25. Chapter 25
Chapter 25
Lis
“S o this is it,” I say, unlocking the front door. As soon as he hears the door open, Cerberus gets up from his bed, his tail wagging. I kick off my shoes. “Sophie, we’re here,” I call. I walk past the closet and give Spencer the stand-in-place tour. It’s a nice apartment, though a little small. I point to the doors on the left. “First one is the bathroom. Second one is Daze and Sophie’s bedroom. This is the living room and kitchen. On the right is my bedroom and there’s another bathroom in there.”
I turn to see he’s now scratching Cerberus behind the ears. He straightens when Sophie emerges from her bedroom.
“Hey,” she says. “He was just out. I’ll be in here until four.”
“Hungry?” I ask. “I’m going to make popcorn.”
“No, thanks. I just had lunch.”
“We’ll keep it down.”
“No worries. I’ve got my headphones.” She gives us both a smile and then goes back into her room to keep working.
“I’m going to change,” I say. “Your hoodie is there if you want to change out of your shirt.” I point to the coat hooks where I’ve hung it in case he wants to take it with him. At this point, I’m almost certain he won’t.
“Are you trying to tell me I’m smelly?”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “Yes. I am.”
He laughs and takes his backpack off. “I brought an extra t-shirt and pants. Partly because I wasn’t sure what the weather was going to do today.” Then he takes off his shirt.
The man should be arrested for pulling a stunt like that. How am I supposed to do anything with his abs just sitting there? My eyes trail from the abs, up to his chest, and over the shoulder where the orange and red bird looks like it’s about to take flight. He wears mostly long-sleeved button-up shirts at work, so I haven’t seen much of it since that night two months ago. I move closer as though in a trance, my fingers reaching up to trace the bright tattoo.
“It’s beautiful. I guess I didn’t really pay attention before…” I trail off and my eyes flick up to his. I hadn’t meant to reference our night together, but there it was. He’s watching me now, his eyes filled with heat. “A phoenix?” I ask unnecessarily.
He nods.
The head rests on his shoulder, one wing over his heart and the other on his back. Almost like it’s giving him a hug. The tail feathers trail down his arm toward his elbow. My hand stays on his arm, his skin hot beneath mine, and I want to slide my hand up to hook around his neck.
“How long ago did you get it done?”
He takes a shaky breath that makes me want to step a bit closer. “I was twenty. My father hates tattoos. He says they’re not professional. So when I cut contact with him, I got a nice big, bright one. Of course, he must have still been in my head a bit because I can easily cover it with a shirt.” He shrugs.
“You have another one,” I say. “On your back.”
His face loses the usual easy smile he wears, and he blinks, his gaze falling from mine. I’ve shattered the moment somehow and I’m not sure what I’ve said.
He turns and on his back is a quote and a small symbol. I skim my fingers over the words as I read them. “‘We may meet again in another life, but not again in this one.’ That’s from The Dark Crystal , isn’t it?” I remember him quoting it when we watched it, the sadness in his voice as he said the words.
He turns back around and pulls the t-shirt over his head. “Yes.”
He doesn’t offer any more and the look in his eyes makes me want to wrap my arms around him. I want to ask him what’s hurting him so much so that I can know how to take the hurt away. But I can also see that he doesn’t want to talk about it right now, so I move on.
“I only have the one. I got it a couple years ago with Daze. I’ve been thinking about a second, but I’m not sure what I want to get.” I give him a small smile, trying to bring his back. He finds one for me, but it’s strained. “I’m going to get changed. Make yourself comfortable. Get the DVD into the player.” I motion to the living room.
I hurry into my room and pull off my clothes, quickly changing into clean ones. I go into the bathroom and look in the mirror. My hair is a god-awful mess, but I leave it for a minute and just wash my face. Then I grab my hairbrush and return to the living room. Spencer is sitting on the couch, rummaging through his backpack.
“How long has my hair looked like this?” I ask.
He looks up at me, confused. “Since about the halfway point?”
“And you just let me walk around with my hair all over the place? Took a picture of me like this? I look like I stuck my finger in a light socket.”
A smile is forming, the haunted look fading from his eyes. “I think you look cute.”
“Ugh. Men.” I remove the clip from my hair, letting it fall, shaking my head so it untwists. I notice his focused attention as it releases.
“Are you wearing pyjamas?” he asks.
“Yes. Do you have a problem with that?”
He presses his lips together. “Nope. No problem at all.”
