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I’m tempted to crack another joke, asking when hefoundhis cool, but maybe now isn’t the time. Not when his eyes are on mine, and softening.
“I get it.” I set the broccoli down and hold his gaze. “Siblings can be tough.” Even as I say this, with his eyes on mine, all soft and stuff, I feel my throat tightening.
This is also unexpected.
“Come on.” He arches a brow. “Your brother and sisters are perfect.”
I avert my eyes. “Yeah. Don’t I know it.”
“More importantly,” he says, “you brought food for us. And balloons and donuts for Kayla. That was very nice of you. I wish she hadn’t witnessed me being Mr. Actually-Interrupter-Guy either.”
Kayla. Right.
Spencer’s embarrassed about acting like a jerk in front of her. These two really are made for each other. And I should be glad about that. Strike that. Iamglad about it. In fact, Ishouldprobably make sure Mrs. Lockhart sees Kayla and Spencer together, so she’ll stop worrying about us.
“Anyway.” He picks up his chopsticks. “Thanks for dinner. I love”—he peers at the containers—“whatever this is.”
“Beef broccoli, orange chicken, and lo mein. Also, you’re welcome.”
He unfolds his napkin and lays it in his lap. “Ladies first.” He nods at the food. “Please. I insist.”
I lay a hand on my chest and bat my eyelashes. “Are you saying I’m a lady? Why, thank you, kind sir.” I’m trying to bring us back to joke-town because for a moment there we risked getting too deep. And I definitelydon’twant to discuss the fact that I’m sometimes jealous of Mac, Darby, and Liv.
I love them so much. And they love me back. So I should probably just stand around feeling grateful all the time for the family I have. I am grateful.
And yet. It’s not that simple.
While Spencer and I take turns filling our plates, the sun sets further, and a light wind picks up. The front of his hair shifts in the breeze. He must’ve used a little less gel today.
The back entrance to the library opens, and a couple of tow-headed children tumble out. A frazzled woman chases after them, with a bald baby on her hip. Lucy says parents love to bring their kids here to tire them out before bedtime. According to her, the evening programs always smell like baby shampoo.
“Stay out of the sandbox!” the mother calls out, but her children scramble for it anyway. She looks at me and shakes her head. “Kids. What’re you gonna do.” When her shoulders slump, I let out anoofof commiseration.
“My niece would’ve done the same thing. But at least they’re having fun, right?”
Spencer chuckles, rubbing his chopsticks like he’s making fire. “You and your bright sides,” he says. “The world could set its clock by them.”
I shrug. “Well, you can’t be mad at the sand.”
“No, no. I’m not criticizing. I like it,” he says. “I could use a sunnier lens to view life through. Especially once I’m a father.”
Whoa. My insides flip as I try to imagine Spencer Crane in trousers and a tie, on the ground, building a Lego set. “You want kids?”
“Four.”
Quadruple whoa. To hide my shock, I scoop another blob of lo mein on my plate.
“Two sets of twins, Two years apart,” he says. “Two boys. Two girls. Four in total. That’s the dream, although statistically, I know it’s highly unlikely. Especially since twins don’t run in my family. Oh, and I don’t have a girlfriend, let alone a wife.” He puffs out a laugh. “But that’s what I always pictured for myself. I admire the evenness. Two and two make four. Two years apart. Two parents.”
“So pretty much Noah’s Ark?”
“Heh. I hadn’t thought of it like that, but yeah,” he says, securing a piece of orange chicken in his chopsticks.
I gape at him. “I’m speechless.”
“And yet… you’re speech-ing.” He pops the chicken in his mouth. We’re both quiet for a moment. He’s chewing his food, and I’m chewing on his future plans.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’ve already thought about the future like that,” I say. “That’s very on brand for you. But multiples.Multiplemultiples?”
