Page 38 of The Boyfriend Boycott
“You wanted dessert, so I’m getting you dessert.” I throw the car into park and hop out of the car, making my way around and opening the passenger side door. Spencer is looking at me as if she’s trying to decide whether or not it’s safe, like I’m a serial killer leading her into a dark alley. “Come on. It’s just dessert.”
“Fine. Just dessert. And only because I’m still fantasizing about that pie.”
“Well, I have something better than floor pie.” I take her hand, helping her out, and lead her through the back door into the bustling kitchen of the Whisky Jack.
I was right, the place is jammed, and the din of the crowd floats through to the kitchen every time the door swings open. Rather than taking Spencer out into the fray, in front of prying eyes, I lead her through the kitchen in the opposite direction and into the quiet of my office. The office I set up but hardly use, other than to do the bookkeeping once a week or so.
It’s small, only room for a desk and a couple chairs. She sits and I lift a hand in astay right theremotion before going out to get my latest creation from the big industrial fridge. Thankfully, the cheesecake is still intact, and Finn and Doug haven’t dug into it for themselves.
When I get back, I set down the plate of cheesecake and offer Spencer one of the two forks I’m carrying. She’s looking around the office, taking it in, before she looks back at me and says,“Wow, nice place you got here. How much does something like this go for, anyway?”
My mouth quirks up to one side.
“An arm and a leg,” I answer. “It’s great for folks who work from home. The whole space doubles as an office.”
“Wow. Incredible deal.”
“How long were you waiting to make that joke?”
“Pretty much since you left to get the”—She looks at the plate I’ve set down in front of her—“cheesecake.”
I laugh, a full belly laugh, and Spencer joins me. My favourite sound in the whole world. I shut the door behind me, and the clattering noises and chatter from the kitchen are muffled, so it’s just her and I in my office that is the size of a pantry. I take the seat next to her as she takes a bite of the cheesecake and stares back at me wide-eyed.
“Holy shit, this is like, better than sex,” Spencer says, her words garbled by the cake in her mouth.
“Is it better than sex though?” I ask. “Clearly, you haven’t been having the right kind of sex.”
“I’ve been having sex with you, haven’t I?”
“Fair point. Well then, I’m obviously not doing enough to satisfy you.”
“You do plenty to satisfy me.” Her eyes meet mine and hold onto my gaze for a beat before she adds, “This cake is just really fucking good.”I glance up at her as I pick a piece up onto my fork. I would cook for Spencer every day, so I can get the satisfaction I feel right now. Making her happy is addicting.
“It’s a brown sugar bourbon cheesecake. I thought it would be a good addition to the new menu. Like a play on the Whisky thing.”
“It’s amazing.”She shoves another bite into her mouth, and the room is quiet again except for the sound of her chewing.
“Hey, so you really went along with the whole date ruse tonight,” I say, pointing my fork at her and closing one eye to focus on her at the end of it.
“I didn’t want it to seem like I didn’t want to be there with you. I know you need to make a good impression and whatnot,” Spencer says, swallowing hard. Is she nervous? Sometimes it’s hard to tell with Spencer. She keeps her emotions under tight control. “And I kind of enjoyed being on a date with you. Even if it wasn’t technically real, it felt like you had my back. I don’t know if you could tell, but I was super anxious about that presentation.”
“Yeah, I could. But only because I know you. I don’t think Eleanor would have noticed,” I reassure her. “I didn’t know that you were supposed to give a presentation.”
“I wasn’t when she initially invited me. It was a last-minute thing she asked me to do. I threw it together. I’m not the best at formal presentations or sounding smart or eloquent. I’ve never had to do anything like that.”
“Well, you knocked it out of the park. Really. I think Eleanor loved it.Iloved it.”
“See, that’s what I mean,” she says, setting down her fork and placing her hands in her lap. Her green eyes are piercing right through me. “That’s what you do.”
“What?”
“You believe in me. You cheer me on, root for me. Why do you do that?”
“Why wouldn’t I do that, Spencer?” The answer to her question is so simple. There’s nothing that Spencer can’t do, I firmly believe that.
“Because I don’t always believe in myself. I’ve always been told that as long as I’m pretty, I don’t have to be smart.”
“Who the fuck told you that?”I snap in a way that doesn’t sound like me, but I don’t care. It’s the stupidest fucking adviceI’ve ever heard. Not because Spencer isn’t pretty, not because she isn’t smart, but because she is both of those things and so much more.
