Chapter 13 #2
“I know you can.” I watch him now, the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. “You’re probably tougher than all of us. But you’d do the same for me, wouldn’t you? If I called at 3 AM needing help?”
The fight drains out of me. Because he’s right. I’d show up in my pajamas, half-asleep, no questions asked. Not because he needs protecting. But because sometimes, showing up is the only thing that matters.
“You don’t actually need backup though.” I point out. “You’re like... intimidating by default.”
He snorts.
The fluorescent lights of Dora’s Diner are harsh after the dim bar. We order some food before we sit down since we’re both hungry. Alfie slides into the booth across from me, his eyes catching on my outfit.
“It’s weird seeing you like this,” he says.
I glance down at my uniform. “Not exactly my signature style.”
“That’s an understatement.” He picks up a menu he probably has memorized. “Though I did see those dinosaur socks peeking out of your shoes earlier.”
“Hey, those are my lucky socks! Each one shows a different period of paleo evolution.” I find myself grinning despite everything. “The T-Rex is my favorite, obviously.”
“Obviously.” His lips quirk.
A waitress brings over Alfie’s fries and my pancakes and I thank the pancake gods for fast service.
“When did that start? The whole fossil obsession?”
“Junior year of high school.” I steal one of his fries.
“I always stood out. I was this kid who couldn’t decide what I was interested in.
One week it was French club, the next Robotics.
Then I remembered that trip to the history museum in London.
” I trail off, remembering. “I insisted that my parents took me to the closest one to us.”
“Let me guess, you went home and started collecting rocks?”
“More like commandeered my mom’s garden for ‘excavation sites.’” I laugh at the memory.
“Poor woman couldn’t plant anything without me examining it for ‘specimens.’ But it was the first time I felt like.
.. like I’d found something that was just mine.
Something that made sense. It felt like I was looking at clues, at keys to the past. I loved it. ”
Alfie’s watching me with that intense look. “I get that. It’s how I felt first time I looked through my grandpa’s telescope.”
“Yeah?” I lean forward, genuinely curious.
“I guess I see them as clues or keys to the future.”
I grin.
“Yes! Careful, you’re starting to sound like me, you might accidentally become Tara 2.0.”
“I do have a colorful wardrobe.”
“You wear exclusively black and gray.”
“I wear blue sometimes.”
“Navy doesn’t count, Spencer.”
His lips quirk.
“I like your clothes though. They’re very... you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? You keep saying that.”
“Bright. Unapologetic.” He steals back a fry. “Kind of impossible to ignore.”
My face heats. “Is that almost a compliment?”
“Don’t let it go to your head.” But he’s smiling now, that rare real smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Black is practical,” he speaks carefully.
“Boring, you mean.”
“Professional.”
“Predictable.”
“Are you done insulting my wardrobe?”
“Never.” I steal another fry. “Someone has to save you from yourself.”
He catches my wrist before I can grab another one. “You said something about standing out anyway. What did you mean by that?”
I fiddle with a napkin; suddenly aware I might have revealed too much. But there’s something about late-night diners and fluorescent lights that makes honesty feel easier. Or, there’s something about Alfie Spencer…
“I just... never quite fit anywhere, you know? Like I was always too something. Too loud for the quiet kids, too nerdy for the popular crowd, too scattered for the serious students. Even when I had friends, it never felt...” I trail off, searching for the right words.
“Real?” he offers quietly.
“Yeah. It was all very... one dimensional? Like, I’d be friends with the drama kids during musical season, then the debate team during competitions. I bounced between groups, but never really belonged to any of them.”
Alfie’s watching me. “Sounds lonely.”
“Sometimes.” I shrug. “It was probably my own fault though. I was scattered, I wanted to try out everything, I never quite fit in perfectly with any group so I floated between them.”
“That doesn’t sound like a fault,” he says.
“No? Try telling that to people when you quit ballet to join a mock trial for the debate team, then quit that to start a poetry club.” I laugh, but it comes out a bit hollow.
“I just... wanted to do everything. Be friends with everyone, you know? But I think that made it harder to be close to anyone.”
“Until Alex,” he says, understanding in his voice.
“Yeah. Until Alex.” I smile, remembering. “First person who didn’t seem to mind that I could talk for hours about Victorian literature one day and want to learn skateboarding the next.”
“Some people might find that interesting.” His voice is soft. “The fact that you’re never boring.”
As I look up, he’s still watching me with an amused expression, but there’s something else there now—something that makes my heart skip.
“Well,” I say, trying to lighten the mood, “at least my weird personality led to excellent fashion choices.”
“You really never stop trying new things, do you?” There’s something almost wistful in his voice.
“Not if I can help it.” I study him for a moment. “What about you? What would little Alfie have tried if he hadn’t been so focused on being perfect?”
He’s quiet for so long I think he won’t answer. Then, “Art, maybe. Real art, not just technical drawings. I used to sneak into the manor’s art room when everyone was asleep. Just... create things that had nothing to do with science or business or being a Spencer.”
The admission feels heavy, important. Like he’s sharing something he’s never told anyone else.
“Show me sometime?” I ask softly. “Your art, I mean. The non-technical stuff.”
His eyes meet mine, startled. Then something shifts in his expression - like he’s deciding whether to trust me with this piece of himself.
“Maybe,” he says finally.
