Chapter 14 #2
Spencer switches our glasses so I have the lemon water I ordered and he has the plain one. I squeeze the lemon juice into the water and lay the rind aside.
“I can’t believe you still have to have some kind of fruit or flavor in your water.”
“Plain water is gross.” I take a sip of the tangy liquid. “And I don’t like soda.”
He gives a knowing smile. “You live off water and coffee.”
“Pretty much.”
He rubs his stubbled jaw, shaking his head in amusement. “Not much has changed.”
“Nope.” I stir my straw in the liquid. “I’m still me.”
An awkwardness settles between us. Despite going to his house to surf the other day, hanging out isn’t something we do anymore.
I know in order to be better parents this is necessary, but I’m struggling to know what to say to him.
For too long our only communication has been about our daughter.
I told him I’m still me but how do I expect him to know that?
“Are you still taking photos? I assume you had your camera out to come across the SD card.”
“Not often. I don’t really have the time with work and school. A lot of people aren’t willing to model for me either.”
Spencer cocks his head to the side. “I would model for you.”
Lacing his long, elegant fingers together he lays them on the table. My eyes trace the veins in his hands up to his arms. He clears his throats and I jolt at being caught.
I’ve always been a sucker for his hands and arms.
“Are you checking me out?”
I wipe my mouth with a napkin and ignore that question. “It seems like you have far more important things to do than pose for some photos for me.”
He looks away, his jaw pulsing with something akin to anger. With a sigh, he runs his fingers through his wavy hair. It falls artfully despite his agitation. “You never got it, did you?”
“Got … what?” The words come out hesitant.
“That you were—that you and Roe”—he amends, pressing his lips together momentarily— “were, and are always the most important thing to me. I can, and I will, make time.”
The waitress drops off our appetizers and quickly scurries away like she senses the tension.
“Oh … um … thanks?” It comes out like a question, and I’ve never wanted to smack myself in the face more than I want to now.
Spencer narrows his eyes on me, brows furrowed, but chooses not to say anything, picking up an onion ring instead and biting it in half.
When our burgers come out, I finally broach the topic Monroe brought up this morning. “Apparently someone at school was telling our little girl all about the birds and the bees.”
Spencer puts his burger down without taking a bite. “What?” His eyes narrow in anger. “What little shit did that?”
“Yep.” I pick up one of the sweet potato fries, sprinkled with rosemary.
I nibble the end hesitantly, but it’s actually pretty tasty so I end up eating the whole fry.
“Apparently a kid in her class learned from his brother and told her. I should add that his explanation is completely wrong which leaves us—”
“Needing to have the talk.” He exhales heavily, scrubbing both hands down his face. His blue eyes shine with disbelief. “With our six-year-old.”
“Yeah,” I drag out the word. “Do you want me to do it? How do you want to go about this? We can talk it out now about the best way to approach and I can handle it.”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to handle it, Harlow.
We’re both her parents. We’ll do it together.
” He gives a small shrug. “I want her to know she can come to either of us about difficult questions as she gets older. I don’t want her to think because I’m dad that she can’t come to me about those kinds of things. ”
My heart warms with pride. Spencer truly is the best dad. The way he loves Monroe … it’s everything. I’m so happy that she’ll always have him on her side.
“How do you think we should go about this then?” Biting into the burger I decide he was right to insist that I get this one. “What should we say and what should we omit for now?”
“For starters I think we should do it over ice cream.”
I blink at him once. Twice. Again. “What does ice cream have to do with this?”
“She loves ice cream—maybe it’ll lessen the blow and take the ick factor out of it.”
“Ice cream?” I repeat in a tone that implies do you even hear yourself?
“Why not?” He chews on a fry, completely at ease.
“Are you really not freaking out over having the s-e-x talk with our daughter? Because I feel like I’m going to throw up over it.”
“It had to happen eventually.” He shrugs those muscular shoulders that are a prominent feature when he pops up on magazines.
Paparazzi love to catch him at the beach shirtless.
“Am I happy about it? Hell no. I want to wring the neck of whatever kid told her this shit, but I’m not going to freak out about it, or punish her because some kid ran his mouth with nonsense, and now we have to correct it. ”
“True.” I take a breath. “This parenting thing is hard.”
“It is.” He takes a sip of water, clearing his throat.
“But I think we’re doing a pretty good job.
