#*spoby fluff

She pulls into the driveway, her heart beat quickening the closer she gets to the house. The truck is in the driveway, which means Toby is home—of course, just her luck. Not that she doesn’t love seeing him, of course she does, but she still hasn’t come up with what she’s planning to say. She rolls down the windows before turning the car off, and then pulls her bag over from the passenger seat.

She didn’t have a cage or anything, and he’s just so small—six weeks—that he’ll fit in her bag, so she decided that keeping him in there while she drove was her best bet. He had fallen asleep, and still remains asleep now. She decides it will probably be okay to take him inside with her. He’s asleep. She’ll be able to talk to Toby without him interrupting, right? She turns back on her car, and slides up the windows, before ditching her car, and entering her house.

When she enters the inside, she is greeted with an empty foyer, living room, and kitchen. She calls out his name, and sets her bag on the counter, checking on the small creature inside. Still sleeping.

She begins to shout her husband's name again. Maybe he went on a run… She wouldn't be surprised. But then she hears thumping, and someone coming down the stairs, and a tiny, haunted part of her worries that it is someone other than Toby, but then he shouts back, “I’m coming,” and her heart rests a little. But then picks back up in nervousness as she remembers the hidden animal in her purse.

“Hey,” he greets, coming towards her, his hands cupping her face. He places a quick kiss on her lips after his greeting.

“Hey,” she responds, breathy, after his lips depart hers. He leans against the counter, dangerously close to the purse. She eyes the purse, then him.

He doesn't seem to notice her peculiar behavior. Maybe she isn’t acting peculiar. Who knows? She used to be a whole lot better at acting normal when something completely not normal was going on. But times have changed. Times are simpler now (thankfully.) She doesn't have to lie to him all the time, anymore.

“Sorry, I just got out of the shower. I was getting dressed.”

“Yes,” her hands affectionately grab his damp hair, “I can tell.”

He chuckles a little. “How was the group study?” he questions.

That’s why she went out. To have breakfast with a couple of her classmates. She is currently in her last year of schooling for Psychology. It took a long time to reach this point, but she’s finally gotten here. Exams are about a month away, and she has been meeting with a couple classmates every Saturday morning for about two months now. Only a couple of people showed up today. Three people to be exact. Herself, her friend Samantha, and then her friend Mark, who evidentially led her to taking this little stray in her purse home.

“Good…” her voice drags out lightly.

“How about I make you some tea—I’m assuming you’ve already induced way too much caffeine for the day—and you tell me all about it?” he offers.

“Okay…” she parks a smile on her face.

She takes her bag off the counter carefully and moves to the small table in the dining room, the kitchen still visible from where she is. She keeps an eye inside the bag, and prays that the tiny stray will stay asleep until she is done delivering her case. Toby asks her what kind of tea she wants, and if she wants sugar, and anything to eat, and all this stuff that she basically just replies with nonsense to. Then, soon, he is sitting next to her, tea for both of them.

He prompts her to go on about the study group, and she begins to go into detail. “Well,” she starts, pulling the warm cup to her lips. She mostly avoids his eyes. “Not a lot of people showed up. It was just me and Samatha for a good twenty minutes, and then Mark showed up, and after that, Samatha left, so it was just me and Mark,” she says. So far everything’s the same, and Toby is probably eager for her tale to end because, really, what is that interesting about a study group? “Anyways, we sort of ditched studying after Samatha left, and went into the park.”

Toby just stares intently on her. “That’s nice,” he observes after she is quiet for a little.

“His cousin called after a bit, and asked him to come over to take one of the puppies he had. The mom gave birth to eight!”

“Wow, that’s a lot,” Toby observes.

“Yeah, anyways, it was still pretty early, so I decided to just go with him. He wasn’t even going to take one of the puppies—he already took two, he was just going to talk to his cousin about it, because apparently he was planning on just dropping these poor creatures on the street.”

“That’s awful,” Toby comments.

