6. Spencer
CHAPTER 6
SPENCER
“I want to go out tonight,” Ally declares over the phone. I was laying in the hammock I stretched between two towering spruce trees, enjoying my solitude and the sound of a raven off in the distance, when her call interrupted my peace and quiet.
“We were just out this morning.” My voice is groggy, having almost fallen asleep in the warmth of the sun.
“No, I mean out out. That was just coffee and my usual daily walk,” Ally says. I’m sure her usual daily walk does not include a quick stop by Grady’s Little League game, so I question her motives for dragging me there.
“Okay, where do you want to go?”
“Anywhere. The Whisky Jack maybe?” she suggests.
I don’t mind going out with Ally tonight, as long as we go anywhere but the Whisky Jack. I’ve expertly dodged Grady around town over the last few days. Good thing, too. Because just seeing him from a distance this morning had me replaying our night together in detail. I’m going to chalk it up to the fact that he was looking extra fine in his black athletic shorts, his grey T-shirt snug against his chest, showing off the black ink on his arms.
No, seeing him again would not be good for my boyfriend boycott.
“Hmm. How about Thistle + Thorne?” I offer. “You can’t drink anyways, and that way Poppy can join us after she closes up.” Poppy and Ally often sit in the cafe after hours, and that kind of secluded get-together sounds like just what I need tonight.
“Poppy already said she’ll get Ethan to close, and I don’t want to sit in the cafe alone. I want to go out, see other people,” Ally counters. “Besides, just because I can’t drink doesn’t mean I don’t want to get dressed up and go out to a bar. I have a limited amount of time to do it before my Friday nights look a lot different.”
I imagine what Ally’s nights will look like in a couple of short months. Poopy diapers, spit up, and so much screaming. I cringe for her. I’m not about to argue with my pregnant best friend, so I say, “Okay, the Whisky Jack it is.” Maybe I’ll get lucky and Grady won’t even be working.
“Yay!” Ally squeals and I jerk my phone away from my face at her sudden outburst. “I’m excited, Spence. This will be fun. It’s been so long since we’ve had a girls’ night out. I’ll pick you up at six.”
“Isn’t that a little early?” I say, checking the time on my phone screen quickly. It’s almost five now.
“Not for me. My bedtime has been getting earlier and earlier these days,” Ally explains.
“Fair enough. See you at six.” I hang up the phone with Ally, and lay my head back in the hammock, letting the golden evening sun warm my face as I close my eyes. I’ve been trying to soak in every peaceful moment I have left out here in the woods, just me and Wilma. I gave the van a name because even though I denied it to Grady, there have been moments where I’ve been a little lonely. But now, I’m sad that my time with her is ending. One more week until my contract is over, and then I don’t know what I’ll do. All I know is that I’ll leave Heartwood like I’ve left every other place I’ve visited.
My stomach sinks at the thought. This time won’t be like every other time that I’ve left a place behind. I have nothing else on the horizon. I’ve typically secured my next gig by now, and while I had a few offers, none of them seemed that appealing. It’s hard to motivate myself to hustle for contracts that I’ll inevitably get passed over for a younger Instagram girlie with lip fillers and much, much smoother skin. Not to mention, the commission these companies are offering still won’t be enough to pay my rent back in Vancouver.
I need to figure something out quickly. Sasha said she might have a lead the last time I talked to her, though I’m wary of getting my hopes up too soon. But if it doesn’t come through … I’ll have no roof over my head once I return Wilma to Wanderluxe.
Later that evening, Ally, Poppy, and I are seated around the table in the far corner of the bar. I caught a glimpse of Grady when I walked in, but I beelined for the booth that would offer me enough cover that I might escape having another interaction with him. As Ally and Poppy chatter away over something that I’ve lost the thread of, I try to sink low enough in my seat that I’m not visible from the bar.
“What can I get you ladies to drink tonight?” The familiar, husky voice that approaches our table makes me jump, and when I look up to see Grady standing over me, my stomach flip flops.
