Chapter 76
HARLOW
Time passes in a blur of school drop offs, spilled coffee, and phone conversations with Spencer.
It’s a few days before he’s supposed to leave to come back for Roe’s birthday and I find myself up at one in the morning talking to him since it’s eight in Iceland.
I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I’ve come to look forward to our conversations.
I think I finally understand just what Spencer meant when he said he missed our friendship.
We might’ve fallen in love young, but we always felt like friends first.
“You’d love it here,” he says for what must be the thousandth time since he left. “It’s so beautiful. I can see Roe running through the lavender fields and having the best time.”
“The pictures you’ve sent have been stunning.”
I lay on my stomach, with my feet kicked up behind me as I talk to him.
“Maybe you and Roe should come visit for Christmas?” he suggests. We haven’t spoken about that holiday. I know he’ll be in Iceland until the second week of January, so it doesn’t make much sense for him to fly home and back for it.
“Maybe,” I muse. “Flights would be expensive, though.”
“I would pay for your flights.” He no doubt knows I’m about to protest, because he says, “It can be your Christmas present.”
“I’ll think about it,” I reply, rolling over onto my back. “Roe is so excited to see you for her birthday.”
“I’ve missed her so much,” he says, and there’s no mistaking the sadness in his tone. “This has been hard.”
Despite FaceTiming as much as possible, I know it’s not the same for him or her.
“It’s already November. It won’t be much longer.”
And even though he can only be here for a few days, I know it’ll help both of them.
“I need to get to set,” he says. “And you probably need your sleep.”
“I do,” I reply, but neither of us makes any move to hang up. I find myself smiling. It reminds me of our early days of dating and staying up late to text or talk on the phone and how giddy I felt.
“Are you going to hang up?”
“No,” I tease.
“Don’t make me be the one to hang up first,” he groans.
“Are we really doing this right now?” I laugh.
“Yeah, I guess we are,” he chuckles. “I’ll be the bad guy and hang up. Sleep tight, Low.”
“Night,” I reply. “Or I guess good morning.”
He chuckles. “Talk to you later.”
And then the line clicks off.
I’m exhausted enough that I should fall right to sleep, but instead I find myself thinking about what it’s going to be like to see him again, and I can’t seem to get rid of my giddy smile.
My heartbeat picks up when I spot Spencer standing outside of Arrivals. He’s decked out the same way as he left—sunglasses, baseball cap, and hoodie pulled up.
I pull over in front of him and he quickly hops in, sliding the belt across his body.
“Sorry. I’m pretty sure those girls suspected who I am.” He nods to a group of teenagers waiting for a car. “I didn’t want it to turn into chaos out there.”
“That’s fine,” I say, pulling away from the curb and following the signs out of LAX. “How was your trip?”
“Shockingly, incident free. Usually, I have some sort of hiccup, but everything went smooth. You must be my good luck charm.” He gives me wry smile.
“Me? Good luck? Doubtful.”
“We’ll agree to disagree on that one,” he says, tossing his backpack into the backseat so he has more leg room. “I was hoping Monroe would be with you.”
“She’s at school,” I remind him.
“But can’t she play hooky?”
“Nice try.” I side eye him. “You’re as bad as her.”
We ride in silence for a few minutes.
“You haven’t said it yet, you know,” he muses as I drive down the highway.
I send him a confused look. “Said what?”
He grins, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “That you missed me.” I purse my lips, and he laughs. “It’s okay. Don’t say it. But I know you have.”
With a sigh, I admit, “I’ve missed you. A lot.”
“Good, because I’ve missed you.”
There’s something deeper in those words, something I don’t dare delve too far into.
“Monroe wants to stay with you tonight, so I have her stuff with me. I figure we can pick her up from school together and then I’ll take you home.”
He exhales a weighted breath. “I know it’s only been a few months, but I’m scared there’s going to be something different about her that I missed by being gone.”
