8. Spencer
CHAPTER 8
SPENCER
“Explain to me again what you’re trying to do?” I ask Grady. He’s sitting across from me at the wooden picnic bench that is currently serving as my dining table. I didn’t waste any time nailing down some concrete plans after we shook on our agreement the other night at the bar. Grady suggested coming to the campsite to hash things over out of the prying eyes of the town. He talks about the place as if it’s Wisteria Lane, but then again, I’ve never truly experienced small-town life, so I didn’t push back.
“The town council is three weeks away, and from what I understand, Carter is going to introduce a motion to get rid of a law that has been in place for decades. It prevents chain companies from coming in and taking over the town. Right now, the only businesses allowed are independently owned, local businesses, and I intend to keep it that way.”
“What’s in it for him?” I ask. Something shady, is my guess. I don’t trust Carter as far as I can throw him, not after his pick-up stunt from last night, however much that played in my favour.
“He’s an investor in the chain. Ever since the Parks left town, he’s been eyeing up the vacant building next to mine. Right now, Jodi—Mayor Price—is on his side. Probably because she has her hand so far down his pocket she’s practically jerking him off.” Grady explains with an eye roll.“I think she actually might be jerking him off. I saw them together behind the stands at the baseball game the other day. I don’t want to make any assumptions, but it was pretty obvious they have more than a professional relationship.”
I try to hide my shock and fail, my jaw dropping open.
“You mean, you think Jodi and Carter are …”
“Having an affair? Yeah,” Grady confirms.
“That could ruin her career,” I add, and he nods grimly.
“I wouldn’t do that to her. Not for my own gain, anyway. I grew up with Jodi and she was never a bad person. She’s just clearly lost all her better judgement,” Grady explains. “I want to win this the honest way, for myself.”
“So, you’re going to attempt to convince her not to take a very large sum of money and boost her lover’s business. Seems doable,” I tease.
“It’s not about the money, at least not for me.” Grady scrubs a hand over his short, groomed beard. “I’m trying to get them to see how getting rid of this law will only hurt the town in the end. People come to Heartwood because they want to get away from the hustle and bustle of big cities. They want to experience the small-town charm that we offer. Part of what makes Heartwood great is our local economy. If big companies come in and start competing with the little guys, well, there won’t be any more locals. All it takes is one, and this town will be overrun with tourists. The money might be flowing, but at what cost? It’s not just the people, it’s everything. The environment, too. Banff has started having to restrict people from going to Lake Louise because of how crammed it is with tourists. So now no one gets to enjoy it,” Grady explains, his words full of passion. I can see it so clearly, how motivated he is to stop this from going through, so why can’t everyone else see it, too?
“What about the rest of the council? You seem to have a decent argument, I’m sure they would agree with you if you phrased it just like that,” I say.
“That’s the problem. I’m not sure they would. The last few years have not been kind to small towns, or small businesses.” I take a sharp inhale as I nod. I know Grady’s right, I’ve seen it first-hand. It seems every town I visited over the last month is changing, growing. “The thing is, I know this motion isn’t the way to fix the problem.”
“Mmhmm,” I hum in agreement. “And you’re worried that they won’t hear you out.”
“I know they won’t. You heard the conversation I had with Jodi.” As embarrassing as it was to be caught eavesdropping, I’m now very glad I did. “She essentially told me not to bother trying because no one takes me seriously enough to listen. They don’t think I take anything seriously. Or they think that all I care about is the bar and getting rid of any competition. It has nothing to do with me, or the Whisky Jack.” The way his voice wobbles makes me wonder what this is really about for him, what is lacing his words with so much raw emotion.
“Well, do you?” I ask. “Take things seriously, I mean.”
“Of course.” Grady pins me with his stare, his expression genuine. “I just don’t always show it. I like to make people happy. Besides, life is serious enough as it is without me being a downer all the time.”
I inhale through my teeth and contemplate what Grady has just told me.
“Which is where I come in,” I conclude. “In order to change their perception of you, I have to know what I’m working with here, what makes you tick.”
“What about no personal questions?” Grady asks, as if he can see my thoughts. His question is laced with flirtation, a reminder of the night we shared. I give him a blank stare, hoping that my non-reaction is enough to tell him that it’s never going to happen again. “You said personal questions lead to connections, and connections lead to feelings.”
