A little over an hour later, I follow the directions Spencer texted me and pull into a well-lit public parking lot downtown. I wait in my car until Spencer emerges from a vehicle almost directly across from mine. As soon as I open my door, I can hear the faint sounds of music and voices nearby.
As Spencer passes through the puddle of light cast by a street lamp, I see he’s freshly showered and shaved. He’s wearing a dark peacoat paired with a blue scarf, and dark jeans. As good as he looks in suits, I think Casual Spencer is my favorite. Although I imagine he looks good in just about anything he wears.
When he reaches me, he grips my shoulders loosely and presses a quick kiss to each of my cheeks. I have to remind myself it’s a friendly British thing. Fergus greets me the same way, after all. Still, I can’t help relishing his closeness, however brief it is, or breathing in the delicious, slightly musky scent of his cologne.
“So, the winter festival?” I ask.
“I hope that’s okay. I’m sure you’re exhausted after the day you’ve had, so we can go somewhere quiet if you’d prefer—”
“No, this is perfect,” I say, cutting him off. “After inhaling stale, dusty air all day, being outside will be nice.”
The winter festival is a street fair of sorts in downtown Bellevue that kicked off on Friday night with the official tree lighting in Market Square. Vendors and eateries will set up stalls in a closed-off section of the downtown area every weekend from now through January. The winter theme will become more holiday-centric in the weeks leading up to Christmas.
“Wonderful. Let’s check it out then, shall we?” Spencer offers me his arm, and I don’t hesitate to loop mine through his.
We wander past a variety of stalls, perusing the items for sale and stopping to chat with vendors and other people. I’m particularly interested in some of the handmade items like jewelry and soaps, but I don’t want to linger too long and make Spencer wait, even though I’m sure he wouldn’t have a problem with it. But no, that seems like something better suited to do with my friends, so I make a mental note to arrange for a girls’ day with my three best friends to do some Christmas shopping.
The first food stall we come to features a variety of soups. My mouth waters at the mix of savory scents hanging in the air. I wasn’t even aware I’d paused a few feet away from the stall until Spencer says, “Would you like something to eat?”
I watch as the man running the stall dishes up a bowl of minestrone soup. He balances a crusty piece of bread across the top before handing it to a waiting patron.
“I might like to try a few different things, but I think I’ll start with soup,” I tell Spencer.
“I’ll join you.”
I order a bowl of minestrone, and Spencer gets the tomato and roasted garlic. He takes out his wallet, but I insist on paying as a small token of appreciation for helping at the center today.
“I’m happy to help anytime,” Spencer says. “I’m only ever a phone call away. I don’t expect anything in return, although I’ll never turn down food.”
I almost make a joke about him being a cheap date, but think better of it. Don’t want to make things awkward by bringing up the D word, even though thisfeelslike a date. Instead, I say, “Next best thing to tea and crumpets?”
Without missing a beat, he says, “Oh, I still expect tea and crumpets, just some other time.”
We make our way toward the giant Christmas tree in the center of Market Square and find a vacant bench. We sit and eat in silence as we survey our surroundings. It’s a beautiful, crisp night. The air is chilly, but I’m bundled up, and the soup does a good job of warming both my hands and my insides. The tree in front of us is lit with thousands of tiny lights, and all the street lamps are wound with strings of colored lights and topped with illuminated snowflakes.
“I’m so glad we’re doing this,” I say.
Spencer’s quick flash of a grin warms me even more than the soup. “I am too.”
Once we’ve finished eating, we carry on with our wandering. Glowing lights up ahead draw my attention to a popular restaurant. Their patio has been turned into a gorgeous wintery garden, decked out in pine boughs and fairy lights. The regular tables and chairs have been replaced with loveseats and cushioned deck chairs. Neon signs hang on the wall, one declaring ‘Adults Only’, another with ‘Winter Cocktail Garden’, and a third that reads ‘Bottoms Up’. A few people have paused outside to snap pictures on their phones; I imagine this place is popular amongst local Instagrammers. In fact, I’m tempted to take a photo for my own neglected account.
“Would you like a drink?” Spencer asks, following my gaze. “We could consider it a do-over for the drink we missed together the night we were first supposed to meet.”
His earnest expression tugs at something deep inside me. “You know I don’t blame you for that, right? It was completely out of your control.”
His sigh crystalizes in the air in front of his face. “I know, but I still feel bad. It felt like a loose end, and I’m grateful for the opportunity to…”
“To what?”
He shakes his head. “I was going to say ‘tie it off’, but that’s not quite right since we’re in each other’s lives now. Either way, I’m grateful for this second chance.”
As we approach the patio, I feel warmth emanating from somewhere. The hostess greets us and leads us to a loveseat. After handing us a drink menu, she indicates a tartan blanket draped over the back of the seat, and points out a space heater nearby with an adjustable dial.
“This is cozy,” I say once Spencer and I are seated. The loveseat is so small, our thighs are pressed together. He motions to the blanket and, at my nod, he drapes it over our laps.
“What are you in the mood for?” he asks as he scans the menu. “They have themed cocktails if that strikes your fancy.”
I lean in closer under the pretense of looking at the menu. In truth, I really just like the smell of Spencer’s cologne and want an excuse to be closer to him. “Jingle Juice,” I say with a laugh. “Wonder what’s in that. Ooh, Candy Cane Twist. I assume that’s made with peppermint, and that’s all I need to know.”
