But she hadn’t thrown him into a river yet, so he figured she was at least still a little bit in love with him. He hoped.
He’d grown up in a small flat in Stockport with his father, and their shop was in Manchester, in an area called Cheetham Hill. They were staying at a hotel in Manchester and then would head to Red Fox Auto the next day. He knew his father would be there, and to be fair, that was his father’s home turf more than anything.
He woke up Alex when they neared their stop, and she sat with a grumpy look on her face as the train slowed. He wanted to tell her she was adorable, face creased from a wrinkle in his shirt, but he didn’t want to get kicked in the bollocks so he kept his mouth shut.
She rubbed her eyes. “So tell me about Manchester again.”
“Well,” he said, “it’s an industrial city north of London. It’s not . . . posh. Uh, it’s very diverse, but yet we all agree there is one main battle, and that’s red versus blue.”
She stared at him.
“Manchester United versus Manchester City.”
She hesitated for a minute, and he assumed her sleep-addled brain needed to catch up. “Oh,” she said, making a motion with her foot. “Soccer.”
“Football.”
“Whatever.”
“Yes, it’s football. I said before but my father is, uh, a staunch Manchester United fan, and that’s one of the reasons his shop is the Red Fox and not the Blue Fox.”
A smile tugged at her lips.
“What?” He frowned.
“You English and your football.” She said the last word with an accent that wasn’t remotely like his.
“Your accent needs work.”
She rolled her eyes.
When they got off the train, they took a taxi to their hotel, which was in Manchester. Alex gazed out the window, muttering about how the English drove on the wrong side of the road, and she wanted coffee and they better not try to give her tea and a whole bunch of other complaints.
And Spencer . . . well, it was a little disconcerting to be back in his hometown for the first time in years. What was strange was that it hadn’t changed much, not from what he could see. It still smelled the same. The air still felt the same.
He inhaled deeply and leaned his head back on his headrest. Tomorrow, he’d see his dad, and the thought rolled his stomach with a mixture of dread and anticipation.
As if Alex knew, he felt her hand slip in his. He rolled his head to the side to face her. She grinned. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
THE COFFEE WAS shit but Alex knew beggars couldn’t be choosers. In theory, she knew it was probably decent coffee but it wasn’t her coffee and her coffeemaker in her favorite mug, so this was all a little upsetting.
She really needed to work on being a better traveler. She knew when they fell asleep last night that she’d been a royal bitch all day, but her bones were sore and her mouth felt icky. The only thing tethering her to happiness was Spencer. She was doing this for him.
So she really needed to get over herself.
Spencer took her out to a restaurant to give her a “proper fry-up.” She was unsure what that meant but went along with it because she needed coffee and food.
So there they sat in a restaurant, her sipping coffee from a beige porcelain mug while Spencer talked to the waiter. They’d been in Manchester for one night and Spencer’s accent was already slipping, his vowels drawing out like that night he’d had too much to drink.
She noticed that’s the way the cabbie had talked, as well as the people in this restaurant. After Spencer ordered for her and they were left alone, she swallowed a gulp of coffee. “Tell me about why you’re talking differently now.”
He blinked at her for a moment before chuckling and taking a sip of his own coffee. “Ah, noticed that?”
“Of course I did.”
“Well, just like the United States, different parts of England have different accents. Manchester is known for being, uh, more working class. So if you have a Manchester accent, it kind of gives you away a bit. So I worked on it, tried to suppress it and make it some sort of bastardization of a London accent. I kept it up for a long time, and only really slipped if I’d had a lot to drink or I was tired. But being back here, I just . . . fell back into it.”
She drained her coffee and looked around for someone to refill it. Spencer motioned to their waiter, who hurried over with a carafe. “So,” she said to Spencer. “Tried to cover your roots.”
“Yeah, I was.”
“I kinda like knowing there’s a roughneck under those posh suits of yours.” She grinned over the rim of her full coffee.
“We have to go visit my father after this. Quit smiling at me like that.”
The food arrived soon after and Alex stared at the full plate in front of her. Spencer pointed to the various items on it. “You have your sausage and back bacon, as well as some beans. Also some tomatoes, fried bread, and eggs.”