“I know. Anyways,” she sucks in a breath. “Well, we went. And um,” she begins. She sees a bulge forming in her bag out the corner of her eye. The puppy probably woke up. Shit, she internally curses. She still hasn’t finished. “Yeah, well they were these really adorable lab pit bull mixes, and there were four of them left. Because you know, Mark took two. And then apparently his cousin’s friends had both took one. But he was planning to just throw these four puppies on the street! It was so terrible. I called Aria and Hanna, but neither of them would come to take one. Thankfully Emily came over and took one. But there was still three left. And I—,”

The bag moves some more, a sort of whimper squeaking bark escapes through the opening. It is obvious the puppy is up now, and it is clear that there is something alive in the bag. Toby stares at the bag, a wrinkle above the brow. He isn’t stupid. He is most likely putting it together pretty quickly.

“And I just fell in love with this one, tiny, brown, white spotted one. I couldn’t…I just,” she continues to speak, but she is pretty sure Toby isn’t listening anymore.

“What’s in the bag, Spence?” he questions.

She sighs, and pulls the bag to her lap, after setting her tea down. She gets a good hold on the animal before pulling it out, and holding it up to her chest, making sure the face of the puppy is towards Toby. The puppy bites her fingers and shirt, still teething (although it doesn’t hurt.) The ball of fur wiggles in her hands, pulling itself up and trying to get comfortable.

Toby just stares, dumbfounded.

She holds the puppy so it’s cradled in her hands like a baby, and just stares at it, adorning it. “I just, he was so cute, and tiny, and helpless.  He was the smallest of the ones there, and he wouldn’t have survived on his own—none of them probably will—but he’s just so small, he wouldn't last a day. I couldn’t leave him with that monster. I know I should have called, but the guy was such an ass, and I couldn’t leave him there,” she finally meets Toby’s stare, instead of the puppy’s.

“I’m sorry. He can just stay with us until we find someone better to take care of him, if that’s what you really want. I know we’re busy a lot, and our money’s sort of tight, but I think it can work… I just, look at him, Toby!” she gazes at the puppy again. A smile reaches her lips, “he’s just so adorable,” she rubs his belly with her fingers.

“I’m not mad,” he finally says. She stares up at him. “I wish you told me. But I’m not mad, Spencer. You saved him,” he smiles. His hand goes for the puppy, scratching his stomach. “You did something really great. Honestly, I think I love you more for it.”

She smiles at him, and then at the puppy, “you hear that? I’m not in trouble! You didn’t get me in trouble!” she holds the puppy close to her face. He licks her face, and she laughs.

“So, what now?” she asks him, setting the puppy back down in her lap. “Should we keep him?” she questions.

“I think you’re way too attached to him to let him go now,” Toby chuckles.

She smiles broadly, “so, we’re keeping him then?”

“If I can hold him…” he bargains, teasingly.

She laughs, and passes the ball of fur over to her man. He pets the puppy joyfully, smiling, and bringing the animal to his face. The puppy licks the man happily, digging his paws into his chest. “Hey little guy…” Toby murmurs playfully, “welcome to your new home. We won’t let any evil man throw you out.” The dog licks him again, “yes, we’ll take care of you,” he goes on in baby-type voice.

Spencer watches and giggles at her husband as he continues to speak to the dog.

“What should we name him?” Toby asks, setting down the puppy in his lap, absently petting his head.

“I don’t know,” Spencer frowns, staring at the puppy with a question in her doe eyes. “I was thinking of this one name…but it’s kind of…cheesy,” she admits.

“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking of Spot, or some other really generic dog name…” he pleas, jokingly.

She chuckles. “No! I was thinking, like, Rye… you know like Catcher in the Rye,” she explains, petting the puppy’s head. She meets Toby’s gaze after. And is a little taken back at the affection that glows in his sapphire orbs.

A grin as long as the Mississippi River hangs on her husband’s face. “What? Don’t make fun of me… What’s the best you have?”