“I know what I said.” I ruminate on his point for a moment, tapping my index finger on my lips. “We can get rid of that rule for now,” I decide. “It will work against us. I have to know what aspects of you I can sell to people. PR is just marketing the things you want people to see, what you want them to focus on. You’re well known around town, so in order to work, our plan needs to be authentic. What makes this so important to you, Grady? Why is Heartwood worth all the trouble?”
Grady purses his lips a moment and gazes off toward the mountains that loom over the campground.“I think it would just be better if I show you.”I stay where I’m seated and watch as he gets up and strides over to his bike.
No, no, no. The last time I got on his bike with him did not end well. I mean, it ended amazing , but it can’t happen again. I don’t know how much resolve I’ll have once that bike is vibrating beneath my crotch, my hands gripping Grady’s firm torso …
Get a grip, Spencer. I make a mental note to research chastity belts. I may need one if I’m going to be around Grady for any length of time.
Grady already has his own helmet on, and he’s opening the back hatch to pull out a jade-green one. He holds it out to me, and I take it from him hesitantly, eyeing him through a squint.
“You got me a helmet?” I ask, and Grady climbs on the bike. He flicks his head, motioning for me to climb on behind him.I pull the helmet on over my wild hair and climb on as he steadies the bike with his feet.
“I realized I should probably have a spare anyway,” he says over his shoulder. I nod, but I don’t say anything. One, because the engine starting would drown out my voice anyway, and two, because I don’t want to point out the fact that it’s the same colour as the camisole I was wearing the other night. I sure as hell don’t want to mention that this particular shade is my favourite. It means he thought about me when he was buying it, and I won’t entertain the idea of Grady thinking about me when I’m not around.
Grady rounds the corner and speeds up as we turn onto the main road, heading away from town. The end of the road past the campground that I have yet to explore. I allow my body to lean in sync with his, and I realize there’s a level of comfort sitting behind him on the bike now that I didn’t have the first time. It’s a sense of ease … and trust.
As we make our way down the winding road, houses become fewer and farther between until there is nothing at all except the never-ending expanse of trees. The bike’s engine roars underneath me as Grady shifts gears to start climbing up a hill that curves around the side of the mountain, looking as if it will just disappear from beneath us. As we reach the corner, the road continues on in gentle switchbacks hugging the side of the rock.
Eventually, we round a corner and the road becomes wider, creating a space off to the side of the cliff’s edge to stop and enjoy the view. My breath catches as I take in the mountains sprawling out before us as Grady pulls the bike over to the side of the road and comes to a stop. I hop off the bike with more ease this time, and before Grady has said anything about why we’re here, I’ve wandered over to the lookout, the view of the sprawling grey mountains pulling me towards it like a magnet.
We’re high enough now that Heartwood looks like a tiny model in a museum display. The Rockies rise up all around it, leaving the sleepy little town nestled right down in the bottom of the valley.
I close my eyes and take a deep inhale of the crisp, fresh air that’s laced with the sweet smell of wildflowers, blanketing the hillsides as the warmth of spring draws out every sign of life in the cold, grey mountains. I’ve seen many incredible places, big bustling cities in international locales, but one thing I’ve come to know since making my way across Canada—there is nothing quite like this.
“It’s beautiful, right?” Grady asks, wandering over to meet me. He sits on a low fence that provides a barricade to the jagged hill below, and I take the spot next to him, just close enough that my arm brushes up against his.
“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I admit.
“Never? Not in all your travels to all the wonders of the world?”
“Nope. I’ve seen some stunning places, sure. There’s something about the grandeur of these mountains. It just makes me feel small and insignificant, in a good way. They’re kind of comforting. They’ve been here for eons, and they will continue to be here for eons, long after we’re gone. It makes me feel like my problems don’t seem as scary, as all-consuming.” Like no matter how tumultuous my life is, it’s still just a blip in time compared to these mountains.
“I get that.” Grady follows my gaze out to the mountain range beyond the valley. Something in the sincerity of his voice makes me believe him, although I get the sense that we have very different sets of worries. “This is my favourite view of Heartwood. When people ask me what’s important to me, this is what I think about. This town. The natural beauty that we are so lucky to have around us. This is the version of Heartwood that my parents fell in love with when they came here. This viewpoint is where my father proposed to my mom, with this as the backdrop.”
“You’re afraid that if this motion passes, this will change,” I say, finally realizing the gravity of what’s at stake, why Grady is so passionate about fighting this.
