m grateful for him making light of me spying on him from the pantry. I decide on the latter as I consider a quippy response.
“Yeah, the rent is killing me though,” I answer. Lame. But Grady runs with it. He lifts his chin as he looks around the closet once more, exposing the column of his neck to me. I can just make out the outline of his Adam’s apple in the dark, bobbing as he swallows.
“What does a stunning zero bed, zero bath studio like this go for nowadays?”
“Ally is charging me my first-born child. Didn’t you know? She isn’t pregnant with Mason’s baby, it’s mine.”
“Wow, that’s steep. But I guess there’s a ton of storage in here.” Even in the dark, I can tell that Grady’s eyes are roaming over my face, and my mind stalls under the weight of his gaze. I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about wanting to be this close to him, and my heart pounds as we stand here breathing each other’s air. Grady is tempting in a way that wars with my resolve to not get involved with anyone.
I chew my bottom lip, considering my next remark, but I’ve run out of witty comebacks. Grady must register that the role-play has come to an end because he says, “Should we join the rest of the crew out back? Or would you prefer it if I closed the blinds and you can just spy from the window?”
I give him a playful shove and the solidness of the muscle under his T-shirt catches me off guard. Fuck, he’s so big.
Emerging from the pantry, the light reveals the stain on the front of my shirt once again.Grady’s warm, green-brown eyes flick down to my chest briefly in an obvious attempt to only take in the ketchup and nothing else.
“I look like I’ve been through the Texas Chainsaw Massacre . I don’t know if I can go outside,” I joke, but heat rises to my cheeks again, a flush spreading upward from my chest.
“It might be slightly alarming, especially for the medical professionals out there,” Grady says, referring to Ally and Mason, both with years of experience looking at real blood. “But no one here is judging you, Spencer.”
The way my name rolls off Grady’s tongue it doesn’t sound like a word that he’s said for the first time.
Goodnight, Spencer. It was the last time he said my name—when he lingered in the doorway to his guest bedroom the night I stayed over at his place. It had come out with a slight wobble then. But as he says it now, it sounds as though he’s practiced it. The word is familiar in his mouth. As familiar as saying the word hello.
“ That’s easy for you to say, this is your family,” I point out. “You forget that I’m meeting half of them for the first time.”
“Tell you what,” Grady says, crossing the kitchen and reaching for the bottle of ketchup on the counter. He picks it up, and before I can say anything, he flicks open the lid and squirts a blob down the front of his shirt, the crisp white cotton now marred with a streak of red.I clap my hand over my mouth, my eyes wide with shock at the mess he’s just made of his otherwise pristine white T-shirt. Grady looks up at me and grins. That crooked, boyish grin.“There. Now we both look like The Walking Dead.” His eyes sparkle behind thick dark lashes as they linger on me, making my skin prickle.
I wonder how long we would have stood there, staring at each other, if Ally hadn’t come back into the cabin at that exact moment.
“Spence, people are wondering where the condiments are,” she says, then she stops in her tracks as she comes through the front door. “Oh. All over the two of you, by the looks of it.”
“Yeah, we had a bit of an … incident,” Grady explains, tossing me a playful wink, an acknowledgement that we now share a secret, an inside joke. Something that’s just ours.
“Well, I see you’ve beat me to the re-introduction. Grady, you remember Spencer, don’t you?” Ally says, gesturing between us before picking up the tray of sauces I was supposed to take out ages ago. Grady’s eyes are on me once again, and I feel hot, feverish.
“Of course, I remember Spencer,” he admits. “She’s not easy to forget.”
I’ve been covertly watching Grady from across the fire pit for the last hour. We didn’t interact much during the rest of the barbecue—not during dinner or while playing lawn games—but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t caught Grady stealing glances. I’ve stolen a few of my own and, on occasion, our eyes have lingered long enough to make my neck flush.
Now, we’re all seated on Adirondack chairs around the fire, and I’m having difficulty focusing again. I’m too busy watching the way the flames are casting shadows that accentuate the strong line of Grady’s jaw. My thoughts are currently 80 percent on Grady’s face in the dim light of the licking flames, and 20 percent on that line he used earlier. She’s not easy to forget. Has he thought of me since the night I spent at his place? Or was it more like an “oh yeah, I remember her” as if seeing me again jogged a memory that he had all but forgotten?
As much as I hate to admit it, I’ve thought about that night an embarrassing amount. I’ve never been able to pinpoint why. It wasn’t a night of crazy, wild sex. We didn’t even touch each other. But that’s what makes it stand out in my mind. Most guys would have jumped at the chance to hop into bed with me. That’s all men want from me anyway, which normally suits me fine. Grady was different. He was respectful, reserved. It made me want him even more.
But that ship has sailed now. I’m closed for business, where relationships are concerned, until I can get back on my own two feet.
I realize now that zero percent of my attention is on Ally, who has been chattering away next to me about paint colours for the nursery. She says something about wanting to pick a powerful colour. Whatever that is.
Most of the group has retired for the night, leaving only Grady and Mason in conversation across from us. It’s getting late now, and a chill settles on my back, making me wish I had brought a sweater to throw on over my camisole.
I snap out of my trance watching the crackling fire, as Ally says my name a second, maybe a third, time.
“Spence, are you okay tonight?” Ally has shifted in her chair so she’s facing me. “You’ve been so distracted.”
“Yeah, sorry. I don’t know where my head is at. I’m just tired I think,” I lie. “All the travel the last few months, and sleeping in the van has kind of done me in. I’m okay, I promise.” In truth, this solo camping trip has been the most relaxed and rested I’ve ever been. It’s just a shame that not all of my contracts are like this. Normally, I’d be hustling my ass off for very little pay beyond my travel expenses.
