Estelle is out late working on her thesis and so I offer to heat up leftovers. No one can say no to her food, even Spencer, who finds it too spicy. I know I certainly can't; I can count on my fingers the number of times I've turned down a meal. Maybe I've been approaching too close to literally biting the hand that feeds me lately.

While the oven pre-heats (Estelle is upset whenever I try to use the microwave and debated even allowing me access to one in our new condo), I stare at Spencer across the counter. The bouquet of flowers is off to the side, otherwise I'd barely even be able to see him past the bulbs. Spencer's tall enough that he'd be visible. I'm not.

"They were from Stéphane," I tell him, certain I have to rope in the lie later. Which, we haven't really talked about since Christmas, so that will be difficult. "I was caught off guard by them, and I didn't want to explain why exactly he was apologizing."

"You and Stéphane are fighting?" Reid reaches across the counter to take my hand.

I let him, the edge of the counter digging into my hips just so I can feel his soft touch.

"He... he's upset I didn't tell him, about Bastien," I explain. "Then, we started arguing about other things, and it kind of spiraled. I can't remember the last time we had a major blow out like this."

It was tense, the rest of Christmas. None of us hung out without the other siblings in the room, so at least the angst was spread around pretty equally between the rest of us. Stéphane still talks to me, but only about little Sebbie.

"Sorry, it's kind of a disaster. My life, right now," I pull my hand away to shove it into the pocket of my workpants. I still haven't changed, stretched out of my work clothes.

He hasn't either. His tie is gone, but he's still wearing the same sweater vest.

Spencer pulls himself out from the island and circles around to find me. I lean toward him before he actually has wrapped his body around me. His hands are cold, but I don't mind. I feel too hot for this winter.

"Can you do me a favour?" his voice is soft, quiet.

I crane my neck up to look at him. He smiles down at me, just a bit. The bruise on his face is almost entirely gone. The lightbulbs in our kitchen are crappy. They barely give off any light, and I've been planning to put in dimmers. In the low light, he looks almost golden. Estelle would hate me if I told her I wanted to keep the kitchen lit exactly this way.

"Say three positive things about your relationship with your family," Spencer swallows. "I know its pop science, saying three positive things for every negative thing, but you talk a lot about how they are kind of a mess."

"I love them," I point out. "If I didn't, I wouldn't waste my life worrying about them, and feeling embarrassed."

Spencer's grip loosens, "I only meant... well, I know you like them. I don't think... do you feel like a good sister?"

My chest rises and falls, pushing him away and then making space for him to move in closer. The oven dings, preheated. It's the perfect excuse to pull away.

While I prep the tray, I close my eyes.

"I'm good at keeping my sibling's business private," I manage, not looking at Reid. "Because I'm annoyed that you won't tell me the Bastien information, but I'm more annoyed that Stéphane wants it. He and Estelle drive me mad. I think Caro and Bastien trust me because I don't run my mouth."

I open the oven and slide the tray in, "I'm also the best at giving gifts. Every year, I compete with Caro. Most years, I win."

Then, I shut the oven. With the door closed, the warmth feels like it is sucked out of the room. I turn around and lean against the cabinet next to it. Any heat that radiates out will be mine.

"Finally, I own my fuck ups," I manage. "Maybe I feel too guilty, but it's better than not feeling guilty at all."

When I lock eyes with Spencer, he is smiling, albeit softly. He leans against the counter. The flowers are just over his shoulder. I try to focus on him.

"Happy?" I ask.

He shrugs, "I like hearing you talk about how wonderful you are."

My cheeks go red.

"My ego is big enough already, Spen," I peel off the cabinet, moving toward him.

I hear steps down a hall and I stop. Estelle isn't home.

Rachel is the one who slinks in the room. She sees us and plants her hands on her hips, smiling.

"Are you still going to pretend he's your friend?" she quips.

Any sign the kid startled her earlier is gone. She makes her way to the fridge. Spencer looks at me, nudges his head toward her. I choose not to look at Rachel. The girl who lives here, the reason Spencer doesn't come over all that much. After I only barely let him start sneaking over to the place I last lived.

Then, I nod.

"It's nice to see you, Rachel," Spencer looks over at her. He swallows, "and I'm Cole's boyfriend, by the way. Sorry if I didn't make that clear."

She scoffs, head still in the fridge, "you made it plenty clear. You can tell just from the way you look at her. No one could ever convince me you two hadn't seen each other naked."

"Rachel, knock it off," I try not to wince.

Spencer's face is bright red. At least it's not me. Besides, I haven't seen him naked. My brain doesn't imagine well, and so I don't picture him shirtless. Ever. And with Rachel's insinuation, I'm trying desperately not to start now.

"Relax, only I can tell," Rachel points out. "Morgan kept talking about Reid's cougar girlfriend and one of the guys on my team asked me twice if you were single. So, the secret will live and die with me. Unless one of your teammates figured something out with those flowers."

She throws something in the microwave, and Spencer starts to explain that he didn't get them. Rachel is confused, and thankfully by the time I'm done relaying my lie her food is done and she slips out of the kitchen again.

Then, it's just the two of us. Spencer and his girlfriend. Me. Spencer starts to fiddle with the radio, and I'm feeling optimistic about having something scratch through the silence.

"Who was Garcia talking about, anyway?" Spencer asks. "The guy from Québec."

"Oh," I nod my head, "you remember that guy, right? Luc? The weekend your apartment flooded? You met him at mine. Well, I wanted to see if he knew what was up with Stéphane. Garcia got his number but I decided not to call. It would be a bit hypocritical."

He already knew his name was Luc, already knew he was a friend of my brothers, and I guess that's all the truth I need to string together another lie. If I had to study anything else, I should have studied physics. Maybe my math skulls are lacking, but that's no obstacle. I know quite a few things. I know roughly how to convert between the pound, the euro, the Australian dollar, the American dollar, and the Canadian dollar. I know what to buy anyone for any occasion with the barest of information. I know more magic tricks than I'd care to admit. And still, there is nothing on this earth my body understands more deeply than inertia.

It is hard to stop lying one you have started.

Maybe he's not satiated by this answer, but the food will be warm any minute now I start out plates and cutlery, anything to occupy my hands. Popular music comes out the radio so at least I can hum along. Multitasking isn't my strong suit, and I'm grateful. Otherwise, I'll ask the question that I've yet to drop.

"How was your day?" I settle on that one. It feels easiest to say.

Spencer scrunches his nose, "better now. I'm glad to be here with you."

"That was surprisingly short," I tease, grinning at him. "Come on, tell me about it, actually."

It's all the permission he needs. With his perfect memory, he must not see the point in summarising. If he can't know everything, why would he? Maybe my memory is comparatively weak. Certainly, no one would describe it as vivid. It's not the information that I focus on. Instead, I watch how he shifts. Tight shoulders and crossed arms, then a hand on his hip, then an exasperated shrug. Half lidded eyes become wide, become creased as he smiles. And his voice. The way words sound, words blurted out, shot together in rapid machine gunfire, but his actual timber hollow. He speaks like he's restricting his throat. Words like shrapnel, and Spencer's unable to stop the explosion but he talks like he's trying to lessen the blow. Maybe I've given him permission, but he hasn't accepted it.

Like the word boyfriend. He's my boyfriend, maybe. He's offering me that word. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do with it. Like a bouquet of flowers from a secret admirer.

~~~~~

It is what it is. Actually, I am in love with this chapter. His voice is kind of like shrapnel, you know? Also, anything you want to see? I'm getting back into writing this again and would love ideas!