The food is extraordinary—rich and perfectly seasoned. We eat in silence for a few minutes, and I'm grateful for the distraction.
“So,” Spence says eventually, “what's your ideal Christmas look like?”
I consider the question, touched that he's asking. “Honestly? I never really had one growing up. After our mom left, Justice tried his best, but he was just a kid himself.”
Spence's expression softens. “He kept you safe as best he could.”
“He did.” I take another bite, chewing thoughtfully. “But safe and happy aren't always the same thing.”
“No,” he agrees quietly. “They're not.”
“What about you? What's a Spencer McCallister Christmas tradition?”
He huffs a laugh, but there's no humor in it. “My family did the whole thing when I was a kid. Tree, presents, the works. Then I joined the Navy and spent most Christmases deployed.”
“And since you got out?”
His fork pauses halfway to his mouth. “Avoided it mostly.”
My heart aches for him. This big, strong man has a deeply hurt place inside.
He sets the fork down. “Lena died in the fall. Every holiday since has been... difficult.”
The weight of his words settles hard on me. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don't be.” He picks up his wineglass, swirling the liquid. “It was a mess, and not totally my fault she was out that night. But we fought over the phone. I was coming home from my last deployment, but she drank that night. She made the choice to drive drunk.”
God. How awful.
“That wasn't your fault.”
“Wasn't it?” His eyes meet mine, and the pain there is visceral. “If I hadn't pushed her away, if I'd been there instead of halfway around the world?—”
“You can't live in the what-ifs, Spence. Trust me, I've tried.”
He studies me for a long moment. “We don't have to do this now, or ever. But if you want to tell me, I'd like to know what happened with your ex.”
I swallow hard. “Actually, I don't mind talking about it because I've learned how to process everything that happened. You're probably aware Justice found me with a black eye and broken wrist when I was 17. That's when he finally saw what I'd been hiding. Before that, I was caught in that cycle of abuser manipulation. Him making me feel like I was at fault, and threatening me if I told anyone. I was really young, he was a year older. He was masterful in his manipulation. I'm just glad it's behind me.”
Spence's hand clenches around his wine glass so hard I worry it might shatter. He doesn't look away from me. “Where is he now?”
“Prison. Justice made sure of that.” I take a steadying breath. “But the physical wounds healed faster than the other stuff.”
“Trust issues,” he says.
“Among other things.” I force a smile. “I'm working on it. Therapy, support groups. I built my business off helping teenage girls dealing with similar situations.”
Something shifts in his expression. His respect, admiration, maybe something deeper is visible. “Justice mentioned that. Said you're incredible with them.”
Heat rises to my cheeks and I push my food around on my plate. “I understand what they're going through. What it feels like to be trapped by someone who's supposed to love you.”
“You're not trapped anymore.”
“No,” I agree. “But I'm also not... experienced with healthy relationships. With men who actually respect boundaries and...”
I cut myself off, realizing where this confession was heading.
Spence leans forward. “And what?”