I mean, no one’s perfect, but I don’t think we’re the worst.” He fiddles with the utensils even though he doesn’t need them.
“As for what we should say, I think honesty is the best policy in this case. We don’t have to give details.
” He cringes, his lips pinched like he tastes something sour.
“Personally, I don’t want to lie and say the stork dropped her off either. ”
“I agree. I always thought we wouldn’t have to deal with these difficult conversations until she’s older, but here we are.”
He reaches across the table, gripping my hand for a moment before pulling it back with a shake of his head like he’s done something he shouldn’t have. “It’ll be okay. Don’t overthink it.”
After waiting for Spencer to take photos with the waitress and some patrons, as well as sign autographs, we finally make our way out of the restaurant.
He walks in front of me, pulling on a baseball cap and dark sunglasses.
His t-shirt is tailored to his lean chest and stomach, hugging in all the right places, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s custom made for him.
Surely no one would drop hundreds of dollars for a custom basic tee, but I guess with the money he has now, a couple hundred probably seems like nothing.
He pushes the door open, nodding for me to go first.
That’s when the flashing lights explode across my vision.
“For fucks sake,” he growls.
I’m blinded by the lights, but I can sense myself being tucked against his body. I know it’s his from the feel and smell. His body is as familiar to me as my own.
“I’ve got you.” His lips are close to my ear as he shuffles along, ignoring the questions shouted at him from the paparazzi.
“Spencer! Spencer! Who’s your lunch date?”
“Spencer! Are you off the market now?”
“Over here! Smile! Give us something!”
“Who’s the woman, Spencer?”
“My car is around the corner,” he murmurs in my ear.
I’m too taken by surprise to voice anything about leaving mine behind. The last thing I want to do is turn around and handle that horde. I let him guide me into a parking lot, the shouts following.
“Fuck.” He fumbles in his pocket, yanking out his keys. Normally I would smile at the Pascal—from Tangled—keychain dangling from his hand, a gift Monroe chose for him on his last birthday, but it’s impossible to bring a smile to my lips under the current harassment.
“Who are you?” Now their shouts are directed at me.
“Are you dating?”
“Who is she?”
“Give us something!”
“Spencer! Spencer! Spencer!”
There’s a chirping sound and then Spencer’s opening the door to the black Range Rover, with heavily tinted windows, for me. He practically shoves me inside while yelling at the paparazzi.
“Back off! Can’t you see you’re upsetting her!” He closes the door and I reach up, feeling the dampness on my cheeks. I don’t even know when I started crying. “Get your pictures. I’m fucking leaving.”
I watch in the sideview mirror as he spreads his arms wide. He stands there for ten full seconds before he rushes to the driver’s side and the assholes follow.
Spencer slams his hand down on the locks, tosses his baseball cap in the back, and starts the car all in one breath.
“Put your seatbelt on,” he demands through gritted teeth.
I do as I’m told, my fingers shaking slightly from the unexpected onslaught.
He slams the gear in reverse and steps on the gas, forcing the paparazzi out of the way.
They scatter like the pesky cockroach infestation that they are, and with a screech of tires we’re out of the parking lot and flying down the road at a speed that far exceeds the limit.
I have no doubt the roaches are scurrying for their own vehicles to follow.
Spencer is rarely spotted with women. In fact, if I recall correctly, most photos I’ve seen on magazines show him with females he’s working with—his arm around them as they pose on the red carpet or even a set photo.
Them catching him with me, especially when he hid me with his body quickly enough for them to never see my face, undoubtedly has them curious. Those photos will probably sell for a pretty penny.
“Are you okay?” He checks the rearview mirror and reaches to turn the volume down on the radio.
“Y-Yeah,” I stutter, clutching my chest for some reason.
“I think I got away before they could follow.” He still seems tense. Hands clenched tightly around the wheel. “We’ll go to my house.”
At least since it’s in a gated area they won’t be able to follow. Even with that thought my anxiety doesn’t ease.
“My car—what about my car?”
He glances at me. “We’ll go back for it later. You don’t have to head back yet, right?”
I look at the time shining back at me from his fancy spaceship-like dashboard. “No.”
“It’ll be easier to hang at my house than to try to wait them out somewhere else.”
“Okay.” I rub my sweaty palms on my jean shorts, trying to get rid of some of the dampness.