Chapter 10
Spencer
T hat can’t be right.
I’m staring in disbelief at the digital numbers on the gas pump.
My company car is a brand-new, sleek, black Lincoln Navigator.
When I picked up the vehicle from the dealership, I was expecting a basic sedan.
I believe my exact response was, “Squeeee,” when they pulled the SUV around for me.
The office manager rolled his eyes and mumbled something about trust-fund babies, but I was too elated to set his ignorance straight.
While the Lincoln is gorgeous, luxurious, and way more than a new executive assistant should be driving, it also gets about three miles per gallon and has a tank that could power a cargo ship. I’m going to go bankrupt on fuel costs alone.
“Freaking ridiculous.” I tap my credit card twice to no avail before just forcefully shoving it into the chip reader.
“You’re talking about gas prices, right?”
Peering over my shoulder, I try to find where the voice came from.
There’s no one behind me. I give up on the intrusion until a very handsome, black man steps into view from the other side of the pump.
“Hi,” he says, holding up his palm. He’s filling up a dually vehicle that looks straight out of Yellowstone .
Although his truck is more “monster” than “pickup,” if you ask me.
He’s beautiful. And I mean, knees-weak, butterflies-fluttering, thigh-tingling beautiful. “I suppose I shouldn’t be complaining.” I nod at his truck. “Do you need a second mortgage to fill that thing up?”
His laugh is so melodic. Is Las Vegas just full of gorgeous, eligible men? Not that I’m looking… Except I do look. There’s a distinct tan line on his ring finger. No ring. But it’s evident he’s worn one for a long time. My stomach is suddenly uneasy.
“Just about,” he answers. “It’s a tax write-off, at least. Because of gas costs, I get to keep most of what I make.”
“That’s cool. What do you need a truck like that for?”
“Towing. I do horse and cattle transports.”
“Oh. Nice.”
I glance at my pump, deflated when it’s already at forty dollars yet the tank is barely halfway full.
“I’m Caleb.”
My smile is reticent. “Nice to meet you, Caleb.”
He chuckles. “And you are?”
I steal one more glance at his lovely chocolate-brown eyes before calling him out. “I’m the woman who noticed you have a tan line on your ring finger. Any chance there’s a wedding ring you stashed in your pocket?”
He widens his eyes, clearly surprised at my audacity. “Wow…that’s…okay, fair observation. I’m divorced. About six months ago now.”
“That’s pretty recent.”
“My thoughts as well, but my ex-wife is already remarried, so”—he shrugs—“in the court of public opinion, I’m well within my right to talk to pretty women at the gas pump.”
“Sorry.” I step onto the median between the pumps and hold out my hand. “I’m Spencer. Please excuse me while I try to unwedge my foot from my mouth.”
He laughs again. “No, I think you’re smart. You can make it up to me, though.”
“How so?”
“Can you watch my pump while I grab some snacks?”
“Sure. Of course.”
“Thanks. Be right back.” He winks before jogging toward the shop.
The fuel dispenser’s loud click indicates my tank is finally full.
Fantastic. It only cost me a month’s worth of groceries.
I patiently wait for Caleb’s side of the pump to make the same click.
I don’t know how watching his fuel pump is actually helpful unless his truck spontaneously bursts into flames and he needs immediate intervention.
Morbid thoughts now stuck in my mind, I’m searching the premises for the emergency shutoff valve and a fire extinguisher when my phone rings.
Can’t be Nathan. Now that I’m nearing the end of my second week of work, he’s warming up to me a little.
He’s given me access to his calendar, but it’s view only.
I can’t actually schedule anything for him.
He grunts a simple “hello” on occasion when he passes my desk.
But that’s the extent of his warmth. This unknown number is doubtfully Nathan calling.
“Hello?”
“Good morning. Is this Spencer Riley?”
I omit correcting the woman on the phone.
Legally, I’m Spencer Riley-Brenner. But seeing as I haven’t seen or spoken to my dad since he left us when I was five years old, I don’t see the purpose of carrying his last name.
There’s just the pesky task of starting a legal name change to drop the hyphen. Who has time? “Speaking.”
“Hi, dear.” The dear tips me off to her age. Immediately, I know who this is even before she explains. “This is Ruby Barber, Claire’s grandmother.”
“Oh, yes. Hi there. Thank you for calling.”
“Of course. From my understanding, the girls have planned a little sleepover this weekend. Are you okay with that?”
I sandwich the phone between my shoulder and ear as I pull the nozzle from my gas tank and replace the cap.
“I am, I just won’t be able to host. Building maintenance is working on repairs to my closet this weekend.
