Chapter 14
ALFIE
It’s become a habit this week, picking Tara up from work.
I tell myself it’s because Troy asked me to look out for her, or because of the way James watches her like she’s something to consume.
Or recently, because the more we can get to know each other the better we can pull off the charade to my parents.
Who are arriving tomorrow. But those are excuses.
The truth? I can’t stay away.
She’s infiltrated every corner of my carefully ordered world. My lab notes are dotted with unconscious sketches of her eyes. My research data blurs into the curve of her neck, where that kunzite pendant now rests.
I’d seen it in the jeweler’s window the day after our conversation about the stone, before she’d even agreed to help with my family situation. Bought it without thinking, then spent days wondering if I’d lost my mind.
I’ve never given anyone jewelery before - never given any girlfriend a real gift at all. Nothing’s ever lasted long enough to reach a Christmas or birthday.
Even after I had it, I kept questioning if it was too much, if she’d think it was weird, if it would make things complicated.
But I haven’t seen her without it since I gave it to her, and every time I see it on her it makes me stand up a little taller.
Europa’s pressure variations should be consuming my thoughts. The CalTech position. My future. My legacy. Instead, I’m haunted by the exact shade of pink her cheeks turn when she’s flustered.
I arrive at Luzia early, like always. It’s only 1 AM since the club shuts early today and I know she’ll be another few minutes closing up. Through the window, I watch her stack glasses whilst humming something under her breath. My fingers itch to capture the way she moves.
When I enter the club, Tara’s out of the room, probably somewhere out back sorting something out. I grab myself a glass of water and settle in one of the bar seats, happy to wait for her.
James spots me and helps himself to a whiskey at the other side of the bar, narrowing his eyes. I meet his gaze steadily, letting every ounce of Spencer intimidation fill my stare.
Try something. Please fucking give me a reason.
I curl my fingers around the glass so tightly I half expect it to shatter. James leans back in his seat, smug and unbothered, the kind of guy who’s always gotten away with everything. I hate that I know his type. Hate that I’ve probably been that type before.
“Stay the hell away from her,” I say, my voice low. A warning.
James smirks, sipping his drink, all confidence and control. “Or what?”
Or what? What am I going to do—go full Spencer and throw money at the problem? Break his nose and prove I’m just another asshole? The thought coils inside me like something rotten. I’m not that guy. Not anymore. But for her, I might be.
“Alfie!” Tara’s whole face lights up when she sees me, and something in my chest clenches. “You know you don’t have to come every shift. I have a smartphone and Uber.”
James looks away first, slinking out the back door like the coward he is.
I shrug. “It’s on the way.”
It’s not. I could have been home hours ago.
All I need to do is monitor the 48-hour analysis run, which I can check every 8 hours.
I should be sleeping, or at least pretending to.
Instead, I spent hours sketching her from memory and pretending the science podcasts could drown out my thoughts of her.
“Alright. Well, thank you.” She waves a cleaning cloth like a tiny flag of surrender. “I just need about ten minutes to finish up. Becky was mad about the messy VIP section yesterday, and she’s scary when she’s angry,” she whispers.
“Take your time.”
Before I can overthink it – because overthinking is what I do best – I pull out my sketchbook. The leather is worn smooth from years of hiding in its pages, filled with things I never show anyone. Lately though, it’s become a chronicle of her. Every page a confession I can’t take back.
The bar’s lighting is terrible, but I learned to draw in worse conditions.
Dark corners of the Spencer mansion taught me how to capture light where there shouldn’t be any.
I start with the bottles behind her, how they catch and scatter light around her like her own personal galaxy.
Then Tara herself, reaching up, that little furrow between her brows that makes me want to smooth it away with my thumb.
Drawing her is dangerous. Every line feels like evidence of how she has invaded my brain, how much power she has to break through my carefully constructed walls. But I can’t stop.
Just like I can’t stop coming here, can’t stop wanting to be near her.
She nearly catches me when she walks past, and I flip the page immediately. Her expression falls but she stays quiet, respecting my privacy in a way that makes me feel warm inside.
I don’t know what possesses me, but I start drawing a forest. Not the manicured gardens of the Spencer estate, but something wild and real. Dark trees reaching toward stars, shadows holding secrets. The kind of place where anything feels possible.
