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ChapterEight
SPENCER
The Beanery is busier than I expected at this time on a Saturday, but I shouldn’t be surprised. These days, on weekends our shops can get clogged with out-of-towners. Along one wall there’s a station where Bev, the owner, fills coffee orders and toasts croissants. The air is thick with the scent of coffee. And something else. Cinnamon, maybe?
Whatever it is, I like it.
In the corner, on a stool, Apple Valley’s resident singer-songwriter strums her guitar and sings about blackbirds. A few locals are listening, but it’s mostly background music to everyone else. The rest of the place is taken up by strangers with foaming lattes and half-eaten scones. I snag the very last bistro table for two. Right outside the bathroom.
Ugh.
Under normal circumstances, I wouldn’t eat or drink this close to… the facilities. And I can’t imagine ever asking a date to sit where we could hear toilets flushing. Then again, as Frank’s so quick to point out, I haven’t been on a real date since I moved back to Apple Valley. And anyway, this isn’t a date. It’s Tess.
She won’t have any expectations.
I suggested Beverly’s Beanery because Frank comes here most Saturdays after work. He heads to his apartment first to wash up, then he swings by to pick his girlfriend up. It’s possible he and Alice will arrive while Tess and I are here. That should plant some seeds in his head.
Future girlfriend seeds.
Wait. That came out wrong. Let’s start over.
How aboutI’m hoping to nudge Frank down a track that gets him wondering if maybe—just maybe—Tess McCoy likes his little brother. It would be great if he thought we’re courting.
Wait. Let’s start over again.
Cool guys with red Mustangs don’t saycourting.Or maybe they do. I wouldn’t know. I haven’t been cool since the day I was born. But speaking ofthe baby, that’s what my mom claims Frank called me the whole first year of my life. Apparently he couldn’t pronounce Spencer. It’s kind of adorable, butFranksays he can’t remember doing that.
He probably doesn’t, otherwise he wouldn’t have named his latest pet project after me. For the record, I’m not even dying to win the baby, or to take something from my brother I didn’t earn. It’s just that when Frank started ribbing me about women, my pride got in the way. He asked if I was scared to bet him. Then he clucked like a chicken.
I’m neither of those things.
So the truth is I’d probably insist on giving the car back. In other words, I walked into a stupid bet that could cost me the totality of my savings for no good reason. And since I’m pretty sure Frankwouldtake my money, I absolutely have to win. With no down payment for my own place, I’d have to start from scratch. Like I said.
Stupid stupid stupid.
My head starts to ache. What I need now is some caffeine, but I don’t want to get up to order and risk losing this table. So I’m stuck waiting for Tess. She should be walking through those doors in two minutes. But this is Tess we’re talking about. She’s the last person I should be relying on to be on time.
I’m about to start counting the seconds from one to one hundred twenty, when I spot her across the parking lot. She’s in a pink top, like a tunic, with leggings on underneath. Little boots on her feet. Hair down in waves.
Not the usual Tess.
I’m used to her McCoy Construction polo and jeans. Or how she was dressed at the car wash. Ultra-casual, in shorts and flip flops, her hair in a wild bun.
Are you forgetting the big gala?
Oh, right. The gala.
When McCoy Construction and Homes 4 Humans held their fundraising ball at the library, Tess showed up in an emerald green dress that just about fried my corneas. The shade was almost an exact match of her eyes, not that I looked too hard or too long. She was like an eclipse. Best to avoid. Looking can turn into wanting. Wanting leads to rejection.
Still, as Tess comes through the door today, her hair flaming down her shoulders, she’s closer to eclipse-mode again.
Hopefully I won’t get burned.
“Over here,” I call out to her. She does a double take, and I check my fly again. Why do I keep thinking my zipper’s down whenever Tess is around? She weaves through the room like a ball of energy. Not an eclipse. A planet on fire. After hopping onto the stool, she drops her purse between us and grins. “Measure twice, cut once.”
I blink. Confused. “Huh?”
“I’m on time!” She splays her hands like her meaning is totally clear now. “Like I measured the minutes it would take me to get here twice and then—” When I blink again, she cuts herself off. “Whatever. I thought the metaphor worked. My point is I’m not late. Or early.” She cocks her head. “Where’s my award?”