“No, Spence. I love it. It’s fitting. And nice, and means something. It’s great,” he offers. His eyes land on the animal’s, “how about you? Do you like that name, buddy? Rye?” Toby asks the creature. He looks back at Spencer, “I think he likes it. He’s wagging his tail,” he points out, smirking.

Spencer rolls her eyes, but smiles. “He’s been wagging his tail this whole time,” she states.

The boyish grin on his face is accompanied with a wink. She steals the puppy from his lap, and holds the dog up to her face. He instantly slobbers her with licks. She scrunches up her face, but allows it. Spencer pulls him back a little so his tongue can’t reach her. “Do you like the name Rye?” she asks in a silly voice. He pulls forward with all his might, delivering a lick to her chin.

Some sophomore, or junior—he doesn’t really know—has been staring at them for the majority of lunch. A coldness rages in her eyes, and a scowl paints on her pink lips. Honestly, he’s not even sure what she’s so mad about. The majority of hate he had gotten was because of people thinking he killed Alison, but she’s alive, so, obviously he didn’t. Although he supposes he did have his fair share of hate before that.

At first Spencer didn’t notice. He intended to keep it that way, knowing she’d make some huge deal out of it, but Spencer is not someone who is clueless to her surroundings—in fact, she is always keeping intact with her surroundings (she has to with a murderous stalker on her trail.) So, it didn’t take her long to notice the glare radiating off the girl a couple tables over.

“What is her problem?” Spencer hisses, looking back at him from the glaring girl. “She’s been glowering at you all lunch as if you’ve dismantled those obvious, horrendous hair extensions of hers, in front of the whole student body.”

“It’s fine,” he tries, offering her a pretzel. “I don’t care.”

She doesn’t even acknowledge the pretzel, “well, I do.”

“Don’t make it into a big deal,” he begs.

“It already is a big deal, Toby. These people are so ignorant. They have no idea what you’ve been through. Her worst day probably consists of a canceled nail appointment,” she rages, looking back at the girl who now snickers away with her friend.

“Spencer,” Toby hums, placing a hand over hers. Her concerned, angry eyes once again return to his. “It’s fine. Let’s just enjoy lunch,” he beckons, placing a smile on his face.

She takes in a deep, ridged breath before giving in to his wishes.

“It’s just, I can’t even have a stupid lunch with you without someone watching us. Someone’s always watching…and I’m just tired of it,” she looks down.

“I know,” he offers in a gentle tone.

The glaring girl and her friend go up to the trash can, emptying their tray into the garbage. “Aren’t you going to finish that pudding? You barely touched it,” her friend remarks.

“I lost my appetite,” the other glowers, her glare meeting Toby again.

“I’m sorry, Toby, but I need to do this,” Spencer quickly apologizes before standing up, taking her carrots with her. She marches up to the two girls with power and conviction in her step. Toby watches as the two girls grow hesitant. They surely weren’t expecting anything to come out of their little lunchtime glaring session.

“Here, have some of my carrots,” she first says, her tone kind, but a crisp, intimidating tone going along with it. “You clearly need some more vitamin A in your diet to help your horrendous vision. You’ve been staring at my boyfriend all lunch as if he’s some wildebeest or something, but now that you’re a little closer, you can see that he’s just a normal person,” Spencer’s eyes move over to him. Both of the girls look at him, too. Toby just stares back, uncomfortably. “See?” the corners of her lips move up, into a bitter smile.

“I wasn’t staring,” the girl tries, innocently. “Really. I wasn’t. He seems nice,” she offers. It’s all bullshit, and Toby knows it, as well as Spencer.

“Right,” she responds, a coolness forming in her caramel eyes. “Well, he is. And now that you’ve gotten a good look of him, you can take your friend, and move along,” her words spill out viciously.

The two girls soon part, looking anxious and angered, not daring to look back at Spencer. Spencer takes a seat next to her boyfriend once the girls are gone, and sighs, “I know, I shouldn’t have done that.”

