Chapter 10 - Spencer
Chapter Ten - Spencer
My life runs on a schedule so tight that my assistant has to block out bathroom breaks in my calendar.
No, in all seriousness, I’m pretty sure I saw it pop up as a reminder after I worked through lunch for the fifth day straight.
Build a comprehensive real estate empire in Chicago and expand from there—everything from high-end sales and investment properties to renovations that help families turn their current houses into their forever homes.
That’s the goal that consumes my every waking minute. I want to be the first name that comes to mind when businesses need remodels or when families are looking to upgrade. Not just another company, but the company.
Maybe it sounds egotistical, wanting to be the best, and honestly, it probably is.
But behind that ambition is a promise I made when I was sixteen.
My parents worked themselves to the bone putting me and my brother through college.
Dad’s calloused hands from working on cars.
Mom’s permanent exhaustion from teaching little kid’s ballet.
They never complained, not once, even when they were surviving on mac and cheese with Spam and discount grocery store bread, so we could play sports and have normal childhoods.
Now it’s my turn. They taught me everything I know about hard work and dedication. My dream is to hand them their retirement on a silver platter while they can still enjoy their golden years. I’m almost to that goal.
I’ve managed to save up enough to be able to get one of my parents out of their job and set for life.
But I want to retire both of them at the same time, really see their smiles light up.
Besides, they still love their jobs and aren’t ready to give them up yet.
To deliver this dream, though, it means days filled with back-to-back client meetings, site visits, and barely enough time to remember what my own place looks like in daylight.
Today’s no exception, except my younger brother Evan convinced me to take an actual coffee break instead of the usual drink-while-walking-to-the-next-meeting approach I’ve perfected.
“Thirty minutes, Spence. The world won’t collapse if you sit down for half an hour,” he insisted. So here we are, at some café I’ve never been to because my usual place is nowhere near my next meeting.
The coffee shop is small, but it’s obviously thriving based on the line snaking through it. I mentally calculate how many minutes this detour is costing me, already planning to answer emails while we wait. That’s when I see her.
In the corner, a woman sits alone, lost in her book. Long strawberry blonde hair falling around her shoulders. Something about her stops me mid-thought, like someone hit pause on my mental to-do list.
“Hey Spence, when do we have interviews for the general contractors for Mom and Dad’s place again?” Evan asks, but I barely register his voice. “Hello? Earth to Spencer . . . Oh, I see what’s happening.” His gaze following mine. “She’s hot. But seriously, snap out of it, man.”
His fingers snap in front of my face, finally breaking my trance.
“Sorry, what were you saying?” I ask, attempting to sound casual and failing miserably.
“Forget my question. I want to know if you’re going to talk to the woman you’re intensely eye fucking right now, or if you’re just going to stand there staring like a creeper.
” Leave it to Evan to strip any situation of its subtlety.
He’s younger by eight years but acts like he’s a fourteen-year-old boy sometimes.
“Evan, come on,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like an awkward teenager rather than the CEO who closed a seven-million-dollar deal yesterday.
“No, you come on. You haven’t taken your eyes off her once. When was the last time you even noticed a woman existed outside of a business meeting? Go talk to her.”
I’m not typically shy. Board meetings with skeptical investors? No problem. Negotiating with difficult contractors? My specialty. So why am I rooted to this spot, unable to approach a woman in a coffee shop?
Maybe because she doesn’t look like the type who’d be impressed by business cards or portfolio values.
There’s something genuine about her—the way her gaze is focused on her book—oblivious to the world around her.
No carefully crafted social media pose, no flashy handbags and heels, simply an organic beauty.
Or maybe I’m hesitating because most of the women I dated were more interested in my bank account than anything I had to say.
The last woman I dated spent our entire second dinner judging the outfits and accessories of other men and women, mentioning how she would never be caught dead with such poor people items. Not exactly the foundation for finding someone who wants children and Sunday morning pancake traditions.
A dream I gave up on long ago and figured it’s just not in the cards for me.
She looks younger too, maybe mid-twenties to my thirty-four.
Not a massive gap, but enough to make me wonder if we’d want the same things.
I want a family before I’m too old to coach Little League or handle sleepless nights with a newborn.
There’s that dream invasively popping in, I’m going to have to shut that down before reality and disappointment hits yet again.
“Yeah, this is a solid strategy. Just keep staring at her from across the room like a love-struck fool. I’m sure she’ll eventually notice and think, ‘Oh, that guy looks totally normal.’” Evan continues as he punches my arm.
“Just go talk to her. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you with anyone, I’m beginning to wonder if you even remember how sex works. ”
My eyes widen with shock that we are actually having this conversation right now. “What the hell man? Can we not talk about this right now?” I hint at trying to get him to relinquish this whole topic.
“I’m just saying maybe she’s the one, or at least the one for tonight. I’m sure your hand is getting tired, and let’s be honest you’ve been a complete ass to work with lately. She could probably help with all that tension.”
His crude assessment pulls me out of my thoughts, replacing fascination with irritation. “Evan, why don’t you just shut the fuck up and drop it?” The growl of frustration that accompanies finally causes me to look away from her long enough to glare at my brother.
When I turn back, that’s when it becomes visible—the slight tremble of her hand as she wipes at her cheek.
She’s crying. Not sobbing, but there’s definitely unwanted drops tracking down her face as she stares at the pages.
Something protective and irrational surges through me.
The urge to go over there, sit down, and ask what book could possibly be worth her tears feels overwhelming.
“Oh shit, dude, she’s crying. You don’t want that kind of crazy. Hard pass,” Evan says, shaking his head.
My hand connects with the back of his head before I realize I’m moving. It’s a big brother reflex I’ve had since we were kids.
“Ow! What the hell? It was just a joke,” he protests, rubbing his head.
My attention returns to her immediately.
I’ve never experienced this immediate pull toward someone.
It’s not just that she’s beautiful, though she absolutely qualifies, with those striking green eyes that even from here look like emeralds.
Something else exists, something indefinable.
Like recognizing someone you’ve never met but somehow know you were meant to find.
Fate is not something I hold in my belief system.
Hard work, strategic planning, and creating opportunities make sense to me, but the universe having some sort of plan for my life has never been something I agreed with.
I design my plan, my life. But standing here, watching her, makes me wonder if changing coffee routines today wasn’t just by chance.
While I’m still debating how to approach her, I’m trying to figure out what to say that won’t sound like a pickup line or make her uncomfortable.
Before I know it, she starts gathering her things.
Her book closes, getting tucked into her bag, and now I’m watching her stand, and it’s telling me that my window of opportunity is closing fast.
Walking right past me toward the exit, our eyes lock for a fleeting moment. Tear remnants cling to her lashes, and something inside twists. Never have I wanted to comfort someone so badly in my life.
Time seems to slow, and I catch the scent of vanilla, subtle but distinct. A fragrance I’ll search for in every room from now on.
Then she’s gone, the door closing behind her. I’m left standing there frozen, with my coffee cooling in my hand, overwhelmed by the certainty that I just let something important slip away.
“You’re an idiot,” Evan says, but for once, there’s no teasing in his tone. “I’ve never seen you look at anyone like that.”
“I know.” The admission comes quietly.
My day will continue exactly as planned: meetings, calls, and site visits. But something has shifted. I promise myself that if I ever see her again, I won’t hesitate. Some opportunities only come once, and I have a feeling she might be the most important one I ever get.