She poked at the sausage. She wasn’t sure if Spencer was trying to surprise her, but she was no stranger to huge breakfasts. She came from diner country. “Wanna bet I can eat all this?”
Spencer’s eyes rounded, and he barked out a laugh. “No, I’m not betting. I’ve seen you eat. Not sure where you put it, but no way am I betting anything.”
She smiled smugly, picked up the sausage, and bit off the end.
THEY PULLED TO a stop on a small road in what Spencer had said was Cheetham Hill, a section of Manchester. The cab driver had looked at Spencer funny when he gave him the address, and Alex saw why now. The street was barely big enough to fit one car, let alone two traveling in opposite directions. As Spencer paid the cabbie, Alex peered out the window. There was a small metal sign swinging gently, the edges rusty, but she could see Red Fox Auto written clearly in crimson. There was a profile of a fox, which looked a lot like the tattoo on Spencer’s chest. She opened the door and stepped out, her booted feet splashing in a puddle.
Outside the shop was a rack of tires, and stone steps led up to a glass door, where a handwritten OPEN sign was displayed.
Everything about the street and the shop was a little bit derelict, and Alex smiled. It kinda felt like home.
She heard an engine and turned to see Spencer beside her as the taxi drove away. He looked at the shop through squinted eyes. She reached for his hand and waited for him to speak.
Finally he shook his head and huffed out a small laugh. “It doesn’t look any different.”
“No?”
“Not really.”
A shadow fell behind the door and Alex took a deep breath. Spencer said he hadn’t told his father—who went by Michael—that they were coming, that it was better that way if they showed up without notice. She didn’t argue.
The door swung open and a large man filled the frame. He wore coveralls with one strap off, a dirty white shirt underneath. He had a lit cigarette dangling from his lips, and his blue eyes narrowed on Spencer as he took a drag and exhaled. Alex thought he looked a little like Jack. But British.
“Comin’ in?” Michael said.
“Hey, Pop.”
The man grunted and walked into the shop, letting the door fall shut behind him.
Spencer smiled and tugged on Alex’s hand. “Let’s go.”
She followed along dutifully, and they stepped into an office that didn’t look much different from the one at Payton. No one was there, and Spencer led her deeper into the building until they reached the back where there were three garage bays.
Michael stood in front of a Toyota with the hood up, fiddling with the engine. An older Indian man sat on a chair in the corner, his feet stretched out in front of him, arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were closed. Was he sleeping?
“Hello, Amir,” Spencer said.
The man opened liquid brown eyes, blinked, then closed them again. “Junior.”
Alex lifted an eyebrow at Spencer. His cheeks flushed a little. “That’s what I was called when I lived here.”
She nodded and looked back at Michael, who was now watching her.
“You gonna introduce me?” He addressed his son without taking his eyes off her.
Spencer stepped forward. “This is Alex Dawn, my girlfriend.”
The man didn’t wipe his hand before he extended it, and Alex wondered if that was on purpose. She took it anyway and shook it with a firm grip. The man seemed pleased and cocked his head slightly.
Then his gaze shifted to Spencer. “When’d you get in?”
“Yesterday.”
Michael’s jaw rolled as he took in his son. “Glad you stopped in.”
Spencer seemed to deflate a little. “I thought we could stay a little bit, take you out to lunch or dinner. Just . . . visit.”
Michael didn’t speak for a while, then focused back on the car. “Not sure I got time. My day is booked solid.”
“What’s Amir doing?”
“He’s on his break.”
Spencer was clearly working hard to keep himself composed, and oh no, no way was his father being a jackass on Alex’s watch.
They’d come all this way to spend time with the grumpy old man. They were going to damn well do it.
She stepped forward and leaned a palm on the car. “Listen, I spent the whole flight here puking my guts out, then having my bones nearly rattle out of my body on a train, all so your son could see the father he hasn’t seen in years. So listen up, Pop. We’re going to get some lunch, and we’re going to talk, and we’re going to have a great goddamn time. Then we’ll come back here and I’ll roll my sleeves up and help you finish your work for the day.”