Author's Note: Spencer found a wound on Toby's hand that matched Aria's screwdriver-knitting needle weapon on the Ghost Train and freaked out, thinks Toby could be 'A' and Toby's left town again.
"Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn't hungry?" muttered Spencer after she read Wren's note again. She checked her phone; text from Hanna about Caleb, but nothing from Toby.
After school and field hockey practice that day, she came home. She had put off texting Wren all day. She excused this because it seemed rude to refuse his invitation to dinner and text him right after she received his note.
She sat in her red chair. She tried to imagine where Toby was at this moment. She could imagine him at a construction site in Bucks County, renovating an old house along the Delaware. She could smell the sawdust, feel his leather work gloves. Was he thinking of her? Did he still love her? Did he hate her for thinking that he could be 'A'?
"Tell me about the night you found the shovel."
"I told you, I told you what happened."
"You told me that somebody tricked you into finding the shovel and I believed you. But ever since that night the four of you have been acting like—"
"Acting like what?"
"Acting like Ali was running things, playing you against each other. Today at school you sounded just like Ali when you talked to Emily. You know, Jenna always said that you wanted to take Ali down, replace her. I didn't think that was true until today."
And she could remember how much Toby hated Alison. How he hated her for making him a social pariah. Hated how she ruined his life even when she was dead. How children threw rocks at him.
"What are they talking to the fire department about?"
"They're talking about that night—the Jenna thing."
"Are you serious?"
"What could Toby be telling them?"
"I did such a good job of screwing him up, he might say anything Jenna wants him to say."
"That we're the ones who blinded Jenna?"
"Alison and us."
When Toby forgave her, said that he knew who she was, that she wasn't Alison, his forgiveness allowed her to forgive herself.
"I'm sorry for everything, for all the secrets."
"Spencer, I know who you are. You never have to say you're sorry."
But if Toby lied to her, made her believe he loved her, everything else was a lie too. Forgiveness was a lie and she hated herself. She needed to take control. She was Spencer Hastings, not some sad, droopy wet blanket. She needed distraction. Only one thing quieted her mind—sex. Wren was the perfect choice. He was experienced and they had a chemical attraction.
"And this is history repeating itself."
"Thank you, not for the compliment, but for the ride home and listening to me, I really don't ever let myself cry in front of anybody, but you made it really easy."
"I often have that effect on women."
"I've never actually known a guy who carried a hanky, so I don't really know what the protocol is, I don't know if you want me to wash it first or just—"
"Maybe you talked yourself out of the carpenter too soon. None of us are perfect, Spence, We all come with baggage."
"Yeah, well the carpenter has a name, and he would need a fork-lift to maneuver through my tonnage of emotional debris."
"You know, I'm actually certified to operate one of those."
"No, I can't imagine you operating any sort of heavy machinery."
"Yeah, me neither, I made that up. But I did get you to smile."
"I have to go."
"I know this is incredibly inappropriate for me to say, but I'm desperate to kiss you."
"I don't think that's a good idea."
"I'm sure you're right." They kissed, gently. "I'm sorry, but I've been dying to do that."
"You have terrible timing."
"Amongst other things."
She had lower inhibitions around him. He wanted her before. Now he could have her. There was no awkwardness with him. He was easy, effortless. It would be a purely physical encounter. He had his own place, and she would not see him in school the next day. All the consequences and guilt that she had from their first kiss far outweighed whatever new guilt she would have from having sex with Wren rather than Toby. Toby had left her without a word.
I'm not hungry. –Spencer
Spencer waited outside of Wren's apartment building. She held his note in her hand, checking the time to meet him. She read his note again. I will do everything within my power to help you. She sat down on the stoop of the building to read his note again. In the dim light of the fading sunset and streetlights, she saw him walking towards her.
"I thought you might like a takeaway. Curry okay?"
"Sure, curry's great."
The pair walked into the building, up several flights of stairs, stopping in front of his door.
"This is me."
"I know."
"Right. Allow me to get the door open."
Spencer walked in, immediately going to the windows to pull the curtains closed. Wren allowed her to close the blinds of every window in his apartment while he stood in the doorway. Closing the door, he said to her, "I see you've conquered your paranoia," and walked to the open kitchen. He began to place containers of curry onto the counter when Spencer placed her chin over his shoulder near his ear, pressed her body into his, and whispered, "Food can wait."