Ally squints her eyes, skeptical of my answer. I’m the energizer bunny of our friendship, down for anything—I never stop. So, my answer warrants some skepticism.
“Will you be able to come back for a visit once the baby is born?” My eyes snap back to hers, and I collect myself long enough to formulate a response.
“I will do everything in my power to make that happen, Ally. Really, I will,” I say, twirling a stray lock of red hair that’s fallen from my haphazard bun. Ally peers back at me from under raised eyebrows as she rubs her growing belly protectively.
She has a hard time believing that I can make any kind of concrete plans this far in advance, and I don’t fault her for that. But with the baby due a whole two months from now, and my entire livelihood in the balance with my latest contract coming to an end, I don’t even have an inkling as to where I’ll be when my best friend’s daughter is born. That thought is what sends a pang of guilt right through my gut.
It’s not that I haven’t enjoyed travelling around the world for my job; if you had asked little Spencer what she dreamt of doing when she grew up, it would be exactly this. To see as many different countries as possible, live by my own set of rules, never get tied down, only worry about me and my own needs. Granted, I would have been happy to do anything that got me the fuck out of Vancouver and out from under the crumbled ruins of my home life.
“Once I can find a more stable job, I’ll have a better answer for you.”
“Any updates on that front?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding in through pursed lips. My agent, Sasha, has worked her magic with every contract I’ve landed, and now that those opportunities are dwindling, she agreed to do me a solid and send my resume to a few of her connections in the industry. Neither of us predicted that I would be a less-than-ideal candidate. So, my job situation already has me on edge, and Ally’s questions aren’t helping. Not to mention the fact that Grady is still within my line of sight.
“Nothing exciting.” I shrug, taking a sip of my wine to keep myself from glancing over in Grady’s direction. “Sasha has been sugarcoating it a bit, but I know I’ve been passed up for some of the marketing positions she’s sent my resume to because I don’t have a degree.”
My free-spirited, go-against-the-grain attitude has always been one of my best qualities and has gotten me all the contracts I’ve landed as a travel influencer, including this last one. Now though, my reckless, teenage decision to skip out on university is biting me in the ass since I need a job with an actual title and a salary I don’t have to hustle for.
Ally nods slowly, as if trying to hold back an, “ I told you so .”But she doesn’t say it; she’s a better friend than that, even if she doesn’t agree with my life choices.
“How long will you be in Heartwood?” It’s a valid question, and one I don’t have a clear answer to.
“Not sure. My contract with WanderLuxe is up in two weeks,” I explain. I’m nearing the end of a three-month contract with the camper van company, where I’ve been using my social media page to promote the whimsical appeal of van life by driving it across Canada, stopping in all the most picturesque small towns. Heartwood was an intentional stop, the last one before I make the last leg of the journey down to the coast. “Then I have to give the van back. I’ll need to figure something out before then.”
“Maybe you can just stay until the baby comes. It’ll only be a couple of months until she’s here.”
“A couple of months is a long time to go without a paycheck,” I remind her. I’m on a tight enough timeline to find a decent job as it is. I’ve sublet my apartment in Vancouver until next month, and I need to be able to pay my own rent if I ever want to move back in.
“Right, well I’m sure you’ll figure something out, Spence. You always do. We’ll be here whenever you want to visit.” Ally gives me a soft smile and places her hand on my arm. Her comforting touch is something I have never taken for granted. She is, and has always been, the most constant presence in my life. Even when things at home were falling apart, she never faltered. She just accepted me into her family and into her heart with open arms.
We sit around the campfire for a while longer, watching the flames consume the logs until the bark is nothing but glowing embers, and the chill of night is creeping over me from behind.
“I’m gonna need to head home, Ally,” I say, implying that either she or Mason needs to give me a ride. It’s not easy lugging all your belongings around in a van, and it’s much less convenient to take it out once you’ve set up camp, so I’ve been relying on Ally for rides since I arrived.
Grady glances up from where he’s sitting across from me, leaning forward, elbows resting on his knees. Ally yawns an exaggerated yawn and pats her belly, which I’m convinced she’s pushing out a bit more for dramatic effect.
“Sorry, Spence. I’m beat too. Absolutely wiped,” she says. “It’s hard growing an entire human.”
“That’s okay, I’m sure Mason won’t mind driving me,” I suggest. But when I look around, Mason has conveniently gone into the cabin to start tidying up the remainder of the s’mores we’ve all consumed far too many of.
“I don’t know. I don’t like it when he’s away from me for too long. In case the baby comes or something.”
What the hell is she talking about? She’s not due for another two months , I wonder, until I catch her eyes dart in Grady’s direction. Fuck me. I should have known. Ally has been trying to play matchmaker for me since we met in grade nine, and she tried to set me up with Todd Pringle. Puke . I learned my lesson to never let her set me up again while I sat through an entire movie with Todd’s clammy hands gripping mine.
“I don’t mind taking you home,” Grady chimes in because of course he does.
“Oh, no. I couldn’t ask you to do that,” I protest. “I’m staying all the way out at the provincial park. It would be out of your way.”
“Nah. It’s only a few minutes up the road from my place.”
I plaster on a casual smile. It has become abundantly clear that I’m not going to weasel my way out of this. I can endure another fifteen minutes of pretending that I don’t want to climb Grady like a tree. While straddling him on the back of his motorcycle. Sure. No problem.
“Great, thanks.” My voice comes out an octave higher than I’d like, and I just hope Grady doesn’t notice. The sparkle in his eye as his mouth forms that cheeky grin says otherwise.