I shoot him an understanding smile. “She’s the same. I promise. She does have a loose tooth, though, so you might be playing tooth fairy before you leave.”
I jolt when his hand lands on my knee and gives a gentle squeeze.
“I missed you,” he murmurs.
I glance at him in confusion. “You already said that.”
“I know, but I want you to know that I mean it.”
He pulls his hand away and I suddenly feel several degrees colder.
We make it to the school in time to get in the pickup line and not be too far back.
I swear the people who are always first in line get there three hours early, which baffles me.
What’s the point in waiting that long to get out of line quick when if you just waited in the regular line, you’d certainly be through it quicker than three hours? To each their own, I guess.
I spot Monroe running toward the car, her backpack slamming up and down as she sprints.
I told her that Spencer would be with me. She doesn’t show this much enthusiasm on a normal day I pick her up.
Spencer opens the car door and steps out, crouching down so she can crash into his arms.
“Daddy! You’re home!” she cries, wrapping her arms tight around his neck. “You smell funny.”
He laughs as he sets her down and opens the back door for her. “I’m sure I smell like an airport.”
“So, airports smell bad?” she muses.
“A little,” he replies, getting back in the car. “Mom said you want to stay with me tonight.”
She nods vigorously. “Yeah. You have to leave again soon, so I want to be with you.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I don’t miss Spencer’s frown.
“She’s been fine,” I whisper under my breath. “She just misses you is all.”
Monroe talks our ears off on the drive up to Malibu, but I can tell Spencer doesn’t mind one bit. He’s just happy to be with her.
He gives me his gate code, and I pull up to his house. He hops out and so does Monroe.
“Don’t forget your stuff,” I call after her. “Backpack and your other bag. And do your homework.”
Spencer pokes his head back in the open passenger door. “You’re not coming?”
“Coming where?” I ask dumbly.
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I thought you might want to stay for dinner or something.
Biting my bottom lip, I think about it. “You want me to? I figured you wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.”
He smiles. “I like spending time with both my girls.”
“All right,” I concede, turning the ignition off. “I’ll stay.”
Spencer’s smile is triumphant. “I don’t have any food, so we’ll have to order pizza.”
With a sigh, I reply, “I’ll never say no to pizza.”
Hours later, Monroe is in bed, it’s dark out, and Spencer is rewarming us each a slice of pizza while I sip at a glass of red wine. I should’ve gone home a while ago, but for some reason, I don’t want to.
He slides me a warmed slice across the counter and joins me on the stool beside me.
“Don’t tell anyone I’m indulging in pizza,” he jokes.
“Who would I tell?” I volley.
He bites into his slice. “How’s the wine?”
“Delicious. Do I want to know how much you paid for it?” I arch a brow in question.
His hair flops as he shakes his head. “No, not at all.”
“Well, whatever you paid for it”—I take another sip— “was worth it.
He laughs. “I’m glad you like it.” Sobering, he asks, “I know we haven’t talked much about us, but I want to be upfront with you that I still want there to be an us one day, when you’re ready. I don’t want you to think that because I’m staying quiet that I’ve changed my mind.”
I set my glass down. I’m not ready to have this conversation, but I know it’s one we need to have.
“Spencer, I … why?”
“Why what?” he questions.
“Why do you love me?”
His face falls. “You still don’t get it, do you?
” His warm hand caresses my cheek in a barely-there touch.
“I think I fell for you that very first day we made cookies in our home economics class, and you gave me hell for burning the cookies. You didn’t hold any punches, and I love that about you.
” His hand falls from my face, but before I can miss his touch, he takes my hand instead.
“I love you for being the one to keep me sane during my grief with T.J. I wasn’t the easiest person to be around during that, but you made me feel understood.
I love you for the way you love your sister so unconditionally.
I love you for always being my cheerleader.
And I love you for carrying and growing our child.
I love you for your dislike of raw eggs but the fact you cook them for Monroe anyway.
