Page 35 of The First Love Myth

My insides feel like mush as I step into his line of sight and offer a smile. I haven’t been on a date in almost a decade, since high school, really. In college, there wasn’t dating. You made out at a party, and you either were or weren’t a couple after that. And with Lucas, we fell from friendship into a couple without really trying.

I wonder how long it’s been since Spencer’s been on a date. In our five minutes together, he told me he’s been divorced for two years. But I can’t imagine doing this with a kid. He has to be doubly careful with whomever he brings into his life because it’s not only his life. The thought gives me pause. I’m not the best option for Spencer. There are so many strings attached. Relief washes through me. What if Ihadbeen pregnant? What if that test said Pregnant and then I found Sheila? It’s possible my decisions would’ve been wholly different.

“Hello again,” Spencer says, taking my hand and breaking into my spiraling thoughts.

His face is relaxed and open, and I want to be here so badly. I push Julian and strings and doubts away. Spencer has picked a nicer restaurant in a town full of nice restaurants. They have a killer bar burger that I would die for right now, but the bar is crowded, and there’s no outside seating. I rarely miss being shore adjacent, as I was in my youth, but tonight, it would be nice to sit outside and share a drink, the cooling ocean breezeon our faces in the lingering summer daylight, sand between our toes. Princeton, for all it has to offer, doesn’t have that.

“Do you want to get out of here?” I ask before he even opens the door.

His eyes shoot up in surprise before he notices my less-than-suggestive expression. “What did you have in mind?”

I shrug because I have no idea. “You want to walk? It would be a shame to waste this night.” As if on cue, a light breeze tousles my hair.

He offers me his elbow. “Works for me.”

And so we walk, in silence at first, before expanding on the basics we shared during our first five minutes. Tidbits turn into stories and laughter. I’m comfortable with Spencer in a way I’m not usually comfortable with people. He laughs easily and smiles often. Every story he tells is genuine, and he listens to me, asks me questions. He wants to know me. I glance around at the other people walking tonight. How many of them are doing the same thing on these same streets? How many others snuck out of speed dating’s social hour to meet Guy 4?

We turn the corner into Palmer Square. In the winter, everything will be lit up, and a tree will brighten the dark nights. Now, everything is lush and green. The fountain glows, giving off the feeling that we aren’t in Central New Jersey, steps from a major university, but in the smallest of historic small towns.

“How many times have you been to speed dating?” I keep my tone casual. The answer doesn’t really matter unless this is a ruse. Not that I get that vibe from him. What I do get from him is the same sense of wonder I have at this turn of events, at the kismet that brought us together, as if we both realize what a gift a night like tonight is. Chance encounters, serendipity, fate—whatever you want to call it—seem to be working in our favor.

“First time, actually. Though Kara’s been trying to rope me into it for a while now.”

“You’re in the support group?”

Spencer nods. “I know how it seems. Trust me, I never thought I’d be in a divorcee support group, but”—he smiles—“Kara was my neighbor when I first moved out. She brought me cookies as a welcome gift and was always friendly, asked after Ryan. One morning, maybe three months after I moved in, there was a flyer under my door with a note that said she was picking me up at seven and I had better get a haircut before then.”

Having known Kara for all of seventy-five seconds, I can totally see this happening. Kara is an adopter, and Spencer, it seems, was one of her projects. Something tells me I’m next.

“And you went?”

“Yup, and it was surprisingly fun. I mean, it’s sad to admit, but by that point in my life, all my friends were husbands of my ex-wife’s friends. My social life went to her in the divorce.” His face turns serious. “My whole life had been wrapped up in my son, and there was this gaping hole where he had been.”

I move my hand from his elbow and slide it into his. His fingers slip between mine, and a shock of electricity runs from my fingertips all the way up my arm. “How often do you see him?”

“We split the week and alternate weekends now. Neither of us wanted to be a dick about it, but when I first moved out, the papers hadn’t even been drawn, and Natalie had him almost all the time.”

His pain, even now, is evident. Those months—I hoped it was only months—haunt him. How much did he miss in his son in that time? I don’t know what it’s like, seeing the daily changes in your own child. How from day to day, new things emerge, big and small. But I watched Zoey grow up intermittently, and Jane often shares a similar sentiment when she talks about her boys. My heart wrenches at the thought of the boys. Will they still bemy nephews if I end my marriage, or am I forfeiting watching them grow into men if I walk away?

“I’m sorry,” I say, though it’s wholly inadequate.

“Yeah.” He squeezes my hand. “The group was really helpful in getting me back out of the house, but I have been able to avoid speed dating until now.”

“What changed?”

“I guess I felt ready to date again,” he says tentatively. “My ex-wife and I... It wasn’t anything bad. We... We wanted to be in love and perfect for each other and in sync. We caved on things when we should’ve pushed. We settled for less than we wanted for ourselves. And that caught up to us. Especially after Ryan.

“There’s less time for each other when you have a kid, and to survive that, your relationship has to be strong. You need to have accepted each other’s flaws for real, not have ignored them or lied to yourself that the other person would change if you willed it enough. Nothing quite brings out the worst in someone like not having a full night’s sleep for six straight years.”

He’s rendered me speechless. It sounds too much like what I could say about me and Julian and our rom-com-esque love story. But Spencer’s not looking for a response, and the silence between us grows comfortable as we continue to walk.

“Is Kara still your neighbor?” I ask a few blocks later.

He shakes his head. “I moved out of Northgate about a year ago.”

I laugh as the name of my apartment complex comes out of his mouth. Of course that’s where he lived and where Kara lives.

“I movedintoNorthgate recently.”

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