He sighs too, but relinquishes a small smile, “it was kind of nice…sort of. No one’s ever done that for me before. It was very different than how things usually go,” he voices. “So, I guess, thanks.”

A look of concern rushes over her face. “Does this happen a lot? I mean, I know the town wasn’t exactly fair to you before, but I thought it cooled down since last year.”

“It has,” he quickly remarks. “But, I meant, like, in the past—no one’s ever done that for me,” his words are quiet and almost shameful. He shrugs it off, but Spencer can tell there’s more to it.

She has work tomorrow! How is she supposed to go to work? What's worse than that is, Spencer read that poor sleep during pregnancy can lead to complications during birth. And sure it is just one day, but one day can easily multiply into 6.

She shakes her head. She needs a drink of water, or something. Something to lull her to sleep. Obviously, lying here, wishing sleep would succumb her isn't working out for her.

She guides her legs off the bed, and then her body, trying her best to be quiet whilst doing so. He stirs a little, but so far, she is successful in not waking up. She makes her way out the door, wishing that she was wearing more than shorts. It is mid April, which means, during the day it is nice and warm, but at night is a fucking ice bin. It doesn't help that her body is seemingly incapable of keeping her warm—she is always cold.

She grabs a blanket off the chest beside their door, and wraps it around her, unable to handle the Goosebumps that now sleeve her.

She makes her way to the kitchen, and pours herself a glass of water, before taking a seat at the small dining table.

In high school she had many nights like this—restless, and absent from sleep. But it has been a while since high school, and she cannot quite recall how she managed on those nights. Really, she is quite unsure how she managed anything in high school. It was like she was numb to it all.

She shakes the memories away. That's the past, and this is the present. She needs to focus on her present problem.

The water is seemingly only making the fetus more upset, in result making Spencer more upset. Not that she blames her daughter, or anything. It is not her fault. Spencer would probably be kicking and flailing, too, if she was stuck in a small, hot, enclosed, place for nine months.

"Come on, water is good. You have to like water; it's an essential to living!"

The words are whispered even though there is no reason she has to be quiet anymore.

She gets up from the dining table, rubbing her stomach, trying to soothe her un-born child's tantrum. She puts her cup in the dishwasher, sighing as she leans against the counter and cabinets. She looks at her enlarged belly, and sighs. "What do you want me to do?" she mumbles in slight desperation.

She decides that going back to bed is just pointless, because she has been trying for four hours, and it is j highly unlikely she will rest. Besides, she is not even tired. Well, she is—she was, at least. But the kicking has kind of wakened her up. So, instead of going back to bed, she settles down on the couch, and clicks on the TV.

It is almost 4AM, and she has no idea what is on at this time of the night, but she is determined to find something.

Eventually, she settles on a documentary that she evidentially finds on Netflix (cable got her nowhere.) It's called "The Act of Killing," and it is basically about crimes during the Indonesian Killings. It isn't really a good thing to watch in the middle of the night, considering how brutal it is, but it is interesting, and it really opens your eyes to things. So, she watches it. Or tries to, at least.

Spencer isn't sure when she fell asleep, but apparently she did, because the next thing she knows Toby is kissing her temple, making her eyes flutter open. She is flustered at first, but then she registers the situation. She couldn't sleep, so she decided to watch a documentary.

"I'm sorry to bother you, but it is 7:20, and I know this is the latest you ever allow yourself to sleep in."

She groans, or is it a sigh? Somewhere in between.

She tilts her head, so she is looking at him. He has already changed from his sleepwear. Which makes sense. Toby has to be at his work earlier than she does, resulting in him waking up sooner.

He nudges his forehead into her temple, his hand roaming over her stomach. "Why are you out here?" he murmurs, gently.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Why didn't you wake me?"

"What would you do?"

"I don't know…" he says, dumbfounded. His eyes flicker to her stomach. "Something."

"You just would have just been exhausted all day."

"Misery loves company," he mumbles, his other hand moving behind her back.

"Misery is a sadist."