“Spencer,” Grady says with a grin, “lovely to see you again.” It’s an innocent comment at face value, but I know that he’s playing at something else. It’s not that I dislike Grady, quite the opposite. The physical chemistry we have is downright addictive. Men like him are my vice, and I am trying to stay sober.
“Likewise.” I nod, trying not to take in the way his apron is tied low around his waist, low enough that if his shirt lifted slightly, I would bet anything that you could see the two lines that form a V above his waistband.
“I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Poppy, oblivious to the tension between Grady and I, orders, and I hope that Ally is just as blind to it. I don’t need her asking questions.
“I’ll have … Gosh I don’t know what to order if I can’t get my usual rosé.” Ally taps her chin with her index finger. “Surprise me, Grady. Make me some kind of fancy mocktail.”
“Okay, and for you?” Grady’s eyes are boring right through me. Coming here tonight was a terrible idea.
“Uh,” I hesitate. “I haven’t even looked at the menu yet.” My mind has been so preoccupied that I never decided what to order. Now I feel like an idiot.
“Tell you what, I’ll surprise both of you. If I don’t get it right, it’s on the house.” Grady backs away from our table, but not without shooting a wink in my direction that makes my insides turn to goo.
“What was that about?” Ally turns back to me, eyeing me up.
“What was what?” I force my face into the most neutral expression I can muster.
“That. You and Grady.” Her voice raises an octave. She would love nothing more than for Grady and me to get together, and she should know better than anyone why that can’t happen.
“Me and Grady, nothing. He said hello, I said hi back. That was it.” I give her a casual shrug.
“That was not nothing. There’s no chance that you haven’t thought about him. You have a type, and that type is Grady Landry. Looks-wise, at least.”
It’s nothing I don’t already know. But my type also involves them being emotionally unavailable, and I can already tell that Grady is fundamentally different, even if he looks the part.Even if he agreed to keep things casual.
“Yes, and there’s a good reason I have sworn men off. I need to practice some self-discipline, so Grady is firmly off the table.” I snap, a little too defensively and I know Ally caught it. Whatever she thought she saw, I need to shut it down quick. “I’m going to go use the restroom.”
Ally squints her eyes at me as I make my escape. Hopefully by the time I’m back, her and Poppy will have moved on to something else. Ally won’t let this go if she even has an inkling that there might be something between Grady and me.
I weave my way through the tables, and find the short, narrow hallway that leads to two restrooms. The bathroom is small, a little cramped, but I check myself in the mirror, smoothing out my long red waves, and rub any remnants of lip gloss off my teeth. I didn’t need to go to the washroom, so I just wait long enough that Ally thinks my trip wasn’t just a ruse to get away from her for a moment.
After a couple of minutes, I start to open the door into the hall, but now I’m met with someone standing just outside, blocking my exit. There’s some sort of heated discussion, and I crack the door open slightly to see who it is. I make out a recognizable sleeve of tattoos through the small gap, but the other person I can’t place.
“The minute we start letting big corporations like this in, you can say goodbye to the Heartwood you know and love,” Grady says. “As soon as that happens, you’ll have assholes like Carter Bouchard all over the place, it’ll be lousy with assholes.”
“Carter is …” The other voice starts but then trails off. It’s a woman, and her tone is nothing but professional, diplomatic. She’s weighing her words. Her tone is firm when she says, “Carter owns and operates a respectable chain of restaurants. He has the numbers to prove that opening a location in Heartwood would be financially beneficial to the town. It would be a welcome addition for tourism.”
“Have you consulted with Eleanor about this? I think she might have something to say about tourism.”
I put a few pieces together and realize he’s talking about the same Eleanor that I’ve been communicating with about the Wanderluxe promotion. She’s the chair of the tourism board, and she’s a sweet lady. I can see why Grady is skeptical that she would be on board with a restaurant chain opening here.
“People come to Heartwood for its charm, not to go to the same restaurant they go to every Friday night in whatever city they came from. No one wants an Urban Ember here, I can assure you that,” Grady points out. Having visited several small towns like Heartwood over the last few months, I’ve seen this before, and Grady is only partially right. The truth is most people don’t know what they want. A new restaurant or business is exciting initially, but it isn’t until after the landscape of the town has changed that people think twice. By then it’s usually too late to undo.