“I know that this will change. See, look.” Grady leans in closer so he’s almost touching me, my shoulder grazing his chest. He points down into the valley. “There’s Thistle + Thorne. Poppy took that building over from her aunt and, since then, has worked so hard to make that café the place where people meet on a Saturday morning, or where they go on their way to work. It’s a part of our everyday routine now. Or there.” Grady leans in a little closer still, and I can smell the warm vanilla and tobacco scent on him. “The grocery store that Mack has owned since it was passed down to them from generations before. It’s not just me that has history here, everyone in this town does.”
The emotion in Grady’s voice is palpable, especially at this proximity, and it’s causing a flurry of butterflies low in my belly.
“All of this, the café, the town square, will all be blotted out by big box stores if they open the door for them even just a crack. Jodi doesn’t see that this is wealth, too. This is what makes Heartwood rich.”
I peer up at Grady’s face, just inches from mine, his eyes lined with silver. It hits me at this moment how connected he is to this place. How badly I wish I could have had something like this myself. Somewhere to call home. A family with real roots.
I reach around in the bag slung across my chest for my phone, wanting to capture this moment, this flawless place, to remind me when I need it that this is here. Wherever I go next, wherever this job takes me, I never want to forget.
My camera clicks as I snap a few, and I look back through them, letting out a sigh.
“Why is it that a phone camera never seems to capture the mountains the same as they look in real life?” I mumble, half to myself as I start to put my phone away. It rings before I drop it back in my purse, my mother’s name lighting up the screen
I hit the green button, lift the phone to my ear and mouth, One sec , to Grady. She starts speaking before I can even get a word out. I wander away from where we were sitting, leaving him to admire the view without me so I can have this conversation in private. I know that whenever my mother calls, there’s going to be some sort of drama I’d rather not discuss in front of anyone else.
“Spencer. Have you heard from your father?” she starts, her voice is crackly on the other end, the altitude of where we are interfering with the connection.
“Hi, Mom. Nice to hear from you, too,” I say, although I sometimes wish there was more time in between our conversations. “No, I haven’t heard from Dad. I haven’t heard from Dad for like, five years.”That might be a bit of an exaggeration, but that’s how it feels. He still calls once a year on my birthday, but I don’t count it since we only exchange surface-level pleasantries.
“I thought he might have told you. You remember that woman he was seeing,” she continues, and though the reception is breaking up her words, I can tell that she’s slurring her words just slightly.
“Yeah, was it Sherry?” I ask. “Which one was she again? The flight attendant? She seemed nice.” She did seem nice, based on photos that I saw of her online.
“Yes. Well now he’s engaged to the tart .” My heart drops, but not at the fact that he’s engaged. My father and I have been so far removed from each other for so long, partly my doing, that I try not to even think about him. But for some reason this news has caused my mother to spiral once again, and I’ll be left to pick up the pieces. “She posted it on Instagram this morning.”
“What does Roy think of all this?” I phrase the question delicately. I’m not asking it because I want to know, I want to remind her of the fact that she has moved on—twice now—and remarried since my dad. She, on the other hand, doesn’t see it that way. She allows how men treat her to dictate how she feels about herself, and I am bound and determined not to repeat the same pattern. It’s part of the reason why I just don’t get into relationships.
“Oh, you know Roy,” she answers without answering my question at all, and it’s clear she isn’t going to say anything more.
“I can’t really talk about this right now, Mom. I’m sorry, I’m just … out,” I say, glancing back at Grady seated on the fence. The line on the other end is quiet. “I’ll call you later, okay?”
“Okay,” she says. Then adding, “Oh, Spencer darling. Do remember to call my injector and book yourself in for the next time you visit. Your crow’s feet were looking quite … severe in the last photo you posted. If you want to keep getting these influencer contracts, you can’t let people think you’re getting old. Just looking out for you, sweetheart.” I reach up and brush my fingertips along the outer corner of my eye and scrunch my face. I certainly have more wrinkles than I did before, but I wouldn’t call them severe.
“Sure, Mom. Love you,” I say before hanging up the phone and rejoining Grady at the lookout.
“Who was that?” he asks, and I’m sure he can see the shift in my expression. A two-minute conversation with my mother has taken the wind right out of my sails, and I’m suddenly very tired.
“No personal questions,” I remind him, although he catches me in my double standard.
“Hey, if you get to ask me personal questions, I’m allowed to ask them back. One for one,” he argues, and I guess it’s only fair.
“It was my mother. The one and only Marla Sinclair,” I say, trying to mask the bitterness in my voice. “She’s drowning her sorrows in wine because my father announced his engagement to his new girlfriend.”