Toby laughs a little, his blue eyes admiring her, and his hand rubbing her back. But his smile parts, "you could always call in. I'm sure they'll understand."

"No. I have a lot of work to do. And I can't do it from home."

"Fine. Then…you better start getting ready," he sighs a little, kissing her forehead. She leans into him, wrapping her arms around him, and burying her head into his chest.

His hands limply trace around her, and then he mumbles, "this isn't really what I meant…" he muses, his hands tousling in her hair.

She smiles, only holding onto him more tightly, "just give me a minute."

And then the idea strikes her.

Toby is stuck in Rosewood for one reason. He can't afford to be anywhere else. At least not without finishing the renovations on his loft.

She pulls out her laptop, her fingers tapping the keys, and her eyes moving across the screen in quick movements (like how Hanna reads her magazines, sometimes.)

And suddenly she is pulling out her phone, dialing numbers, and making appointments. And a few days later...

"You leased a loft, just so I could come live with you? Are you crazy? It's going to take me forever to pay you back...and I still haven't paid you all the way back for the truck."

"Relax," she tells him. "My roommate was annoying me, anyway. I wanted to move out. I just...don't want to live alone," she tries.

"Spencer."

"I want you to be here—not stuck in Rosewood! You can pay me back later, just...come," she pleas. Then a moment later, "wait...am I being crazy? Like not I-Just-Rented-A-Loft-Crazy, but that clingy girlfriend crazy? I'm sorry. I've made this thoroughly awkward."

"No, Spencer. No, of course not. I would love seeing you everyday," he muses. Then after a, sort of, sigh-laugh (one of those things that is just created by 100% bliss), he says, "I love you. I love you, so much. Part of me feels like a Gold Digger, but I love you."

She grins, "so, you'll move in with me?" her voice skips an octave.

xx

It is hard to believe that a whole four years has passed since high school. A whole four years without -A's torment, and Mona's cryptic riddles. And now Spencer is starting a job as a Business Process Consultant, at a New York Firm.

Toby comes with her, of course, and they leave their little apartment in Rhode Island behind.

Being a Business Process Consultant brings a lot of travel. Which, she likes, in some ways. She has always dreamed of traveling—seeing the world, and its beauty, after experiencing its harshness for so long, but she misses Toby, and her friends, and even her family sometimes. She has no time to see anyone, and even Toby whom she lives with, barely sees her. She travels 90% of the time, and barely has anytime to herself. And when she is home, Toby is gone—off, dominating the world.

See, Toby knew exactly what he wanted to do. Probably when he was, like, five, or something. He was going to be a carpenter, and along with that, an entrepreneur whom builds up his personal career as the years continue. Right now, he is close to having his own company. He works a lot, like her, and is, sort of, kind of, working two jobs at once. One job, for his own toddler company, and one for a much bigger one. (Somewhat.) So, it isn't like it is only on her that they rarely catch sight of each other.

But she wants it to work, and she wants to stop traveling so much. She would want that even if Toby wasn't in the picture. So, she goes back to school, intending to go for two more years, she'll be able to become a MBA, which will slow down her load. She'll have more control, and be able to stay in the same place for a whole while longer.

But it is hard to work time into her busy, busy, schedule. So, instead of two years, it takes three.

And in those three years, she and Toby's relationship takes a beating.

Not that it hasn't before. It is used to it, and they created a pretty strong immune system. But it still sucks. She misses him, and probably is able to spend time with him, once every two months, if she's lucky. But if she were to be honest, in the last four months, she has probably spent an hour with him. But, she's almost done with schooling, and then things will be radically easier. But there is still a few months to go, and she isn't sure how much their relationship can handle.

It is January first, the beginning of the new year, and Spencer is spending it in some shitty motel in the middle of Utah. The company always gives her the worst room. She is trying to do her homework, but the walls may as well be sheets, because she can hear the exact contents of what is going on outside. She cannot get anything done, and she cannot get any sleep because of the fucking, awful noise. She is stuck in a cycle of doom.

