Four months ago…

"Now you hurry on up and get over here, Spencer. COPS is about to start."

"Yes, Gram Gram," Spencer replied dutifully to his friend Socko's grandmother, scooping the mashed potatoes that remained on his dinner plate into a heaping spoonful and stuffing it into his mouth.

"It's Saturday night. You shouldn't be here. You should be out on a date," interjected Mary, Socko's girlfriend.

Spencer looked around and saw quite a few people who weren't out on a date, includingMary, but his mouth was full of creamy potato goodness and he said nothing.

She considered herself to be something of a matchmaker, and was not currently Spencer's favorite person in the world as she had recently decided that it was her personal mission to find Spencer his special someone. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with being single for a while, but you're 31, Spence," she explained as she began clearing the table. "It's time to think about settling down. Starting a family."

Settling down? Starting a family?

Spence?

Who the hell did this woman think she was? Spencer didn't like people in his business.

And he liked things the way they were just fine.

Spencer's heart was seized with panic and the unappetizing appearance and smell of the unfinished garlic shrimp was not helping his sudden onset of nausea. Thoughts of the future tended to have this effect.

"Leave him alone," Socko ordered, patting his friend on the back. "When it's time, Spencer will find 'The One'. It's not like he has trouble meeting girls. He's always telling me about whatever date he's just been on."

"Sure. He meets girls, he goes on dates. But how many second dates? Everyone knows he hasn't had a real relationship since high school. I've only known him for a few months and even I know that about him."

Spencer was not enjoying the dinner conversation. Was it time for COPS yet? "Listen, Mary, I, uh, appreciate your interest, but I am doing just fine. I really don't need any help with-"

"Exactly. Zero second dates," Mary continued, with little care for Spencer's desires, or his growing pallor.

"Not zero," he corrected, without much force. He looked to Socko for help, but his friend was too busy cleaning his plate and watching a commercial for a used car company.

"And why is that?" Mary continued to interrogate, ignoring his weak protest.

He wasn't in the mood for a trip down memory lane, but a procession of girlfriends past marched unwelcome into his mind. There was Gibby's mother…he shuddered. That relationship was doomed from the start – he couldn't date the mother of one of Carly's friends, especiallynot when that friend was Gibby.

He shuddered again.

Then there was Carly's teacher…well, that wasn't Spencer's fault, that was all her: she was psycho. Clinically. And of course, more recently, Candice…she just couldn't handle the real Spencer. She couldn't handle seeing him spoon-fed salsa by Carly while he pretended to be a baby. A girl that couldn't handle that just wasn't the girl for him. And it was best to forget babysitter Jenna altogether – Carly had seen that relationship for what it truly was, and it was not pretty. "You know, things happen. Sometimes things just aren't meant to be." Spencer shrugged and scooped some cold green beans onto his plate, hoping Mary would change the subject.

She didn't: "Well you must be doing something to scare all of these girls away."

"If you ask me, there's something wrong with the single ladies of Seattle," he argued.

Mary wasn't asking him. "You are a guy, aren't you?" she pointed out, arching one of her eyebrows.

"A little help here," Spencer begged, turning to Socko.

Socko quickly swallowed. "Give my man here a break. He's the best guy I know. He's been raising his little sister, hasn't he? He didn't have to do that."

Mary sighed and nodded. "Sure, you're a good guy, Spence. I know that. But the way a guy treats his sister isn't exactly indicative of the way he treats his lady friends, is it? A man would have to be a sociopath not to have a soft spot in his heart for his baby sister. Wouldn't you agree?"

Socko nodded, still distracted by his food and the television. Spencer agreed as well, though he didn't like his love for Carly and what he had done for her being written off as a general rule of society.

Mary took his plate right out from under him, even though he wasn't done with it yet, and carried it towards the sink. "Now, listen, Spencer: I know a lot of girls, and I am going to find you a nice one."

"A blind date?" Spencer groaned.

"As many blind dates as it takes. I feel it's my responsibility."

"Why is that again?" Spencer asked.

"He doesn't like seeing you lonely," Mary replied, smiling affectionately at Socko.

"I never said that," Socko intervened, though he made no further effort to stem the flow of the conversation.

"Blind dates aren't so bad, Spence. I'm sure Carly has set you up before."

She hadn't. Ever.

Thank God for that.

"Just tell me what you're looking for in a girl," Mary continued. "A girl you could marry."

The dreaded "M"-word.

What did he want in a girl?

That wasn't a question he spent much time considering. Availability was the quality he had valued most in the past. Breathing, pulse, etc.