I shouldn’t be listening in on this conversation, but I have no choice. I’m trapped in this tiny washroom and there’s no way that I’m going to reveal myself now. I make a mental note to stop spying on Grady for the rest of my time here. Although, in my defence, this time was entirely accidental.
“When is the council meeting?”he asks.
“The council meeting is in three weeks, feel free to make your case then. Although it’ll be tough to beat Carter, I’m warning you right now,” the woman answers.
“I’ll be there,” Grady says, his voice flat but firm.
“With all due respect, Grady,” the woman says, “Carter has a lot of connections, especially with the council. We’ll hear you out, as we would for anyone. But an argument against a change that would financially benefit the town, coming from someone who would be in direct competition … it’s not a good look. Besides, we all know you. You’re the polar opposite of Carter. He gets shit done and puts up a fight when he needs to. This is going to be a fight. One that isn’t even in your arena. You own a dive bar. You don’t care what people think about you, you never have. Don’t think I don’t remember you from high school. Class clown, doing whatever it took to get people to like you. Forgive me if I don’t think you’ll take it that seriously.”
“I guess we’ll see at the council meeting, Mayor,”Grady says, and the woman turns to leave, but he reaches out for her, causing her to turn back towards him. “Jodi, we’ve known each other a long time, and I care about you. Just … be careful if you’re going to get involved with Carter.”
I don’t have time to contemplate what Grady means by this because, suddenly, my phone rings . I scramble around to find it and shut it off, but whoever was talking to Grady on the other side of the door stopped what they were about to say, their train of thought interrupted. Fuck. Well, now is as good a time as any. I push open the door, Grady’s eyes going wide as he sees me.
“Sorry, excuse me,” I say, pushing past them and refusing to make eye contact. When I reach the safety of our table, I check my phone to see who called and find Sasha’s name on my screen. I’ll call her back later. She’s probably calling with some new contract opportunity, but I highly doubt that it’s going to be the lucky break that I need.
Ally’s eyes dart from me, who took an inexplicably long time in the bathroom, to Grady, who is just coming out from the hallway and heading to the bar. Her eyes narrow, gaze fixed on me.
I slide across the leather bench and sit back down in the booth.
“What did I miss?” I plaster on a fake, unruffled smile as I try to take control of the conversation and steer it away from the fact that it looked like Grady and I were just in the bathroom … together. A change of subject is the only way to handle it. The more excuses I come up with, the more damning it will be.
“We were just talking baby names,” Ally says. “And I wanted to get your opinion …”
My phone chimes again. Sasha is calling back. Two calls in a row? What could be so urgent at this time on a Friday night? I stand from the table again and hold up my phone. “Sorry, Ally. I have to take this. I’ll be right back, and you can tell me all about your baby names.”
Ally goes back to her conversation with Poppy, but I can feel her eyes on my back as I wander outside.
I click on my phone once the front doors shut behind me, and the sound from inside the bar dies down.
“Hey, Sasha,” I say.
“Spencer. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all day.”My heart picks up its pace as I weigh whether she’s calling with good news or bad news. Her voice is always so monotone, I can never tell. Just when I think I’m getting a read on Sasha, she’ll send me the dreaded we-need-to-talk text, only to tell me I’ve landed a career-changing contract.
“Sorry, the reception is bad in the campground I’m staying at. What’s up?”
“I have an opportunity for you,” Sasha starts. “Now, it’s not your typical travel blogger contract, in fact, it’s not really anything like that at all.”
“That might be a good thing.” Clearly, the travel influencer contracts are not quite cutting it anymore.
“It’s a job in public relations.”
“Like PR?” I ask. I’ve never done anything like that. Influencing, that’s marketing in its most basic form. It’s selling a product or a service that I already believe in. And, if you’re attractive enough, people will buy whatever you tell them to. PR is different, it’s more involved. It’s making a product, a service, or a person look appealing even though they might not be. That takes just the right eye and ability to make people see what you want them to see. It’s something that people go to school for, get four-year degrees in.All I have is a carefully curated Instagram page.
