“Not hike through the woods to the ocean. You don’t want to ruin it.”
“I suppose I don’t. I’ll grab my suitcase.”
“So you did bring a suitcase.”
“Just in case. Don’t read too much into it.” He strides toward me, pushing past me as he makes his way to the door. “I’m taking the room next to yours.”
He doesn’t ask, just tells me what he’s going to do. Which isn’t normal.
But I’m realizing younger, sweeter Spence is nowhere to be found. He’s been replaced by older, fiercer Spencer, and I have to admit…
I kind of like it. This new version of him.
* * *
The sun shinesdown upon us, warm despite the chill in the wind that sweeps over us. The hill in front of us appears easy enough, but the ground is mostly sand, and we’ll continuously fight to gain traction as we climb it.
Spence just doesn’t know it yet.
I hid out in the kitchen when he dragged his suitcase to his bedroom, and I never said a word about the size of said suitcase either. It’s large. Looks like he brought enough to move in. I thought I wanted to be alone here, but I know when he leaves, there’s going to be a hole where he was, and I will never be able to fill it.
Perhaps it was a mistake that I allowed him to stay. It will be hard to recover from his visit. I’m only torturing myself.
But I don’t tell him to leave. It’s already too late. I need him here.
I just need him. Period.
He took his time upstairs while I puttered around the kitchen, picking up my dishes from breakfast earlier and rinsing them off, then stashing them in the dishwasher. I wipe the counters down and tidy up, marveling at the fact that I even know how to clean the kitchen in the first place. Every little thing has been done for me since birth. Servants everywhere to attend to my every whim. Enough money to buy whatever I want without a second thought.
I’ve never had to work for a single thing my entire life—except for Spencer.
Finally, he appeared, like a breath of fresh air clad in a NYU sweatshirt and dark jeans, ready for adventure. He didn’t say a word when he caught me wiping down the counters, but I’m sure it threw him off. Sylvie Lancaster doesn’t clean.
Well, guess now I do.
“This is a struggle.” I wave a hand at the hill we stop in front of.
He squints into the sun. An attractive look for him, the wind ruffling through his dark hair, the creases at the corner of his eyes new from age. Tantalizing. “It’s not that high.”
“It’s the sand.” I wave a hand toward it. “It runs deep.”
“I can handle it.”
His confidence is appealing, but I glance at his feet, noting that they’re clad in a pair of expensive Nikes. He should’ve worn boots.
“The sand will get in your shoes.”
“I’m not worried about it.” He points toward the trail. “Lead the way.”
I do as he demands, marching up the hill, working hard to make my climb appear effortless. He’s directly behind me, keeping pace, and the more I huff and puff, the more irritated I get.
We finally get to the top of the hill, the ocean spread out before us in the near distance, the wind whipping around us at a frantic pace. I shade my eyes, staring at the white-capped water, the expanse of flat, wet sand beckoning. It’s still a ways till we actually get to the water, and I sort of want to hear Spencer groan in dread. I want him tired and panting, like me.
He’s not even out of breath. And I’d bet money there’s not a grain of sand in his shoes either.
Infuriating.
“The view is gorgeous.”