Hmmmm…Well, someone sweet, and kind. Someone who laughed at his jokes, and could appreciate his art and how much it mattered to him, but who could keep him on track and rein him in when he got too…ambitious, or forgetful, or preoccupied. Someone who was young at heart like he was, someone who never took herself too seriously. Someone funny and smart…but not so smart that she wouldn't enjoy his company or share his interests. The perfect amount of smart. And…well, she'd have to get along with Carly. Carly was an important part of his life – the onlyimportant thing in his life – so she would have to get along with Carly.

Be like her.

Be just like her…

Spencer shook his head. "Uh, I'm open. You know, a nice girl."

"I don't know why I keep talking about girls. You're in your 30's-"

"Early thirties," Spencer corrected. "Very early thirties."

"Right. Early thirties. We should be talking about women."

"Uh, yes, I suppose."

"So, what do you want her to look like?" Mary thought it was sweet that Spencer hadn't started talking about looks from the start.

Spencer shrugged.

"I don't even know why I bother," Mary lamented, frustrated at his lack of cooperation. "Tall or short."

"Well, shorter than me."

Mary raised her eyebrows. "Yeah, that's not going to be a problem."

"Right. Well, short, I think." When he pictured being with his perfect girl, she was small. He could pick her up. Carry her around.

"Light hair or dark hair."

"Dark hair, I suppose."

"Long hair or short hair?"

"Well I don't want Rapunzel, but-"

"Long it is," Mary interrupted, businesslike. "Straight or curly?"

"Straight," he answered immediately.

"For a man who shrugged when I asked him what his dream girl looked like, you sure seem to know what you're talking about. All right, straight hair. Brown eyes or blue eyes?"

"Brown eyes." Big brown puppy eyes staring up at him with adoration.

If Mary found him this girl, he just might consider trying to stop hating her.

"Skin?"

"Yes, preferably."

Mary actually laughed at his joke, which made him feel a little better inclined towards her.

Spencer shrugged.

"Light skin? Dark skin? Lots of freckles? Suntanned?" Mary listed.

"Fine. Lighter skin." He held up his forearm and examined it in the overhead light. "I can't have her making me look like Jack Frost."

"You are a little on the…fair side."

"It's not my fault! This is Seattle." Anyway, he'd met the tanning salon crowd, and those girls were not for him.

"I'll get right on it."

Spencer frowned.

He didn't stay to watch COPSafter all; he felt like going home after dinner.

Carly and Sam were on opposite sides of the couch. Sam was sleeping, one leg hanging off the edge onto the ground. Carly was wrapped up in a blanket.

"Are you watching the Dingo channel?" he asked, surprised. The mildly irritating music brought back some traumatic memories of the sensory stimulus chamber Carly and Gibby had stuck him in. He shook off the PTSD.

Spencer didn't bother keeping his voice down: Sam could sleep through almost anything.

Carly shrugged. "I was in the mood for something cheesy." She paused. "I'm always in the mood for something cheesy."

Spencer ran over to the fridge and pulled out a block of cheddar. "Cheese it is."

"Didn't you just have dinner?" Carly reminded him, laughing.

He took a big bite off the corner. "The French have cheese after dinner, did you know that?"

"Haw haw haw," she said, mocking the French nasal laugh. "Zen bring zee fromage 'eere."

Spencer pushed Sam's other leg off the couch to make room for himself, and still she did not wake. He plopped down in the middle, and handed the block cheese to Carly.

"Why are you home so early?" his sister inquired after taking a nibble.

"Well, Socko's girlfriend wants to set me up with her friends, and-"

"You really don't like her, do you?"

"She's being so nice, trying to…no, I can't stand her. At all."

Carly laughed.

"You could tell?" Spencer asked, impressed. "Socko can't even tell."

Carly laughed again, and Spencer decided - not for the first time - that it was his favorite sound in the world.

His expression must have turned serious, because Carly furrowed her eyebrows at him. "What?" she questioned. "Is this about Mary? Don't worry. I'm sure they'll break up. Or you'll get used to her. It'll be fine. It always takes time to get used to someone new."

He smiled at her warmly and kissed her on the forehead.

"What was that for?"

He shrugged. "For being the best little sister in the world."

She shrugged modestly, a huge smile on her face. "It's true."

He ripped the cheese out of her hands. "Moi turn for zee fromage."

"That's not even close to correct."

"Oh. You're some kind of French expert now?"

"Oui."

He bopped her on the head with the Cheddar and then reclined back against the cushion. "So, what are we watching?"

Carly picked up the remote and changed the channel. "COPS," she informed him with a smile.

"You don't have to-"

"It's OK. It's whatyou want to watch, right?"

"Well…yeah. Oh you."

Pleased she could do something to make him happy, she smiled yet again. Setting the remote back down, she crossed her arms and then settled in against his shoulder.

/

Spencer woke to a tap on his head.

