Chapter 18 - Spencer
Chapter Eighteen - Spencer
Walking into the restaurant, I guide Andie to our seats where I can’t help but notice how she takes everything in.
From the way she tilts her head, she captures her bottom lip between her teeth while scanning the menu.
Or how she tucks the fallen strands of hair behind her ear when she’s nervous or self-conscious.
There is something about the unguarded moments of watching her that captivate me.
“I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger,” she tells the waitress, then immediately second-guesses herself. “Actually, no. Caesar salad with chicken sounds good.”
I bite back a smile, wondering why she is so self-conscious. Even in her uncertainty, she’s adorable, and I have yet to find an imperfection. “Make that two,” I tell the waitress, though honestly, I hadn’t even looked at the menu. I was too busy watching Andie.
As we wait for our food, I notice her fidgeting in her seat. The wheels are turning in her head as she’s working up to something.
“Soo—can I ask you a question?” Her voice coming out squeaky, it’s clear she’s nervous about whatever she’s about to say.
“Anything,” I say, leaning forward slightly. I have a feeling I know where this is going.
“About last night . . . the phone call . . .” She trails off, clearly hoping I’ll save her from having to spell it out for me.
I can’t help but smile at the memory of her drunk confession that kept me awake long after we hung up. Remembering the humorous way she rambled as she was trying to explain herself.
“You mean when you told me about your inappropriate dream?”
Her face turns a shade of pink that leaves me wanting to see what other ways I can make her blush. “Oh god, I was hoping maybe I imagined that part.”
“Nope, definitely happened,” I confirm, trying to fight my laughter.
She buries her face in her hands. “Please tell me I can die from embarrassment now?” I hear her mumble as she peeks at me through her fingers, something in my chest tightens.
This woman—completely vulnerable, honest, and utterly unaware of how charming she is—she’s getting under my skin in the best possible way.
“Hey,” I say softly, reaching over to gently pull her hands away from her face. The moment our hands touch, I feel the same jolt of electricity from the club. But there is more to it this time. This overwhelming need to comfort her, to take away all her worries, pains, and discomfort.
The urge to protect her from her own insecurities catches me off guard. I’ve never been the guy who wants to learn about a woman’s emotional baggage, but with her, I find I want to be the one to help her carry it. To lighten her load. “I told you last night, it was flattering. And I meant it.”
“You’re not horrified that some random girl called you to tell you about her sex dream?” The way her eyebrows scrunch together as she waits for my answer makes me want to kiss the worry right off her face.
“Andie, I asked you to call me. And honestly? The fact that you dreamed about me at all.” I shrug, giving her what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Besides, you never said it was a sex dream, well, not until now. You just said inappropriate.”
The relief that washes over her face tells me I said all the right things. Our food arrives, and I watch as she takes the first bite of her salad, closing her eyes in appreciation. Everything about this woman fascinates me, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of her.
“So, tell me about yourself,” I say. “What do you like to do when you’re not trying to conquer your fear of heights?” There’s that beautiful smile I enjoy so much.
It was when she starts talking about her hobbies and then her books that she really lights up.
Watching her transform from a nervous Nelly to a completely outgoing individual is an incredible transformation.
Her whole face changes when she mentions the romance novel she’s currently reading, and suddenly she’s animated in a way I’ve never seen before.
“I know it’s probably silly,” she says, her enthusiasm bubbling as she tells me about the characters and her favorite authors, “but there is something about getting lost in a good book, especially a love story that just —”
“It’s not silly at all.” I only interrupt because I can hear her words trailing off as she starts to second-guess herself. Almost like she thinks I don’t want to hear it. “Tell me more.”
And she does. The next hour I listen to her talk about the characters, the story, and the way that she loves a happy ending.
I’m completely absorbed in not just what she’s saying but watching her talk.
Especially when it comes to something she’s passionate about.
But then I catch it, a brief flicker of sadness crosses her face when she mentions happy endings.
Her eyes glisten, almost like she’s holding back tears, before she quickly masks it with a smile.
“They’re so much better than reality sometimes,” she says, forcing a laugh.
But there’s something deeper there. Something that tells me there is more to her than a woman who loves to read about love.
She has a story to tell and is afraid to share it.
I find myself wanting to know everything about what it was that put that hurt in her eyes.
She powers through her story, moving her hands with excitement.
The little laugh she does before describing what she calls a swoon-worthy scene has me falling deeper for her.
It’s not lost on me that no matter how animated she is, she pauses.
Like she’s gauging my interest, and it’s hard for her to believe that I’m genuinely enjoying the conversation.
It’s heartbreaking, really, because something tells me she isn’t used to someone wanting to hear about the things that matter to her.
“I’m sorry,” she says, catching herself. “I’m boring you to death, aren’t I?”
“Not at all.” I lean back in my chair, really taking her in. “I could listen to you talk all day.”
“I swear I used to bore C—” She stops herself from finishing her thought. “It’s just something I know not everyone is interested in.”
“I’m really interested in what you have to say.” I assure her.
The smile that spreads across her face is worth every joke I will hear from Evan later when he finds out about our date.
Before I know it, we’ve finished our meal and I’m walking her back to her hotel, reluctant for our time to end. When we reach the hotel doors, I have to ask her. I can’t let her walk away without knowing when I’ll get to see her again.
“I’d like to see you again, Andie.” I’m anxious for her answer as I watch her face.
“You want to see me again? Why?” The question tumbles out of her mouth like she can’t believe someone wants to spend more time with her.
“Yes, I want to see you again.” I tell her honestly. “I really enjoyed my time, and I’d love to have a repeat, if you want.” The suspense waiting for her answer kills me. I can’t imagine what I’ll do if she says no.