When she finishes up and wanders over, I make a decision that terrifies me more than any Spencer family dinner.
“I drew a forest,” I blurt out, immediately wanting to kick myself.
Tara’s mouth parts slightly as she looks over my shoulder, and in the dim bar lights, I can’t read her expression. The silence stretches, and every instinct screams at me to run, to snatch the book back, to rebuild my walls before she can see too much.
But I stay. For once in my life, I stay.
“Alfie, this is beautiful,” she says, her voice a breathy whisper, and my heart constricts.
I swallow hard. “Thanks.”
“Can I see closer?” The way she asks, soft, careful, like she knows exactly how much trust this requires, makes me want to show her everything.
“Sure.” I hand her the book, surprised by how natural it feels to place it in her hands. Like maybe some walls are meant to come down.
She settles beside me, her shoulder brushing mine as she studies the drawing.
The warmth of her seeps through my shirt, and I find myself watching her face instead of the page.
The way her fingers hover over the lines, like she’s afraid to smudge them.
How her eyes catch every detail I thought I’d hidden in the shadows.
“The way you’ve captured the light between the trees,” she murmurs, “it’s like you’ve drawn daylight itself.”
Something catches in my throat. Because, of course, Tara would see that – the light I try to find even in the darkest corners. It’s what she does, what she is.
“There are more, nature drawings, I mean,” I hear myself say. “If you want to see them.”
She looks up at me then, and even in the dim bar lighting, I read the understanding in her eyes. This isn’t just about art. It’s about trust. About letting someone see the parts of myself I usually keep hidden.
“Show me,” she whispers.
So, I do.
“Shit,” I mutter, pulling into campus. It’s just past 1 AM, and all I want is to drive Tara home, but I can’t leave my research notes unsecured overnight. “Sorry, I just realized I left my bag in the lab. Mind if we make a quick stop?”
“You really do live there, don’t you?” There’s no judgment in her voice, just that gentle teasing I’m starting to crave.
“According to Freddie, yeah.”
I fumble for the light switch, hyper-aware of her presence behind me.
Having her in my lab is fucking dangerous. She leans on my desk like she owns it. I keep catching myself staring at the strip of skin where her shirt rides up, wondering how it would feel under my hands.
As I grab my bag, I catch her studying the mineral formations on my desk with genuine interest. An idea forms - reckless maybe, but it’s late and she’s looking at my research like she’s interested and I find myself not wanting this night to end.
“Hey,” I say before I can overthink it, “want to see something cool? It’s just a short walk from here.”
“Are you luring me into the woods at night, Spencer?” But she’s already following me.
“There’s this spot where the trees clear...” I hesitate. I’ve never shown anyone this place. It’s always been mine, like my art, like all the parts of myself I keep hidden. But something about Tara makes me want to share these pieces. Share it all.
When we reach the clearing, I find myself taking her hand to help her over a fallen log. “Look up.”
Her soft gasp makes something in my chest tighten. The summer constellations are perfect tonight - Hercules high overhead, Scorpius rising in the south. I watch her face as she takes it all in, the way her eyes light up like they do when she talks about fossils.
“That’s Arcturus,” I say quietly, pointing to the bright star. “Part of Bootes constellation. Ancient cultures used it to mark the beginning of summer.”
“The Bear Watcher, right?” She settles onto the grass beside me. “Because it follows Ursa Major across the sky?”
I look at her, surprised. “You know your astronomy.”
“Some.” She grins. “Though probably just enough to be dangerous. Is that Vega?” She points almost directly overhead.
“Yeah.” I lay back, unable to help smiling at her enthusiasm. “Part of the Summer Triangle with Deneb and Altair. Though technically, Vega will be our North Star in about 12,000 years due to axial precession.”
“Because Earth wobbles like a top?” She turns to face me. “That’s how we know some fossils formed in different latitudes than where we find them now - we can track magnetic alignment in the minerals.”
Christ, she’s brilliant. And she doesn’t even seem to realize it, just gets genuinely excited about connecting different pieces of science.
I find myself telling her about spectroscopy, about how we can determine what stars are made of just by analyzing their light.
She asks about Europa, about whether we could use similar techniques to study its ocean composition.
“Sorry,” she blurts. “I’m probably asking too many questions.”