When his tongue darts out to lick his lips, I realize I’m staring at his mouth, so I drop my gaze to my hot chocolate. “This isn’t your first diner experience, is it?”
“No, I’ve been to several since I moved to Canada,” he says, dipping his spoon back in the glass and taking another taste. “I’ve even been to a few in the States.”
“Ahh, so you got to live your childhood dream from American TV? Have they lived up to your expectations?”
“For the most part, yes. There were a few with slightly questionable food and lackluster service. A couple that felt like I’d literally walked onto a TV set. Some with such busy decor, it left me with sensory overload.”
“How does this one rank?”
“Definitely top five,” he says without hesitation. “All that’s missing is a jukebox.”
“They actually have one, but they moved it to the back room a couple years ago,” I tell him. “Parents kept letting their kids play with it unsupervised and buttons and discs would get jammed. Horatio and Bea bring it out sometimes late at night or for special occasions.”
“I’ll have to come back some night for a late dinner and see if I can talk Bea into bringing it out.”
“Use that charm of yours and she won’t be able to resist.”
Spencer cocks his head to the side, a slow smile spreading over his face. “You think I’m charming, Hollie?”
I’ve already lifted my mug to take a sip of hot chocolate when he asks the question, so I simply make an ambiguous humming sound. Spencer watches me for another moment before returning to his own drink. It’s melted enough now that he’s able to use the straw. With his focus on that, I watch him, examining the details of his face: his long lashes, dark brows, and the way his cheeks hollow as he sucks on the straw. A five o’clock shadow is sprouting on his cheeks and chin, making him somehow even sexier than before. I only ever saw two or three photos of him on the dating site, and they didn’t do him justice.
After a long pull on the straw, Spencer pushes the glass away. He takes a napkin from the metal dispenser and wipes the condensation from his hands and then the table, all the while studiously avoiding my gaze. “I suppose it’s time we finally talk.”
“And here that’s what I thought we’d been doing all day.”
Between the way he’s still not looking at me and the deep V between his brows, there’s a part of me that’s tempted to let him off the hook. Meeting Spencer today was exactly what I hoped it would be when we spent all those weeks chatting on LoveLinks. He seems so familiar, and the conversation has flowed freely. It’s all been veryfriendly. The thing is, when we agreed to meet a few weeks ago, I assumed we’d both begun to develop romantic feelings for each other. I figured if we got along as well in person as we did online, he might hold my hand or kiss me. Ask me on another date that would hopefully lead to another and then another. When he ghosted me, I did my best to brush it off and convince myself it wasn’t about me, but it cut me more deeply than I’d like to admit. And now I deserve an explanation.
When Spencer doesn’t say anything else, I know he needs to tell me the truth as much as I need to hear it. “Go ahead,” I coax him.
He deflates a bit as he releases a long, slow breath. “This isn’t easy, so forgive me if it seems like I’m blurting it all out.” At my nod, he says, “My dad had a heart attack the day you and I were meant to meet. When my mum called to tell me, I developed tunnel vision. She said I didn’t need to come home, at least not until they knew how bad it was, but I figured it was best to get a head start, even if he was fine. In all the chaos of booking a plane ticket, packing, organizing a ride to the airport, having to backtrack after being on the road for twenty minutes before discovering I’d forgotten my damn passport…well, I completely forgot about our date.”
“Understandable,” I murmur, uncertain whether to say anything more or let Spencer continue.
He carries on as if he didn’t hear me. “I was halfway across the Atlantic when I thought about it, but I didn’t have wifi, so I told myself I’d message you the second I landed in London. Long story short, I got swept up in family drama and visits to the hospital, and by the time I signed into LoveLinks, you’d already blocked me.”
“I deleted my profile entirely,” I say numbly. I can’t read his expression, so I speak again before he can say anything. “Is…is your dad okay?”
One side of Spencer’s mouth curves. “He is, thank god. The heart attack was milder than they first anticipated and the doctors are confident he’ll make a full recovery as long as he sticks to the lifestyle changes they prescribed. One of those changes includes significantly cutting back on his work hours, which my father hasn’t taken well, seeing as he’s a workaholic. That brings me to why I was so angry earlier today when you overheard my phone conversation. My father owns a company that recently started working closely with the MacKinnon Group. That’s how I ended up in Bellevue; I was working for the family company in London and my dad thought I’d be a perfect fit for a job opening here.
“My younger brother—an irresponsible playboy with delusions of grandeur—wants to take over for our father, even though he knows next to nothing about the business, since he’s always been too busy partying, frivolously spending our father’s money, and getting into scrapes with the law. My dad has a trusted team in London that’s more than capable of picking up the slack, but my brother has been attempting to weasel his way in. It’s been a difficult time; I want to be home to help, both with my dad’s recovery and at the company, but Dad wants me to stay here. He knows I’ve been enjoying the work and making real headway. Needless to say, it’s been…a lot.”
“And then my friends asked you to do this random favor for them on top of everything,” I say.
“Fergus has been a good friend to me and he doesn’t ask for much,” Spencer says. “I was hoping it would help take my mind off things, but then my brother made waves back home and I was forced to deal with it. I was already at the inn and I didn’t want to cancel at the last second, and…well, now I’m glad I didn’t.”
“I’m glad too. I hope my boisterous group of friends proved to be a successful distraction.”
I try not to think too hard about the mixture of relief and pleasure that washes through me when Spencer smiles again. “It was the perfect distraction. Today was exactly what I needed in more ways than one.”
A companionable silence falls as Spencer finishes his milkshake. Between the serious conversation and the fact I’m not ready for our time together to be over, I suggest we head to the back room so he can see the jukebox.
“Is that allowed?” he asks.
“You’re not the only one who can charm Bea.”
A few minutes later, key in hand, I let us into the back room, which also serves as the diner’s office. The familiar mix of scents transport me back in time to my teens. Bea and Horatio used to let me hang out back here after school whenever I wanted, which was often after my mom left. Once my dad lost his job, I hated going home to the anger and sadness that seemed to permeate every room of our house.
I watch Spencer’s face as he takes it all in. One side of the wood-paneled room holds a pair of rusty filing cabinets and a desk with an ancient computer and towering stacks of paperwork. The walls on this side are covered in framed photographs of Bea and Horatio, various patrons over the years, and shots of Evie, Stella, Louisa, and me throughout the years. The only piece of furniture from this century is the ergonomic chair the girls and I bought as a surprise for Bea a couple of years ago. The other side of the room is full of extra chairs, miscellaneous boxes and crates, old posters leaning up against the wall, and, of course, the jukebox.