It was Sam. "Will you drive me home?" she whispered. "It's too late to walk. I could be mugged. Or murdered. Do you want that on your conscience? They'll call you Spencer Shay, the man who was too lazy to keep his sister's best friend from being mugged and murdered. Chopped into little pieces. Fed to rats. Or cooked and eaten by hungry hobos under the overpass."

Spencer had slumped down to the side in his sleep, and was more or less lying down on the couch now, facing outward towards the TV, which was was on some kind of 2AM juicer infomercial. Carly had slid down as well, parallel to him, but in the opposite direction. Her head was somewhere down by his knees but her back was against his stomach and his arms were wrapped around her waist, probably the only thing keeping her from falling forward off the tiny sofa and onto the floor.

He gave Sam a wry look. "Sounds like a legitimate concern."

She crossed her arms, unamused. "So?"

Spencer sat up, but had to bring the far-too-precariously balanced Carly with him. She moaned softly as he pulled her up into his lap, but her eyes did not open.

"Why can't you just stay here?" Spencer demanded, a little distracted by Carly's angelic sleeping face. "She looks adorable," he commented to Sam.

"She's snoring," Sam returned with an impatient frown.

He hadn't noticed.

"You're the one who's always trying to get ridof me," Sam argued.

Sam had considered breaking into Freddie's apartment and asking him to walk her home, and then it seemed like a bad idea, and that had made her angry, and now she just wanted to be at home.

"That's not fair, Sam. The butcher thinks I've opened my own deli because of how much ham I've bought for you from him. You know you're always welcome here. Well, mostof the time. Usually." He amended once more: "Often, anyway."

"Mmmm. Ham," Sam mumbled, heading into the kitchen. "It's just that I told my mother I'd wake her up and take her to church in the morning. The phone won't wake her – I've got to be there in person. And she might still be drunk from tonight, so she probably shouldn't drive there."

"Why does your mom want to go to church?"

"She's dating the minister. Like that'll last." Sam laughed raucously, and then dangled a slice of lunch meat into her mouth. "And if I leave in the morning, I'll have to walk," she mumbled through a mouth full of ham. "And it makes me tired just thinking about it. So I'd probably end up waking you so you could take me. So what you need to ask yourself is whether you'd rather take me right now, or bright and early in the morning."

Spencer was cradling Carly in his arms as he got ready to hoist her up into a fireman's carry and take her up to her bed when the conversation woke her. She gave him an odd look before crawling off of him and to her feet.

He felt heat rush to his face.

Carly yawned and turned off the TV. "In the morning," she announced, walking over to Sam, grasping her around the arm, and dragging her towards the stairs. "I don't even care what it is, it can wait until morning."

/

"It is Sunday, isn't it?" Carly demanded, munching on a piece of toast at the kitchen table.

Spencer nodded.

"So why I am awake?"

Spencer inclined his head towards Sam who was in a familiar position at the fridge.

"Oh, right," Carly sighed.

"This could have all been over with last night - ou have only yourself to blame. Oh, and you guys are out of Wahoo Punch," Sam complained. "Another thing to blame yourself for."

"Have some water," Carly suggested.

"I'd rather die." Sam pulled out a two-liter of Coke instead. She took a swig. "This is flat!"

Carly rolled her eyes. "We should go."

"We?" Spencer asked.

"I'm coming too," Carly stated, frowning. "Aren't I?"

"I can't fit all of three of us on my motorcycle."

"Challenge accepted," Sam clapped excitedly.

"No. No no no no no. No. It's too dangerous. And illegal, I'm pretty sure."

"Oh come on," Carly pleaded. "It's just a few blocks. It's Sunday morning – the streets are empty." She jumped to her feet. "And we're little."

Spencer groaned and gave in. "You'll be paying the ticket. And the hospital bills. They're coming out of your allowance."

Fortunately, Spencer had three helmets. He distributed them as they walked down to the parking lot, giving the best one to Carly and not Sam without an iota of guilt, and then threw on his jacket. It was a bit chilly, but not cold, so he didn't zip it up. He disengaged the kickstand and hopped on.

Sam and Carly both made a move to get on next. They halted, awkwardly, and exchanged unsure looks. Then Carly proceeded boldly forward and vaulted onto the seat behind her brother. She slipped her arms around him, underneath his jacket. He felt the extra pressure at the top of his rib cage where her hands met and her fingers intertwined.

Sam bounced on in back.

Spencer felt Carly scoot closer to him – which he hadn't thought possible – in order to make room for her friend.

"You OK back there?" he inquired of Sam.

"It's a little uncomfortable," Sam began, but Spencer turned on the engine so that he couldn't hear her finish. Anyway, it wasn't as if he could move forward any more. He was already closer to the handlebars than made him completely comfortable, and things were going to get difficult if he got any closer to the pedals. He was a tall man.

"Hold on!" he shouted, and then he put the bike in motion.

