you,” Spencer said, cutting her off. He pasted a smile on his face in clear defiance of the scowl Laura aimed at him. “That’s so nice of you.”
“And,” Ellen said, “I’ll check back with you tomorrow. But for now…” She glanced back and forth between them. “I guess it’s up to the both of you. So…” The older woman smiled encouragingly. “What do you think? Can you get along for just one night?”
Laura looked at Spencer, and he looked back at her. She wasn’t a PhD candidate in psychology, but she guessed that her dubious expression mirrored his own.
It was going to be a long night.
Chapter Four
There wasn’t much room for debate—Laura had put her bags in the master bedroom first, so, unfortunately, Spencer had to concede the field to her. He’d removed a few items from his luggage and brought them into the smaller bedroom.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, pointing at his suitcases.
“Maybe by tomorrow, one of us will be gone. I’m just taking the necessities for tonight.”
“For all we know, the person leaving tomorrow might be you.” She crossed her arms over her chest.
“We’ll find out in a few hours.”
She scowled, but it didn’t make her any less adorable.
He retreated into the smaller room. But it was just for the night. Hopefully, everything would be sorted out soon.
She wandered off somewhere while he contemplated his clothes. The urge to unpack everything was strong. Whenever he arrived at a new destination, one of the first things he always did was unpack. It gave him that sense of stability and security he craved.
As he took out only the items he’d need for the night and set them carefully in the dresser, he imagined that Laura’s version of unpacking was to throw everything on the floor. That kind of messiness would never have been tolerated at his grandparents’ home. Since his parents had been off on their adventures, Gram and Gramps had practically raised him, and he’d learned from an early age that an untidy room was frowned upon. He’d never lost the habit.
That made it easier whenever he was over at Susan’s spotless apartment. She was just as clean and organized as Spencer, and it would have caused too much friction if he’d walked on her carpet wearing his outside shoes, or left a napkin on the coffee table.
As Mozart watched from the bed, he smoothed his hand over the shirt he’d placed in the dresser. Even if no one was going to see him while he toiled away on his dissertation, he knew he’d never be able to get any work done if he sat around in sweats like some kind of undisciplined slob.
No doubt Laura would just laugh at him if she saw how orderly he needed his person and workspace to be. She probably laughed a lot—when she wasn’t being irritated by his presence.
The silence over the house struck him as odd. Had Laura gone out? Maybe she’d abandoned the house completely. He couldn’t decide if he liked the idea or if it made him vaguely depressed.
“Want to explore a little, Moz?” he asked the cat.
She blinked at him in response, which he took as a cat version of a yes. Gently, he scooped her up in his arms and left the bedroom. She purred lightly as he carried her downstairs. One of the things he loved about her, and cats in general, was their independence. They took care of their own needs and when they wanted affection, they sought it out with an available human. It was a neat and orderly exchange.
Of course, as a kitten, Mozart had been a little more difficult to anticipate. Spencer had come home from leading a discussion section only to find her crouched atop his kitchen counter, with the vintage salt and pepper shakers lying broken on the floor and a satisfied look on her face. She’d also unraveled an entire roll of paper towels.
As he entered the living room downstairs, he found himself looking for Laura—which, like his fondness for his pet’s willful nature, came as a surprise.
He spotted her through the windows. She perched on one of the Adirondack chairs, aiming her camera at the lake. That was unexpected. He wouldn’t have thought she’d have the patience for photography.
For a moment, he considered going back upstairs, or possibly heading to the media room to watch an old movie. Something urged him forward, however, and he headed outside with Mozart still in his arms.
He opened the door leading to the back patio and stepped out cautiously. “Is it safe out here?”
Laura didn’t turn around to look at him or even put her camera down. “Frank is upstairs in the bedroom. Asleep.” As Spencer stepped out onto the patio, Laura added over her shoulder, “It’s not all his fault, you know.”
Blaming a dog for human error would be silly, so he said nothing. Instead, he noted the camera in her hands. She seemed comfortable with it. He slowly eased toward her.
“Nice camera,” he noted. “My dad had an N90.” His mom used to joke that his dad was too busy taking pictures to notice if a bear was attacking. Children weren’t allowed on Peace Corps assignments, so between the ages of two and twelve, he’d lived with his grandparents, who would tuck him in at night and read him letters from his mom and dad.
His parents would come back from their Peace Corps assignments with a suitcase full of undeveloped film. After the pictures were processed, they would sit on the grass in his grandparents’ backyard and look at all the exotic places his folks had been. Ghana, Mongolia, Nicaragua, Ukraine—places he’d searched for on maps so he knew where to find his parents. Spencer had been both afraid of traveling so far and deeply wistful to visit distant lands with his parents.
The camera had been donated to charity, like most everything, after his dad had passed. Spencer hoped whoever had gotten the Nikon took pictures of happy things, even if no one used film cameras anymore.
“You’re a photographer?” he asked Laura now as she snapped another photo.
“Me?” She looked mystified by the idea. “No, not really. I just like to take pictures.”
Interesting. “Can I see some?”
She shook her head vigorously. “No. I don’t ever show anybody. It’s just for me.”
That got his attention. She seemed uncertain of herself, even though it was clear she enjoyed photography. “Why not?”
The doorbell rang, and she jumped up, almost eager to escape answering his question. “Oh, that’s for me,” she said as she hurried inside. “I ordered pizza.”
“Of course you did,” he said to the space she’d occupied. Pizza had been off-limits at his grandparents’. They’d insisted it was junk food fit only to feed desperate animals.
He brought Mozart back inside, just in time to see Laura carrying a pizza box to the kitchen counter. She opened the lid and he had to stop himself from deeply inhaling the delicious aroma of cheese and bread. Junk food is a no, remember?
“Mm,”