“Come on. Let’s make some popcorn.” I pull the brush through my hair as I go into the kitchen and twist it up, clipping it back in place. Then I gather what I’ll need.
Spencer follows me, watching as I pull out two pots, some measuring cups, and all the ingredients.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Popcorn and hot chocolate,” I say, sending him a look. “The right way.”
He folds his arms over his chest and my gaze lingers as his t-shirt pulls tight over his shoulders. Then I move back to my tasks. I start the hot chocolate first, since it’ll take longer. I feel Spencer watching me as I whisk the milk, cocoa powder, and sugar together, adding chocolate chips a little at a time. Once all the chocolate is in, I add a splash of vanilla.
“What’s that?” Spencer asks.
“The vanilla?”
“But it’s brown.”
I turn to him, pausing in my whisking. “Of course it’s brown. What colour did you expect it to be?”
“White. Vanilla is white.”
“No. Vanilla cake is white. Vanilla ice cream is white. Vanilla is brown.” I return to the hot chocolate and remove it from the heat. Then I start the popcorn. “Actually, vanilla beans are almost black.”
“Vanilla comes from a bean?” he asks.
I turn again. “Are you serious right now?”
“Of course. I don’t really know anything about cooking. Aside from my melted Havarti and prosciutto on brioche.”
I suppress my laughter. “Are you sure you’re a functioning adult?”
“Only mostly.”
I get the popcorn started and go to the cupboard, putting everything away and selecting the slim container with three vanilla beans inside. I hand it to him and then find the mugs and a bowl.
“This is not what I expected vanilla to look like,” he says, turning it around in his hands. “You use these for something?”
“Those are specifically for a cheesecake I plan to make. But you can use them in other things.” I pour hot chocolate into the mugs and shake the pot with the popcorn, listening carefully as the kernels pop.
“Who is this cheesecake for and am I invited to eat it?”
I give the pot another shake and take the beans back, replacing them in the cupboard. “Sophie’s birthday is next month. They were on sale. Vanilla beans are expensive.”
“And am I invited to eat it?” he repeats.
“I can maybe try to save you a piece. No promises.”
“What if I cashed in a favour?”
The popping slows down, so I give the pot a final shake and then grab the bowl. “You’re going to use up all your favours if you keep running through them.”
“What’s the point in saving them?”
I pour the popcorn into a bowl and hand it to him, followed by his mug of hot chocolate. He takes them both to the couch while I quickly clean both pots and set them in the drying rack. Then I take my mug to the living room as well.
“Shit!” Spencer says. “This is delicious.”
I watch as he takes another sip of the hot chocolate, his eyes closing as the sweet drink touches his lips.
I bite the inside of my mouth to keep the smile contained. It’s insane how happy it makes me that he likes something I made.
“I told you so,” I say, sipping my drink before sitting on the other side of the couch.
“Legs up,” he says, pointing to the space between us.
“Excuse me?”
“You said you needed a massage after the hike.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m fine. I’ll go for a hot bath tonight and do some yoga before bed.”
He raises an eyebrow. “I’m offering.”
The idea of his hands on me, rubbing my legs, sends tingles to my core. I’m left in a fifty/fifty split on whether I want to let him or not.
“It’s fine,” I say, eventually.
“Okay,” he says. “You’re sitting too far away, then. How are you supposed to keep me warm from way over there?”
I arch an eyebrow at him. “You want me—the icicle—to keep you—the human heater—warm?”
“Yes. Get over here.”
Alarm bells go off in my head. Flashing neon lights scream, Warning! Warning! This is not how friends act. This is flirting 101.
But the since the kiss a few nights ago, that line has become more and more blurry. Plus, I am cold, as usual, and it’ll be easier to share the popcorn if we’re closer. I move until my body is pressed along his, fully aware that I’m just coming up with any justifications I can to do what I want, and then I pull the blanket down off the back of the couch. We spread it over our laps, and I trade my mug for the remote. Before I can start the movie, Spencer grabs my hand. He’s silent for a moment and I notice the haunted look has returned to his eyes.
“About before,” he says. “The tattoo.”
“You don’t need to explain anything, Spencer.”
His eyes meet mine. “I want to.” Then he looks away, seemingly lost in memories. “It was the last thing my mom said to me. It happened really fast. One day, everything was fine and then she was sick and then she was gone.”
Without thinking, I interlace our fingers. He looks down at them as though confused how it happened.