At 1AM, there is a knock at the door. At first, she wants to ignore it. It is probably some drunk old hag, but they knock again, and she has had a urge to scream at someone all night. So, she goes to the door, and just as she is about to yell and shout and cuss, her arms are wrapping around the man almost instinctively. A squeal of sorts exits her smiling mouth, and she refuses to release the intruder.

"What the hell are you doing here?" she asks into his neck.

"I wanted to see you."

She lets out a high-pitched laugh, because if that were the case for her, she would be fucking visiting him all the damn time. "You're in Utah," she comments.

"Yeah," he nods, about to pull her away, but she just grasps him tighter. He seems to get the point.

"Utah," she states, again, dumbfounded.

"Utah..." he repeats, laughing.

She pulls away from him, falling back on her heels, (she always has to tip-toe when hugging him in the way she likes hugging him.) She beams up at him, and he kisses her forehead, nuzzling his nose against hers.

"I can't believe you're here."

"I wanted to come sooner, but...there were delays," he sighs. "I was planning to be here at 10. I'm sorry. Were you sleeping?" he asks, brushing a piece of hair behind her ear.

"Ha. Are you kidding? It sounds like World War Two outside."

He perks up a smile at her morbidness. A firework goes off just as the words leave her mouth. "So, I didn't wake you?"

"No."

"Well, good then."

She smiles at him, before asking, "do you want to come in?"

He nods to this.

And as the night continues, she decides that this year will be a good one. It will be a better one. One that will have her less lonesome, and more in the company of whom she loves.

And Toby seems to have the same idea. Because at 3AM (God is she going to be beat at her meeting tomorrow), he pulls out a scrabble box from his luggage. He must be really good at persuading, because she is agreeing to play, and pulling at the box in seconds.

He keeps track of their scores, and Spencer tells him that he better not cheat because she has it all locked down on her brain, and will know. Toby just laughs at this, but he knows it is most likely true.

At the end of the game, Toby announces he won by one hundred and thirty points. Knowing this is complete bullshit, Spencer pulls the score pad away from him, but the only words that are on it, are...

Spencer, : 34 points

Will: 2 Points

You: 14 Points

Marry: 10 points

Me: 3 points

?

And her heart literally comes to a stop. And everything that has happened between them—everything; the good and the bad—flashes through her mind. It has all led up to this-this moment of pure heart, and love, and utter bliss, and it was all worth it. It was worth it if it brought her to this moment—this feeling of joy, and hope, and love. She always wanted to marry him. She knew he was the one, ever since high school, but she never knew when that day would come. It's not that she was waiting around for him to engage (she could so do that herself), but the moment—this moment—always seemed so surreal, like it was as plausible as visiting the moon.

When she meets his gaze, there is a black velvet box in his hands, a diamond ring blinking up at her.

"Spencer..." he begins, carefully.

The paper nervously crumples in her shaky hand.

"You...you're more important to me, than anything in this entire world. I know the last few years have been really hard, but we're still here. We are still together, and there is nothing that could ever tear us apart, I'm sure of it. I know that it is hard...it is so hard, but I promise that it'll be better. I'll take it down a notch, and visit you while you're away, and whatever I can to see you more, I'll do it. Because I love you, Spencer. I love you, I love everything about you. You're my life. So, please...marry me. Marry me, and be with me until you are 80, and still bitter about me beating you in scrabble."

A smile bursts from her face, and then tears, and she is laughing-blissful, joyful, sobs and sighs and squeals, race out of her mouth, trampling past her "yes's." She pins him down on the bed, pushing her lips into his, holding onto him with everything she has.

"I love you," she breaks out through her kissing, her thumb gently brushing against the side of his face.

He kisses her. A long, sensual, kiss that makes her stomach flutter.

"I love you."

xx

She is now in a new position, at a new firm, one that treats her much better (or maybe it is just the job position; maybe both.)