I just don’t want strange men in and out of the apartment while the girls are there.
But I’m happy to host Claire as soon as it’s fixed. ”
“Oh, don’t fret. I’m happy to have Charlie here. I have a three-bedroom in Ellis Springs. There’s a community pool where the girls can swim.”
“Charlie will love that. She’s such a fish. She’d live in the water if she could.”
“I hope I’m not overstepping, but may I just say what you’re doing is incredible?”
“Sorry?” A glimpse of Caleb in line at the register momentarily distracts me.
Goodness he’s muscular. I’m not a small girl, but I bet he could easily hoist me over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes.
I shake the thought away. Enough, Spencer.
The last time I thought I found a prince and almost kissed him, he turned into the icy toad that’s now my boss.
I’m not ready to date again anyway. When I do start dating, I want it to be for real, not just to try to create as much space between Jesse and me as possible. I admit, that idea has occurred to me, and not out of spite. Just so I’m not tempted to run back.
“What you’re doing with Charlie. I hope you don’t mind, but Claire filled me in. You, so young, taking care of your baby sister. It’s a tremendous sacrifice on your part.”
“Thank you, that’s kind. But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“You know Charlie and Claire have that in common—they both lost their mothers too young. I think that’s why they’re such fast friends.”
“I’m very sorry for your loss. I can’t imagine the pain of losing a daughter.” I only know what it's like to lose a mother. It’s hard to imagine anything worse, except losing Charlie, but my head can't even go there. I wouldn’t survive it.
“Not my daughter,” Ruby says, her chipper tone dropping just slightly. “Claire’s father is my son.”
“I’m still sorry. I think it’s wonderful Claire has you guys.”
“Thank you, dear. And also, while I have you, Charlie told Claire you guys are willing to take Spike. Is that true?”
I lean back against my car which nearly burns the back of my exposed arms. The scorching Vegas sun is unforgiving. It’s a different kind of hot than Miami—dry and unrelenting. There’s no water here to absorb the heat. “What spike?”
“No, his name is Spike. He’s our male guinea pig.”
“ Oh. Right. Yes.” I did promise Charlie that, and much to my dismay, she has not forgotten. “We’ll take him. I’m just not sure what he needs.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll write you a list and send over some supplies. He’s a sweet boy, but a horndog, and I can’t handle one more batch of babies. Babe has already had two litters of pups this year, and I suspect she’s pregnant again.”
Damn. Two pregnancies this year already? It’s only summer. “How about we bring him home after the sleepover?”
“Perfect.”
I’m eager to end the call when Caleb emerges from the convenience store. “It was really nice to chat, Mrs. Ruby. I have to get going to work, but thank you again. I really appreciate how nice Claire has been to Charlie.”
After a sweet send-off, I hang up just in time for Caleb to reach me. “How’d it go?”
I step around the median and check his pump. His truck drinks diesel and his final cost is nearly double mine. “You might not want to look.”
He laughs. “Good call. Here.” He pulls out two plastic logs of Hostess Donettes. “Are you a powdered sugar or chocolate frosted kind of lady?”
I can’t tell him neither, but absolutely no way I’m putting those in my mouth. Last I checked, the scale was up two pounds yet again. My diet this week is lemon water and hard-boiled eggs. “Hmm.”
“Here, I wrote my number on both.” He hands me both packs of mini donuts. “I’m just passing through Vegas, but I come through here often. If you ever want to get together and bitch about the price of gas, let me know.”
I can’t help my spreading smile. “Thank you. Maybe I will.”
He pretends to tip a hat he isn’t wearing. “Ma’am,” he says with a cowboy flair.
I get back in my car and wait until Caleb peels out into traffic. The loud rumble of his truck only adds to his dripping masculinity. It was the perfect interaction. He was sweet, flirty, and didn’t pressure me or grovel. That was an ideal meet-cute.
I check the donut packages once the coast is clear, and there it is, Caleb’s name and number written in thick, black Sharpie. I’m about to program the number into my phone when a text pops up.
702-555-4322
Good morning. It’s Nate. Would you please stop by my office when you get here? I’d like your help with something.
Also, I got you a coffee.
My heart thunders in my chest as I shove the donuts into my oversized purse. I can ignore it all I want. And I’ll continue to call my boss what he is—grumpy and callous. Obviously, I’m not remotely interested.
Except my fluttering pulse doesn’t lie. It’s racing at the tiniest glimmer of the man I met at House of Blues that night.
He needs my help. He got me coffee.
Oh, and he just called himself Nate.