“I was at the hospital, and we knew it was the end. She said she didn’t want me to be there when it happened, so I gave her a hug and a kiss and I told her I loved her and she said she loved me, too. Then she said, ‘We may meet again in another life, but not again in this one.’ And then my dad’s assistant took me home.”
A hole opens up in my heart and a tear slides down my cheek. I don’t bother to brush it away. Then I blink.
“Wait. Your dad’s assistant?”
He nods, still looking at our entwined hands.
“Where was your dad?”
He snorts. “Where he always is.” He shakes his head, finally looking at me again. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all dark and gloomy.” He wipes the tear from my face with his thumb. “I don’t really think of that tattoo very often. I never see it. So when you brought it up…”
“I didn’t mean to—”
“You couldn’t have known. I just didn’t want you to think I was mad or anything.”
That sadness is back in his eyes, and I want to wipe it away. I climb onto my knees on the couch so our eyes are level. I want to say the exact right thing, but what can I say? Nothing can erase a hurt like that. So I just wrap my arms around him, pulling him into me. His arms come around my waist and he buries his face in the crook of my neck. He takes a shuddering breath.
When he sits back, the sadness is still there, but less. “We should get started.” He nods toward the TV.
I settle next to him, my legs tucked under me, my knees resting on his thigh. He keeps an arm around me, and though my thoughts are spinning, telling me this is not the way friends sit, I don’t move. I tell myself I stay because he’s sad and I want to offer comfort. But I know the truth: I don’t want to move. I want to sit in his arms where I feel safe and warm.
We drink our hot chocolate, eat our popcorn, and watch the movie. It tries to be scary but ends up being funny. When the first person is possessed, I cringe and turn my face into his chest when she stabs someone in the ankle with a pencil. “Have I mentioned that I’m not usually a fan of horror movies?” I say.
Spencer laughs, his arm tightening around my waist. “Then why did you want to watch this?”
I peek up at him. “I make an exception for Evil Dead . There’s only a few parts I don’t like. And I’ve been wearing a hoodie lately that advertises it.”
I don’t mean to be snuggled right into his chest, but by the time the hands pop out of the chests of the possessed people at the end of the movie, that’s where I am. And when I jump, I end up moving even closer, helped in small part by the arm he keeps around me. He’s looking at me as the movie ends—his clear, blue eyes bright with laughter, his lips tilted up in a mischievous smile.
“Wanna watch the next one?”
“Not today.”
His head shifts closer to mine and my eyes drop to his mouth. I don’t need to move much and I’ll be able to take another kiss. The kiss at the rehearsal dinner was so brief and has been on my mind so often in the last few days. The friendship line would be destroyed. But it’s blurred so much, I’m not entirely sure I remember where it is, or why I put it there in the first place.
Then the spell is broken as the front door opens and Daze comes in. I move away from him and feel cold.
“Hey, Daze,” I call. “How was work?”
She comes down the hall. “It was fine. What were you watching?”
“We just finished Evil Dead ,” I say.
She shudders. “No, thank you. I’m going for a shower. Are you making dinner?”
“Just about to put it in the oven.”
“You’re a peach.”
She goes into her room, closing the door behind her. I have a feeling she’s not going to be heading into that shower immediately.
“Do you want to stay for dinner?” I ask as I go into the kitchen and turn on the oven.
In the half second before his answer, a war wages in my brain. I want him to say yes so I can spend more time with him. But I also want him to say no so I don’t have to constantly remind myself why we’re supposed to be just friends.
“I would, but I have plans with Derek. Another time?”
“Sure. Do you have to leave now?”
“Pretty quick. Unless you need help with something?”
“No.” I pull a casserole from the fridge that I’d made previously. “It just needs to heat for about an hour.”
He gets himself ready to leave and I follow him to the door.
“Admit it,” he says. “You had fun today.”
“I will never admit that. You can’t make me. But I hope you know that next time, we’re running the Seawall in Stanley Park.”
“The whole thing?”
“Of course. You made me hike up a mountain. I’m making you run around Stanley Park.”
“How long is that?”
“Only about ten kilometers.”
“Ten?”
“Just be grateful I’m not making you do the whole Seawall.”
“Don’t even joke about that.” He gathers me against him in a hug, pressing a kiss to my hair. “I’ll see you tomorrow, firecracker.”
Then he’s gone. I stand at the door for a lot longer than I should, replaying the feeling of his arms wrapped around me, his lips on my head, too far away from my own lips. The oven beeps telling me it’s ready for the casserole. I turn and grab the hoodie he’s left behind again, holding it for a moment before I pull it on.