Toby has discontinued his working for another company all together, and now only focuses on his own. He also attends classes, for business, and architecture, and finally gets a new truck (after all these years.) Spencer is pretty sure he was crying when they discontinued the old beige truck's life.

And they are married.

It is spring time, and everything is beginning to blossom, and she this is her favorite start. She doesn't want this start to have an end, because she is so happy with how things are going. She finally is able to see her friends, and Toby, and even her family.

But there is something else to contribute to this new start. Or maybe it is the start of something new all together.

In mid April, she sees a positive mark. On a white stick.

It is scary—more so terrifying. Because she is only twenty eight, and she isn't so sure she even wants children. But it doesn't really matter anymore, because here she is, staring at a positive sign. And after a moment, she is smiling, too. Because it is something wonderful, and new, and wonderful.

When she tells Toby, his blue eyes cover with dew, and he holds her tightly and securely. "We're having a baby..." his words hum in her ears.

She nods against him, smiling, grasping at his back, feeling her own eyes fill with tears.

The first trimester is hard-horrible, and awful, but soon, things get better. And the morning sickness stops, and they learn the sex of the baby. It is a girl.

She begins to shrug it off of her arms, but he stops her, pulling it back on her, a tender smile stuck on his face. His arms cling to her shoulders, securing the jacket on her.

Spencer gives him a curious look, her eyebrows pushed together in an arc of confusion.

“You keep it on,” he tells her.

“But your freezing,” she fights, her voice soft.

“I’m fine,” he assures her.

She keeps staring at him, pursing her lips in disapproval.

“Besides,” he begins, his tone changing to something more gentle, “it’s yours.”

“What?” she questions.

“I’m giving it to you,” he explains.

“But it’s your favorite jacket,” she murmurs the rebuttal.

“Exactly,” he replies, stopping in their walk. He turns to her, his hands still cupping her shoulders. She looks back at him, a furrowed brow hovering over her doe eyes. “It’ll be something you can remember me by,” he elaborates.

“Remember…?” her brow tilts more in an arch.

“When you go away to college in August,” his hands fall off her shoulders.

“I don’t need anything to remember you by,” she fights, stepping close to him. “I’ll call you every day, and there is still the weekends…” her voice holds hope; something Spencer Hastings is notorious to go against. She cups his face in her hands, a small smile encountering her lips. “Don’t worry,” she promises. And then a second later, her expressions change to something resembling bewilderment, “wait…this isn’t some weird, break up is it?” she questions, only half joking.

He chuckles, shaking his head, and taking her by the forearms, guiding her hands to his. Their hands cling to each other as the words leave his mouth, “no, of course not,” he dismisses the idea. “I just wanted to give you something that means something…I don’t know,” he looks away for a second.

“That’s really sweet.” The comment attracts the blue eyes to her brown ones. “And really thoughtful,” she adds, a lightness in her tone. “But, won’t you miss it?” she asks.

“I think I’m going to be too busy missing something else to even think about it”

 A pinkness rises to the girl’s cheeks, along with a toothless smile. “Well,” she clucks her tongue, “don’t expect to get it back.”

“I wasn’t counting on it,” he leans close to her, nuzzling his nose against hers, causing his girlfriend’s smile to grow into something more livelily. “I’m missing half of my wardrobe, and we both know whose fault that is,” he eyes her.

She gets a look on her face. That look she gets on her face whenever she is trying to come up with an insult. He noticed this expression of hers, right before their first kiss.

As he did that morning in front of the motel, he pushes his lips into hers, halting whatever back firing comment she had come up with. She doesn’t take this as offense, instead she leans into him more, ditching his hand for the side of his face.

Mrs. DiLaurentis—shivers—is hosting another fashion show fundraiser, except this time, it is a bridal show fundraiser. Spencer ponders on why she would ever want teenager models for this, but she supposes it doesn’t matter. Nothing makes sense anymore, why should something as frivolous as this?

At first she wasn’t going to go. Her mother actually declined the offer before Spencer could even give it thought, but then they got an –A text.