“How do you feel about that? Do you need to go drown your sorrows in wine, too? Because you know, I own a place,” Grady says, his eyes searching my face, making me very aware that this is information I share with no one. Treading into this territory feels like free falling, and yet, just like when I felt the surge of fear as his motorcycle accelerated the first time, Grady is something solid to hold onto.
“I don’t really get to have an opinion,” I say. “I’ve never had an opinion where my parents’ relationship is concerned. They divorced when I was young.”
“You get to have an opinion now. What is your opinion now?”
I chew the inside of my cheek as I consider Grady’s question, and the fact that he’s cared to ask. No one has ever asked me how I feel where my parents’ dysfunctional relationship is concerned. I let out a long sigh through pursed lips.
“That my mother needs to take a good long look at herself. Otherwise, her relationship with Roy is going to end up the same way as all the others before him. We’re tornados, her and I. We leave a path of destruction everywhere we go. The difference is, I’m aware of it,” I say with a self-deprecating laugh. Grady nods, trying to understand, though I can tell by the line that forms between his brows that he doesn’t. Not really. And I don’t feel like explaining more than I already have. “Okay. That was your personal question. Let’s get back to the drawing board, shall we?”
“What do you have in mind?” Grady shifts gears at the sudden change of topic.
“Jodi made some hard-hitting arguments about your reputation in town.” I begin laying out my plan of attack.
“You really were eavesdropping.” He laughs.
“Yeah, and you can thank me for it later. Pay attention.” I snap my fingers in front of his face.
“Have you ever thought about working for the CIA? You’re really good at spying, Spencer. I bet they’d love to have you.” He’s still laughing, so I smack him on the arm.
“We need to take this seriously if we’re going to get this done in three weeks,” I say, with the straightest face I can manage.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” he says, raising both hands in surrender and I flash him a withering stare. “I’ll focus.”
“As I was saying,” I continue, “she said you were the class clown. Which, as it turns out, is something I happen to like about you.” I don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks at my admission, but I continue, counting out the list of things we need to tackle on my fingers. “She said you own the local dive bar, so she clearly has an issue with that, even though people love the Whisky Jack. And she pointed out that you’re in direct competition with the new restaurant, which implied that you have an ulterior motive and are just afraid to lose customers, right?”
“When you put it that way, it seems pretty bleak, doesn’t it?”
“I mean, I’m not going to lie to you, Grady. We have our work cut out for us,” I say. “But we’re going to attack this from all angles, step by step. I think we can make this work.”
“What’s in it for you? You never told me why you’re even helping me with this.”
And for good reason, I think. I don’t want to jinx this one shot I’ve been given. Anytime I’ve ever allowed myself to think something is a sure thing, it gets ripped out from underneath me. Not this time.
“It may be hard to believe, because I’m so well-adjusted and normal,” I start, but Grady cuts me off.
“No one is well-adjusted and normal, Spencer. We’re all a little fucked up in our own way.” I nod in agreement, and I can’t help but think that Grady and I might make a good team after all.
“Well, I’ve never had anything like this,” I say, and I hold my hands up, gesturing to the town below. “I understand why you want to protect it so badly. I do. Because I would give anything for it. Somewhere to call home, to feel grounded. If this is successful, I might finally have a shot at some stability.” I leave out the part where if I don’t get this job, I will lose all the ground I’ve gained to create an established life for myself. It would technically make me homeless, and the thought makes me feel panicky in a way that he could never understand. You can’t understand it when you’ve grown up with two stable parents for a good part of your childhood. Not to mention, in a beautiful home on a sprawling property.
“Fair enough.” Grady accepts my half-answer, but I can still hear some wariness in his tone.
“Do you trust me?” I ask. For this to work, he has to put his faith in me and follow my suggestions, even though I have no idea what I’m doing. But Grady doesn’t have to know that.
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Not a convincing answer, but I’ll take it.
“First things first,” I say, “you need to lose the bike.”
“Absolutely the fuck not.” Grady just about shouts, his expression looks like I’ve just told him I enjoy kicking puppies.
“I’m kidding! Jeez, I never thought I’d have to tell you to lighten up.” I bark out a laugh. “I would never make you get rid of your bike.” His shoulders visibly relax. “You are getting a makeover though.”
“Spencer, what the fuck,” he groans, and I can’t help but smile.
“It’ll be fun bossing you around, don’t you think?” I joke, but inside I’m dead serious. This is my comfort zone. Calling the shots. Making the decisions. Maybe I will be good at PR. I’ve always seemed to figure out how to get my way.