” I laugh at that comment. “I love you for handling motherhood far better than you give yourself credit for. You’re the best mom, Harlow.
I mean that. I love you for the time and care you give everyone around you.
But, and probably most importantly, I love you—who you are at your core.
” He reaches up and presses a palm over my heart.
“I hate that you can’t see all the reasons you’re worth loving, but I do, and when you’re ready I would be honored if you let me be the person to show you those reasons every day of the rest of our lives. ”
Tears burn my eyes, and I blurt out an, “Oh, fuck,” before pulling my hands from his remaining one.
“That wasn’t what I was expecting.” He slides the hand resting against my heart up and around to cup my neck.
He pulls me in until we’re forehead to forehead.
“I don’t deserve you,” I whisper the confession.
“You do. I promise, you do.”
He lets me go and quickly changes the subject, asking me about Monroe’s teacher, and how she’s been doing in her classes. It’s not like we haven’t talked about this stuff before, but I appreciate the reprieve from heavy conversation.
By the time we finish our pizza and wine, it’s too late for me to drive home.
“I have plenty of rooms,” he insists. “You can stay in any of them.”
“I don’t have any pajamas,” I protest.
He shrugs. “You can sleep in my shirt. That’s what you used to do anyway.”
The reminder sends a shiver down my spine. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him, but he doesn’t tease me about it.
“I guess I’ll stay then,” I finally answer.
“Good.” He ducks his head like he doesn’t want me to see him smile.
I help him straighten up and then follow him upstairs. He pushes open a door and heads in first, flicking on the bedside light.
“Is this room good?”
“It’s great.” I appreciate him not teasing me to sleep in his bed.
He rubs his hands together a bit awkwardly, and I have to admit it’s nice to see him like this. A little nervous and unsure of himself. It makes me feel not so alone. “Let me grab you a shirt.”
While he’s gone, I look around the room and take in the soft, blue-toned palette. Whatever designer he hired to decorate this place did an excellent job on every room.
I open a door and find an attached bathroom done in various tiles all in the same color palette.
“Hey, here’s the shirt and I brought you one of Roe’s brushes.”
I startle, not having heard him come back in.
“Thanks.” I take the soft, heather gray shirt and brush from him.
“You’re welcome.” He looks at me in a way that makes me feel far too exposed. Clearing his throat, he backs a few steps away. “I’ll let you shower. I hope you sleep well.”
“Thanks. Goodnight.”
He closes the bedroom door softly behind him.
Laying the shirt on the counter in the bathroom, I start the shower. It’s late, and I’m tired, but the rain shower is everything dreams are made of, and I find myself staying in the shower longer than I should.
Drying off, I brush out my wet hair and wring out as much of the excess water as I can before I brush it free of any tangles and knots.
Padding across the plush rug in the bedroom, I pull back the thick covers and groan as I slip beneath. I don’t know what kind of mattresses he’s put in this house, but they’re divine.
As tired as I am, I expect to fall asleep straight away, but suddenly it doesn’t seem to matter which way I lay, I can’t get settled.
With a groan, I shove the covers off and eye the clock.
I shouldn’t do this, but I can’t seem to stop myself as I pad out of the bedroom and down the hall to Spencer’s room.
Easing the door open, I peek inside to see if he’s asleep or awake. He sits up and reaches over, turning on the light.
“Can’t sleep?” he asks.
I shake my head and close the door behind me, leaning against it.
“Is it okay if I maybe sleep in here?” I ask nervously. “Just sleep.”
He reaches over and pulls the blankets back on the opposite side of the bed. A silent invitation.
I quickly cross the length of the room and climb into his bed.
“Thank you.”
“Mhm,” he hums, reaching over to turn the light off. “Night, Low.”
“Goodnight,” I yawn.
Even though the bed is miles big, in the morning, I wake up draped over his body like I subconsciously sought him out in my sleep.
And maybe that’s the thing—time, distance, none of it matters, because we’re always going to be drawn together.