“Here comes the bride, all dressed in lies. You think I know who I am? Come find me. Red’s my usual color, but I think this time I’ll be wearing white, and someone else will be wearing red. Xoxoxo –A”

Spencer cringes at the thought. The girls were so quick to put her down on Mrs. DiLaurentis being –A. But what if this is all a trap? Why else would she invite them? Why would she invite Spencer? First, she yelled at her in the brew, announcing to the whole world she had an affair with her father, and then she came into her house, demanding answers. Not to mention if she saw her hurt Ali! None of it made sense. It made Spencer’s mind hurt.

She shook her head, needing to sit down.

A knock at the door.

It is probably Dean. She told him about this whole thing—she had to convince him to convince her mother to let her go. The only way she would let Spencer go is with Dean’s approval. And the only way she could get Dean’s approval, was to invite him to the thing.

She pushes her shoulders back, sucking a confident breath; trying to collect her composure, before opening the door.

And it is not Dean who stares back at her.

But Toby.

Her mouth forms something that she forgot existed—a smile. She can’t even remember the last time she smiled, really smiled. It feels almost unnatural…but good, really good.

Her arms wrap around him before he can even say anything or look at her, really. He holds on to her, his hands pushing against her back, making her fall forward a little bit. She doesn’t mind. She is actually glad. She is more embedded with him. She is closer, and the space and troubles and worldly problems can’t come between their strong locking.

“You said in the letter that you wouldn’t be back until you found Melissa…” Spencer finally got out, pass her arched up lips.

“Well…I didn’t sleep much,” he explains. “I wanted to come back to you. I wanted to be here for you,” his words embrace her ears, softly. His hands run through her loose curls, “I missed you.”

“I missed you,” she responds.

He is about to pull away, but she tightens his grip, killing the couple inches that separated him. “Sorry,” she immediately reclines. Because she does this a lot; because she’s never ready to let him go. “I just—I want this for another second,” she whispers, thinking about all the horribly, chaotic, things that have gone rampant in her mind.

“Of course,” he mumbles, his hands roaming around her back.

They stay like that until she initiates a departure.

It is now when his eyes beam at her, skirting up and down her body as if she was unclothed. But she isn’t bare. She is covered in a stunning, white, material. His gaping blue eyes are accumulated with so much praise and admiration, she wonders if he is seeing something she is not. What could ever bring that look to his eyes? Her? In this gown? She still isn’t in her best shape—circles still wrap around her eyes like the rings of Saturn. She is still wiped out, and a look like that—it just doesn’t seem fitting to be associated with the image of her.

“You look…beautiful,” his admiring eyes find hers. Her heart dives into her stomach, no parachute to stop it from the abruptness and force of the impact. It isn’t that he has never told her this before—he has. And he’s meant it before, too. But it is that look in his eyes. He is just so in awe of her, and she doesn’t understand why. She doesn’t deserve the admiration.

“Thanks,” she heaves a heavy breath, her fingers pinching the dress and draping it out a little. She tries to think of something witty to say, but she is still too dumbstruck on him. Her heart is running an Olympic marathon. She breathes in and out, trying to dispose of these symptoms of love.

“Really, you’re gorgeous, Spence,” he sweeps a piece of hair behind her ear. He is so close to her. Only a couple inches keep their faces from colliding. “One day you’re going to make a beautiful bride,” he promises.

Your bride, she immediately thinks, because even though she is just a high school student, and she has only met a microscopic fraction of the world’s population, she can’t ever imagine letting Toby go. She can’t imagine being with anyone else. She doesn’t want to ever be with anyone else. And she knows Toby feels the same way.

Their eyes flicker back and forth, their souls connecting in a way that can never be explained, not even with years of scientific study. She meets his lips, the tips of her fingers meeting his cheek.

When they pull away, she finds her voice, finally, and is able to say, “I’m sure you won’t look too shabby as a groom, one day, either.”

Her groom.