“Over there.” He gestures to the side where a cabana-like structure has been set up at the top of the hill. I have no idea how I missed seeing it. “Sit with me?”
I would do anything with him.
Spencer leads me to the setup—half bed, half couch, full of comfortable pillows and a throw blanket that he lays across my legs before pouring champagne from the ever-present bottle.
“They built this for us.” I laugh.
“They built this for you and whoever was going to get this one-on-one date,” he corrects. “Who were you going to give it to before—?”
“Before you danced with me?”
“I figured that might seal the deal.”
I laugh softly. “Arrogant.”
“I learned from the best.”
“Me?”
“I was thinking your brothers. But no—I always admired their confidence. It’s not arrogance.”
“It can be arrogance,” I point out with a younger sister’s certainty and Spencer laughs.
He shifts and tucks me against him, his arm warm against my shoulders. I lean against his chest, unable to stop my smile. It’s surreal that we’re actually here—finally together, on a date. Even if it’s one orchestrated by the show, it’s still a date.
Our first date.
We’re overlooking the water, and the white caps multiply as I sit and enjoy the view. Birds swoop in and out of sight, dropping to the beach out of sight over the hill.
It feels comfortable here. Real.
For the first time since I signed up to be the Suitorette, I feel like this is where I’m supposed to be.
And withwhomI’m supposed to be with.
“Do you remember the first time we kissed?” Spencer toys with my ponytail, rubbing the strands of hair between his fingers.
“See, that’s arrogance that you think I would remember.”
“Don’t you?” he asks looking down at me.
“Well, yeah, but…” Spencer smiles knowingly. “It wasn’t my first kiss,” I add rudely.
“You wereten.”
“I’m a princess. People liked to kiss me.” I hold up my hand. “I met Logan Paul and Ross Lynch at some party and one of them kissed me. Only I can’t remember which one of them it was.”
“I must have blocked out hearing about that,” he says. “And I have no idea who they are.”
“I bet you know who Justin Bieber is.” I smile smugly. “Do you remember that picture I had of us? He signed it.”
“And you framed it and hung it on your wall,” he adds sourly. “I really couldn’t stand him.”
“Because he kissed me?” A giggle escapes.
“I think you like to kiss people.”
“Kissing is always fun,” I say, and take a breath. “When it’s as far as you’re willing to take it.”
