pretty little liar // brad simpson

fourteen

SPENCER

It had been an early morning, and a long day. I'd woken up at seven to clean the flat, because we were having Brad's parents and sister over for dinner and I had wanted to make a good impression. That all meant spending three hours on my hands and knees scrubbing at the baseboards, digging the muck from the bathroom with a toothbrush, and wiping every available inch of surface with whatever Clorox disinfecting product we had in the house.

After my fingers had scrubbed themselves to the bone, I decided to take my already haggard and sweaty body to the gym. After an hour of mucking about on the treadmill and doing some light exercises with the five kilogram weights, I stopped for a coffee at Starbucks and made the drive home.

"Bradley, are you in?" I called, pushing through the front door. After yanking my keys out of the lock and waiting for a response, I tried again. "Brad?"

Silence. I hung my keys off the hook by the door and stepped out of my Nikes, padding into the kitchen and -

"Oh, my goodness." I gasped, staring at the bouquets upon bouquets of flowers completely filling the coffee table. "What on... Earth?" I breathed, dropping my bag from my shoulder and bending down to pull the card from where it was poked in the middle of the mess. 

"Spencie - I wasn't sure what your favourites are, so I got them all. Brad." I read, staring down at his messy handwriting on the small envelope. I let out a laugh, rolling my eyes at what a sweet idiot he was.

The front door opened, and I heard the sound of keys on the hook and a jacket hitting the banister. I turned, waiting for Brad to walk into the sitting room. He appeared in the doorway a moment later, glancing up from his phone and breaking out into a grin when he saw me there.

"I meant to be home when you got back! I nipped to the store for ingredients for dinner." Brad explained, lifting his right hand which held two plastic grocery bags full of food.

"Thank you, Bradley." I thanked, grabbing him up in a tight hug.

Brad chuckled, wrapping his free arm low around my waist - it sent a shock of chills through my body, and I wanted to kiss him, to show him my appreciation and cuddle him tightly. I cleared my throat, letting him go and stepping back. "Lilacs."

"What?" Brad asked, his eyebrows drawing together. 

"My favourite flowers... they're lilacs." I repeated, setting the little card back down on the coffee table with all of the bouquets. Straightening back up, I realized I had nothing else to say to Brad, and I felt nothing but the inexplicable urge to wrap my arms around him and feel his warmth, and kiss him again, like the last time.

Brad stood there also, sort of looking at me and also seeming a bit lost for what to say. "I'm going to put the groceries away, maybe you can wash up and then we can start on dinner?" Brad suggested, nodding towards the kitchen.

I nodded, picking up my bag and climbing the stairs, trying to shake off the feeling that I had made a mistake walking away from him. Instead of lying in bed and thinking about it, I washed the feelings down the drain and pulled on some leggings and a blouse, trudging down the stairs again to join Brad in the kitchen.

"What are we fixing for supper?" I asked, resting my hip against the counter and looking over Brad's shoulder at the open cook book. 

Brad jabbed his finger at the top of the page. "Ratatouille." He read in a posh phony accent. "Like the film with the rat chef."

"Charming." I giggled, grabbing up a cutting board and the bag of tomatoes Brad had picked up from the store. "Have you ever made this before?"

Brad let out an embarrassed chuckle. "I've never so much as sliced a tomato before, to be quite frank."

Letting out a puff of breath between my lips, I tugged my hair back into a ponytail and rolled up my sleeves. "I suppose we've got our work cut out for us, then."

>>>>> >>>>> >>>>>

"Oh, God, don't remind me of what his hair looked like when we first started dating!" Mrs. Simpson howled, throwing a hand over her eyes and pretending to be in misery thinking about her husband's hair growing up. "Thank goodness Brad got some sense in him and started cutting it shorter."

"Hey! It wasn't nearly that bad." Mr. Simpson objected, swatting his wife's arm. Natalie and Brad exchanged a look, and he leaned towards me, his nose brushing my hair.

"Dad had a mullet." Brad confirmed, and I pressed my hand over my mouth to restrain the laughs fighting their way through.

I glanced at the mess across the living room - the ratatouille had been less than a success, and after a few pained bites we had ordered Thai takeaway and pulled out a few nice bottles of wine to compensate for the mishap. That had lead to a gravitation to eating around the coffee table and talking over wine and noodles instead of a formal seating around the table.

It had been lovely, talking to his family in a new light from the few brief dinners at nice restaurants that we'd shared over the nearly two years that'd passed. Before, I'd felt a bit guilty at lying directly to them about being in love with their son. Now, it was almost worse - because I knew that I really was in love with him, and I was still lying to all of them.

Brad's hand came to rest on my leg, and I smiled down at the action involuntarily, before being ripped from my thoughts by the vibrating of my phone on the table. 

All conversation paused for a moment, and then I grabbed up my phone and glanced at the screen. "If you don't mind, I ought to take this." I said apologetically to the family, but Natalie waved the comment off and shooed me to the door.

I stepped into my slippers and then out the front door, making sure to shut it behind me before I answered the call. "Erm, hello."

"Spencer, hi. It's Tristan." 

"Yes, I know. There is caller ID these days." I responded smartly, folding my arms to combat the cool air. "Why is it you're calling? I'm having dinner with the Simpsons and now's not an excellent time."

"I'm sorry, you can go-"

"No-" I interrupted, letting out a breath and trying to be patient. It wasn't fair of me to be snapping when he hadn't really done much wrong in the situation. "What's going on?"

There was a long silence and then Tristan's voice cracked on the other end. "Can you come over?"

My heart sank at the tone of his voice, and I felt my fingers start to shake with nervousness, adrenaline, and anticipation. "Of course. I'm on the way."