“Anyway,” Alfie says, “thank you for being my fake girlfriend, you’re really saving me here. I received an itinerary email today from mother.”
Who emails an itinerary for visiting their son?! The most planning my family has ever done is my mom making sure Troy bakes cookies before he goes home.
“And the first thing they want to do is go to a family dinner at L’Etoile.” He visibly cringes.
My stomach does a flip. “Oh God. What does one wear to impress the Spencers?”
“You always dress well,” he says simply, then adds with a hint of that infuriating smirk, “when you’re not covered in paint or wearing dinosaur pajamas.”
“Those are my lucky dinosaur pajamas, thank you very much.” But I’m already mentally cataloging my closet. “Seriously though, what’s the dress code? Should I go formal? Semi-formal? Will your mother judge me if I wear something with sparkles? Or is she not a sparkly kind of gal?”
He pauses for a moment, then slowly says, “I have no idea what that even means?”
I roll my eyes. “Alfie, give me some guidance here.”
“Something appropriate,” he mimics a British accent, making me snort.
“Is she British?”
“No.” He sighs. “It just felt right. But wear whatever makes you feel confident. You can’t go wrong. Just don’t wear like…leggings.”
I steal another fry. “I just... I want to make a good impression. God knows why.”
He studies me for a moment, then stands abruptly, he chats to the waitress and pays the bill. She tucks her hair behind her ear as she flutters her eyes at him. I try to ignore the satisfaction I feel when he barely looks at her before heading back to me holding out his hand. “Come here.”
“What? Where are we—”
“Just come on, Tink.”
I take his hand trying desperately not to think about how perfectly my fingers fit between his and he actually pulls me from the booth, leading me through the diner.
“Tell me how much I owe you for my food.”
He ignores me.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Since hanging out with him he hasn’t let me pay for a single thing. I’m sort of embarrassed that I don’t mind it, heck I like being treated a little.
I nearly trip over my own feet trying to keep up with his long strides, very aware of how warm his hand is and how he hasn’t let go even though I’m clearly following him now.
“Alfie Spencer, are you kidnapping me?” But he just throws that infuriating half-smile over his shoulder and keeps walking.
The cool night air hits as we reach the parking lot, but he doesn’t stop until we reach his BMW. He finally releases my hand, I absolutely do not miss the contact, not even a little bit, to open his car door.
“If this is you trying to escape paying the bill...” I start, but then he’s reaching into his glove compartment and my heart actually stops because he’s standing so close I can smell his cologne, something woodsy and expensive that really shouldn’t be this distracting.
“This is probably weird timing, but...” He straightens up with a small black box, our faces suddenly inches apart.
My eyes go wide.
“Oh my God, if you’re proposing I’m going to have to decline. I refuse to be a child bride. Though I guess my mother would be thrilled—”
“You’re twenty-one.” He rolls his eyes, but I catch that smile he tries to hide. “And no, I’m not proposing. Just open the box, Tink.”
“I don’t know, this feels very proposal-y. Are you sure? Because I should warn you, I have very expensive taste in rings—”
“Tara.” The way he says my name, exasperated but fond, makes my stomach flip. He presses the box into my hands.
“Open it before I change my mind.”
I do, and my breath catches. Nestled against black velvet is a delicate pink gemstone surrounded by tiny, beautiful…diamonds?
Oh my. It’s the prettiest necklace I’ve ever seen.
“Is this kunzite?”
“The color actually comes from manganese impurities in the crystal structure,” he quotes, eyes dancing, “which technically makes it a flaw, but I think that’s what makes it special.” His impression of my excited rambling is surprisingly accurate.
“Oh God.” I cover my face. “I can’t believe you remember my exact words.”
“Without those impurities, it would just be another green stone,” he continues, enjoying himself. “You were very passionate about it.”
I smack his arm, finally tearing my eyes away from the necklace.
“Alfie, no. You have to take this back. This must have cost—”
“Don’t.”
“But—”
“Please,” he says quietly. “Let me give you this. As a thank you for dealing with my family’s chaos. For putting up with all of”—he waves his hand vaguely—“this.”
“I’m not ‘putting up’ with anything. I mean, I haven’t even done anything yet,” I protest, but my fingers keep tracing the stone like they have a mind of their own. It’s just so pretty.
“You say that now. Wait until Mother starts interrogating you.” He winces.
I bite my lip.
“Ok. Are you sure you can afford this?” I ask, looking him in the eyes.
“Tara, I promise you I can afford this.”
“Here,” he says coming around behind me. “Turn around.”
I do, holding my hair aside. The night air is cool against my neck, but his fingers are warm as they fasten the clasp.
His thumb brushes my pulse point and my breath catches. “Thank you,” I whisper, touching the stone that now rests perfectly against my collarbone. “It’s so beautiful.”
“It suits you.” His voice is rougher now. “You can wear it to L’etoile. It can be your good luck necklace.”
“For surviving dinner with your mother?” I try to joke, but my voice comes out softer than intended.
He just nods and gets in the driver’s seat.
Later, as streetlights flicker past his BMW’s windows, I notice how his eyes keep finding the necklace in the rearview mirror.
Maybe it’s just the late hour making me imagine things, but I swear his expression softens every time the stone catches the light.
Or maybe he’s not looking at the necklace at all.