“Yeah, that’s what PR stands for.” Sasha’s tone can only be described as an audible eye roll. “The position is salary, $80k a year with benefits. Everything you’re looking for. There’s still some travel involved.” My mind stalled on 80,000 a year. Some people wouldn’t bat an eye at that figure. In fact, a lot of people would try to negotiate higher. But that’s more than I would need to be able to afford my life in Vancouver. It’s a number that would mean I wouldn’t have to rely on anyone but me.
“I don’t have any PR experience. What do they want me for?” I ask. Maybe they have the wrong Spencer Sinclair. There’s no way I would be the first person they would choose.
“It’s a tour company, Mile High Tours. They do group trips all over the world. Apparently, the consensus is that it’s just an opportunity for singles to hook-up. They’re worried that they’re sending the wrong message and attracting a very niche crowd of only young singles, ostracizing other potential clients and sullying their reputation. Now some woman is blasting them on socials, saying that they’re responsible for her getting chlamydia. It’s a whole thing,” Sasha explains. “They love what you’ve done for WanderLuxe, how you’ve turned living in a van into ‘hashtag van life,’ and suddenly camping is cool. They want you to do the same thing for them. Make chlamydia cool again, or something like that.”The job Sasha describes sounds involved, and frankly, more intense than taking photos for social media.
My mind wanders to the possibility that I won’t cut it, and I’ll be back at square one, jobless and homeless. My insides drop, leaving me breathless at the thought of it. But I can’t let myself go there. This is an opportunity that likely won’t come around again, not with the number of rejections I’ve received in the last few months.
“Okay, but that still doesn’t solve the problem of me having zero experience doing PR,” I say again.
“Well, you don’t have the job yet. They want a portfolio of any PR-related experience you do have, so I suggest getting to work. Spin some of your marketing jobs to sound more public relations-y and you’re a shoo-in.”
“The first thing they need to do is change their name.” I scoff.
“Wait, why?” Sasha sounds genuinely confused.
“Mile High Tours? Like the mile-high club? If they don’t want to cater to singles, then they shouldn’t be advertising that the hook-ups are starting before you even arrive at the destination.”
Sasha barks a laugh on the other end of the line.“See? This is why you’ll be great in PR, Spencer. You catch things like this. They’ll love you. Get the portfolio to me asap .” She pronounces the word ASAP phonetically, not as an acronym.
I turn around and peer into the window of the bar. The sun has set, and dusk is blanketing the town, just enough that the inside of the Whisky Jack is illuminated. I catch a glimpse of Grady, serving drinks to a table by the window. I watch his movements, fluid and sure, as he passes out the glasses from the tray he is balancing on one arm. He makes one of the women at the table chuckle with something he’s said. I’m sure it was some cheeky one-liner. The kind that would also make me giggle and blush.
The way that woman had been talking to him by the restrooms, made him sound like a total schmuck. I’ve known Grady for all of two days, and I can already tell that’s not who he is.
“Give me three weeks?” A nebulous idea is forming, the shape of it I can’t quite make out, but it’s there. “I think I have just the project in mind. Three weeks, and I’ll have a portfolio ready for you.”
“I can hold them off for now, but there’s no guarantee that they won’t find someone else by then.”
“Please, just make up some excuse, buy me some time. Promise me. I need this, Sasha.” I don’t tell her that I’ve exhausted all of my other options, and if I don’t land a job that pays well enough soon, I will officially be a twenty-nine-year-old burnout with no job, no prospects, no home of my own. That’s the part that makes my palms clammy, the very real possibility of losing my apartment.
It wouldn’t be the first time in my life that I’ve been homeless, but everything, everything I’ve done with my life up until now has been to make sure it never happens again.
“I’ll do what I can, Spencer.”
I click off my phone and swing the door open before beelining towards the bar. All I have to do now is convince the one person I should be staying far away from that we are the perfect team. Grady Landry has gone from a one-night stand to my only shot at a job that will secure my livelihood in a matter of minutes.