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“Why do you think it was me?”
“Everyone else on my list has their names with their numbers. Who else would it be?”
“Telemarketing?” I mumbled.
He laughed.
“I was waiting for your call. I know you have questions.”
“Well, maybe.” I picked up my dignity from the floor. “But they aren’t about me,” I said with much more confidence. “They’re more about you.”
“And I’m ready to answer them. Would you like to get some fresh air? Or we could get some coffee.”
Okay, I’ll play.
“Sure. Coffee is good.”
“Great. When do you want me to pick you up?”
I looked at the sweatpants I was still holding in my hand and threw them back on the chair.I need to shower.
“Give me half an hour.”
ChapterThree
SPENCER
I looked into the mirror.
Cool jeans—check. Nice long-sleeve black shirt—check. More or less clean sneakers—check.
This isn’t a date, Spencer,I had to remind myself. Yeah, I knew that. But looking good always gave me more confidence.
I pushed away a strand of my long, strawberry-blonde hair from my face—the only thing I inherited from my father. Or so I thought when I was a kid. But it must’ve changed with time. I had to trust Mom on this since I’d never seen him. Not even in a picture. Now, when I told her that I wished I knew what he looked like, she replied:That’s easy. Just look into the mirror.
And I did. I looked into my blue eyes and imagined myself with short hair and three-day-old stubble.
When I was a kid, she told me he was a good guy and that he died in a car crash when I wasn’t even born yet. I believed her then. But since that time, I’d watched too many movies about single mothers abandoned by their boyfriends, telling their kids that their father was a fireman and died as a hero saving people's lives. The car crash was in second place on the top ten list of those lies.
I wished I still believed my mother. But when I got older, I came up with new questions, and the answers became vague.
She always told me that they loved each other, but not having a single picture with the man she loved seemed more like a tough breakup, which most of the time led to destroying all evidence of the heartbreaker's existence.
I preferred the truth. Maybe she was afraid I wouldn’t forgive her?
How could I not? After all, she was about my age when it happened, and even much older couples couldn’t prevent those mistakes when blinded by love.
I heard a car. Then the doorbell rang.
I pushed my phone into the back pocket of my jeans before opening the door.
Finn looked over a second, then smiled and stepped back.
“Ready to go?” He raised a brow.
“Yeah,” I nodded.
I shut the door and followed him to his shiny black SUV, wishing I had made a list of questions so I wouldn’t forget anything. The guy was a distraction.
