“It doesn’t matter. Let’s not worry about that right now.” Colin cupped her chin in his hands. “Let’s talk about you instead. When did you first realize you had a thing for me?”
“Probably when I discovered we were both organizing junkies,” Spencer joked.
Colin wagged his finger at her. “You’d better stay out of my closet. I’ve got it set up just the way I want it.”
Spencer pretended to pout. “But closets are my favorite thing to organize!”
When the entrées arrived, Colin launched into a story about a tennis match that had gone into seven break points that lasted until Spencer speared the last bit of crab onto her fork. She laughed and groaned at all the right places, then tried to tell a story about when a field hockey game had gone into sudden death overtime, but Colin was so enthusiastic that he kept speaking right over her. He must be nervous, she thought, smiling at him. It was so cute.
The waitress appeared. “Any dessert for the lovebirds?”
Spencer opened her mouth to ask for some coffee and a menu, but Colin jumped in.
“I’m afraid not,” he said quickly, checking his phone. He shrugged at Spencer. “You know the drill. Gotta put in a good night’s sleep.”
Spencer struggled to smile. “Of course. But maybe just a quick—”
“We’ll take the check,” Colin interrupted.
The waitress glanced at Spencer, mouthed Sorry, and left, taking the dessert menus with her. Colin rolled up his napkin, tossed it on the table, and shot Spencer a winning grin. “I’m gonna run to the restroom.”
“Okay,” Spencer answered, trying to hide her disappointment. She checked her phone—she had one message from Emily, asking when she was getting back to Rosewood—and then examined her manicure, which was still flawless. She crossed and recrossed her legs and then drummed her fingers against the tablecloth.
The waitress dropped their check off, and Spencer left it where it was, crooked in the center of the table, slightly askew toward Colin’s still-empty seat.
Colin was taking an awfully long time. There must have been a line, Spencer decided. She checked her phone again, and read several blog posts on Go Fug Yourself. She touched up her lip gloss. The waitress returned and reached for the check. Spencer clapped her hand over the leather envelope. “Uh, we haven’t paid yet,” she said, cheeks flaming.
Fifteen minutes passed. The couple who had been sitting next to them walked out, hand in hand, and a new couple sat down. There was no sign of Colin. Spencer wondered if she’d misunderstood. Had Colin thought they were supposed to meet out front, near the bathrooms? Thinking that must be it, she gestured the waitress over and slipped her her credit card with as much confidence as she could muster. The waitress looked at her sympathetically, but Spencer laughed it off.
The foyer was empty. Spencer hesitated by the men’s room door, her stomach beginning to knot. When an older man with silver hair emerged from behind the door, Spencer asked if anyone else was in there. “It’s kind of urgent,” she explained, her voice high and tight.
The man gave her a weird look. “Didn’t see anyone else in there,” he finally said.
Spencer bolted for the front door, the uneasy feeling in her now as strong as a heartbeat.
Outside, she took a quick lap around the perimeter of the building. When she reached the parking lot, she stopped short. A man with Colin’s same broad shoulders, dark hair, and tight butt was locked in an embrace with a woman in her thirties wearing a killer linen dress. Her sleek blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she had her hand on an expensive stroller.
“Say hi to Daddy, Brady!” the woman exclaimed, her voice ringing out over the parking lot.
Spencer gasped audibly. Daddy?
The couple turned to face her. Colin’s face registered a note of surprise and shock, but he recovered quickly, again grinning that ultra-white smile. “Spencer!” He waved. “Come here for a sec!”
Somehow, Spencer managed to move her feet, one in front of the other, toward Colin. She stared at him, then the blonde, then the child in the stroller. Had she heard correctly? Was he seriously a . . . father?
When Spencer was only a few paces away, Colin smiled, his eyes still darting nervously. “Yvette, this is Spencer. She’s the girl I told you about, who I’ve been giving tennis lessons to.”
“I’m Yvette DeSoto,” the blonde said, her voice warm like honey. She stuck out her left hand. It was weighted down with an enormous diamond sparkler and sapphire-studded wedding band. “I hope my husband hasn’t been working you too hard.”