/

Spencer was just going to let Sam jump off as he waited at the intersection stoplight, but Carly wanted a donut from the pastry shop at the base of Sam's building, so Spencer found a parking spot and pulled over. He waited on the motorcycle while Carly made her purchase.

"Wild night?" he heard a woman ask. Turning his neck a little, he saw it was a jogger who had spoken. In her tight black leggings and red windbreaker, he was surprised he hadn't noticed her already. She indicated the still-distantly-visible Sam with a nod of her head, and then gestured towards Carly's retreating form.

The impressed grin on her face tempted Spencer to let her keep her assumptions, but the truth would have outed soon enough. "Syndicated television with my little sister and her best friend? Yeah, it was pretty wild."

She smiled. "Nice bike."

"You like? I could give you a ride."

"Do you have a two-girl passenger minimum?" she teased.

He shrugged. "I'm considering one."

She leaned forward. "As much as I would love to call it quits for the day," she pointed to her jogging clothes, "when I take my life into my hands, it's going to be for something that's worth it."

"What about someone that's worth it?" He met her lean, and raised her an eyebrow-lift.

She laughed. "I'm Emily."

"Spencer."

They shook hands.

"I'll be here tomorrow. Same time. What would you say to coffee?"

"I don't know. Maybe 'Hello coffee? How is your day going? I'm sorry I'm going to drink you.'"

She shook her head at him, amused. "Don't worry: you'll be getting whole milk and real sugar for your last meal. No skim or Sweet n Low," she continued the game.

"You'll be free soon, Coffee. No more cups for you."

"My stomach is a warm and happy place. And you won't be lonely: a blueberry scone will be joining you soon," Emily added.

Spencer hadn't noticed Carly reappear until he looked over and saw her standing there. Puzzlement decorated her face.

"We're talking to coffee," her brother informed her, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

She nodded. "I see. Where's the coffee?"

"It's hypothetical, future coffee. Tomorrow's coffee, right?" Emily looked to Spencer for confirmation.

He smiled flirtatiously at her. "Definitely."

She nodded, and then introduced herself to Carly. "I'm Emily."

The woman was in good shape, her light-red hair pulled back in a high ponytail, showing off her green eyes. She stood a few inches taller than Carly, her posture enviable.

"I'm Carly." Carly went over and stood next to Spencer.

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too," Carly responded. "He's my brother," Carly apprised her unnecessarily, bumping her shoulder against Spencer's. "We're not…you know."

"I know."

The silence that descended on them was acutely awkward. Carly pulled a donut out of the brown paper bag that was in her hands and held it at eye-level. "Hiya, Donut. Lovely day, isn't it? How about them Mariners?" She wiggled it a little, as if it were animated. "Hell of a ninth inning the other night. If they played that well all the time, we'd win the pennant," she ventriloquated, doing the voice of the donut.

Spencer barely cracked a smile, and Emily's was only polite.

Carly panicked and took a quick and large bite. Too large, in fact, and lemon filling squirted all around her mouth.

"My heart rate's dropping, so I'd better get going. I'll see you tomorrow, Spencer," Emily affirmed merrily, giving him a nod, and then taking off at a run.

Carly watched Spencer watch Emily and her tight pants dodge a newspaper stand and a few pedestrians before he turned to his sister. He laughed at her mess, and then lifted his hand to her face and wiped her mouth clean with the edge of his shirt sleeve.

"I got you one," she notified him excitedly.

"It had better be a maple bar," he warned gravely.

"It is!" she cried, pulling it out with a smile. She started to hand it to him.

"Wait!" he commanded, holding up his arm to stop her. He peered towards the end of the block, waiting for Emily to round the corner. The he grabbed the pastry greedily out of her hands.

"What was that about?"

"She's a jogger! I can't let her see me eat a donut."

"Even joggers must bow before the glorious deliciousness of a fresh maple bar on a Sunday morning," Carly argued.

"Any final words, Mr. Maple Bar?" he asked the donut. Spencer mimed the donut speaking: "I'd rather be skiing," he voiced. Then he wolfed down the pastry.

Carly laughed gratefully.

She tossed the packaging into the nearby trash can and he gestured for Carly to hop on. "Let's go."

"She was way hot," Carly mused, sounding more vexed than proud of Spencer's accomplishment.

"Yeahshe was. I think she liked me. Do you think she liked me?"

"Yes…I think she liked you."

"She just walked right up to me and started chatting me up."

"Well, you look…good," muttered Carly thoughtfully, earnestly, tilting her head to the side and giving him a thorough observation through slightly furrowed eyebrows.

"Oh my God. My hair!" He pulled off his helmet. "I didn't do my hair!"

Carly slapped him in the chest with a laugh. "She couldn't see your hair, stupid." She reached up and ruffled it. "It actually looks pretty good, though."