A/N: Sorry it's on the shorter side, but this semester in my Master's program has been kicking my butt! I will be attempting to wrap it all up over my Christmas vacation. Enjoy! As always, leave me lots of love!

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"Reading is a no-go. Meet me at 5454 Willow Lane."

Cody's text message had been inexplicably cryptic, offering no indication of any reasoning. Spencer had read the message over several times, feeling a paining sense of foreboding in its underlying meaning. After all, she had only agreed to the poetry reading because she loved poetry, and yearned for intelligent entertainment – now that those plans were nixed, she found herself slightly ambivalent about spending the evening with someone who wasn't Toby.

So soon, that is. She was absolutely not ready to move on…Not after Train Wreck Number Two on the Cavanaugh Express.

But on the other hand, her pride was itching unyieldingly at her doubts. She had given both Hanna and Holmes quite a lecture about being able to handle herself…How would it look now if she backed out? She could already picture Hanna's smug expression: she'd cock her head back slightly, raise her eyebrows, and fail to hide her tiny smirk.

"I knew you'd come to your senses," she would say. "I'm glad you realized I was right."

She shuddered at the mere image. She loathed being proven wrong – or merely presumed wrong, in most cases. It was absolutely her most hated insecurity.

She was walking quickly now, feeling an anxious sense of wanting to get the night over with. She had no interest in Cody in a romantic sense, but felt, at this point, that she had something to prove to everyone else who had been trying to baby her. Her downtown travels had done a number on her feet already, which were not accustomed to wearing the high heels that she was donning. She could feel the stinging sensation of blisters urging to take form.

As she approached the provided address, she studied the building's features carefully. It appeared to be a tiny, quaint restaurant, its neon lights already turned out for the night. She slowly stepped onto the front stoop and tried to peer in, confused. Surely he had given her the wrong address…

But then, the front door opened. Spencer nearly jumped out of her skin in fright, only to be met with Cody's shadowed face.

"Hey," he greeted. Though Spencer could not make out his features in the dark, she could hear the smile in his voice. "Welcome to Château a la Cody!"

Spencer chuckled. "I'm pretty sure you're mincing languages there."

"Yeah, well," he declared dismissively, laughing slightly in response. "Despite my butchering of foreign languages, it is the House of Cody."

"Pardon?" Spencer questioned, beginning to follow him inside as he held the door open for her.

"Family-owned bistro," he explained. "I forgot that I was supposed to run it tonight for my parents. The fact that I closed down early will be our little secret."

Spencer laughed softly, trying to acclimate her eyes to the darkness she had entered. As if reading her mind, Cody reached out to flip on the lights, illuminating the restaurant in a soft, gentle glow. Spencer could see now that charming lighting fixtures hung above each table, emitting only enough light to reasonably see. The dimness of their quality implied the intention of romantic ambiance.

"It's lovely," she murmured, turning to face him. It was then that she noticed the burgeoning bruise forming over his left eye, as well as a sharp cut across his cheekbone and an unnaturally-formed cleft on his nose.

"Oh, my God," she muttered, peering more closely at his face. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Oh," he said sheepishly. "It seems…uh…Cavanaugh wasn't pleased to hear that we'd be hanging out tonight."

Spencer froze. A mixture of emotions occurred to her all at once. Rage, of course, at Toby's incessant need to interfere. But also, inexplicable flattery at his gesture of jealousy.

"I'm so sorry," she said at last with a grimace, unsure of any additional support she could offer.

He stepped closer to her to put his hand on her arm. "It's not your fault," he said gently. "I told you that Toby has been going off the deep end for some time now."

"You've been drinking," Spencer declared suddenly. Now that he was within closer proximity, she could smell the whiskey on his breath.

He stepped back abruptly, as if startled. "Just to numb a bit of the pain. I'm sorry, does it bother you?"

Spencer forced a feeble smile, attempting to will herself to stop being so paranoid. "I suppose you gotta do what you gotta do," she reasoned. "I'll bet it hurts like hell."

He chuckled, raising a hand to gingerly massage his black eye. "You have no idea."

The ringing of Spencer's cell phone broke the potentially awkward silence that followed Cody's comment. She rummaged through her purse to determine its location.

Hanna. She groaned under her breath, feeling entirely unwilling to argue any more.

"You should get that," Cody said somberly. "She's your best friend. She's worried."

"No," Spencer insisted, pressing the "ignore" button. "I don't want to talk to her."

"The faster you burn your bridges the farther you'll fall," Cody quipped. He did not bother to mention that this saying was Holmes' mantra for army brotherhood.

Spencer digested the meaning of this phrase. As if on cue, Hanna began to call again.

"Seriously. Answer it," Cody commanded. "I'm going to get dinner ready."

"Dinner?" Spencer asked, perplexed.

"Cooked it myself," he boasted. "Just for you."

Once more, the ambivalent flattery ballooned in Spencer's chest.

"You look beautiful tonight, by the way," he added with a smile as he walked toward the kitchen.

Spencer stood there, feeling entirely unprepared for the come-ons that Cody was clearly soliciting. She stared at Hanna's image on her phone as the ringing ceased and she was sent to voicemail. Almost immediately, as if Hanna had completed the task at the same time as calling, a text message appeared in Spencer's inbox.

"Where the hell are you?" it demanded.

Spencer hitched a stubborn breath into her lungs. "Out. Doing something. Like you've been pushing me to do all week."

With that, she held the power button on her phone to power it down, vowing not to bother with it for the rest of the night.

The smell of Italian food wafted onto the main floor of the bistro. Spencer's stomach rumbled involuntarily, indicating that she had not been kind to it over the past several days. Admittedly, this was quite true: her appetite had been rather nonexistent. The additional travelling scent of garlic bread only made it feel as though it was imploding even more.

Dinner. Dinner was innocent, right? She was so hungry, she could not rationalize passing up a free, home-cooked meal…

She took a seat at the table that had obviously been prepared for their dining experience. Champagne flutes and a bottle of the finest bubbly was set out in preparation. A glass vase that held a single lily was perched in the center. She admired it adoringly, appreciating the glow it emitted under the ambient lights.

"It's just dinner," she muttered to herself supportively. Then, with a clear of her throat, she pulled her chair closer and began to pour herself a glass of champagne.

TO BE CONTINUED