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• Let's Have Dinner	By : Deleted account Category: M through R > Pretty Little Liars Views: 6467 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
  Disclaimer: I do not own Pretty Little Liars, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

• Chapter List
  • 1-Let's Have Dinner
  • 2-Chapter 2
  • 3-Chapter 3
  • 4-Chapter 4
  • 5-Chapter 5
  • 6-Chapter 6
  • 7-Chapter 7
  • 8-Chapter 8
  • 9-Chapter 9
• • 1
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• A/N: 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.

  “I’m sorry, Mona isn’t seeing visitors today.”
  “But—”
  “I’m sorry, but you can’t see her today.”
  “Thanks anyway,” said Spencer, turning away from the nurses’ station. Something passing in front of the door she was reaching for stopped her; and so did it. Wren. He opened the door, and she walked through, trying to ignore the effect his smile had on her.
  “Hey, I was just leaving.”
  “May I walk you out?”
  “Sure.”
  “Mona isn’t allowed visitors, Spencer.”
  “I know, just thought that they would let me talk to her maybe. I need to know if she’s working with Toby. I need to know how long she has been working with Toby. If it was real.”
  “The carpenter and Mona?”
  “I don’t want to talk about it. I have to go home.”
  “Spencer, you need to talk to someone about it. Anyone.” He stepped closer to her; invading her personal space with that compassionate, earnest look. “I’m here for you if you want to talk.” Spencer kissed him, on the mouth, half-opening her mouth into his. Wren kissed her back, desperately wanting to pull her close to him and make her forget about Toby. Spencer stepped closer and leaned her body against his, running her fingers through his hair, following the magnetism that always seemed to pull her towards losing control with him.
  “I have to go.” And before Wren could say anything, she was in her car, pulling out of the parking lot.
  A week later, they bumped into each other at the coffee shop. He managed to persuade her to talk with him. But Spencer’s latest brush with ‘A’ had left her tin-foil hat paranoid, so they just sat together in his car. As he presented his argument for why talking to him would be beneficial for the soul, she leaned over and kissed him; and left.
  A day later during rounds a nurse handed him a note on top of a stack of patient charts. “Doctor, someone just left this for you.”

  Wren,

  I need to talk to you. Meet me in the 3rd floor supply closet by the water fountain.

  Spencer

  As soon as he closed the door behind him, she pounced, pushing him against the stacks of clean bedding, pulling at his clothes to take them off and undoing his belt and hitching up her skirt while kissing him with passion and aggression and fury.
  “Spencer, stop, we need—not”
  “What, I’ve had sex before and I'm on the pill, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
  “Spencer we’re not having sex in a supply closet.”
  “Why not? There’s plenty of room. If you stand there, I can lean against towels. Nobody’s going to hear us, the hospital has enough background noise.”
  “Spencer, we are not going to have sex in a supply closet. Not today.”
  “Not today or not me?” Wren kissed her.
  “Not today.”
  “Okay,”
  Wren picked up the charts he had been carrying when she jumped him. “I have to go, but I’ll call you tonight.”

  The next morning Spencer saw an envelope under her windshield wipers when she returned home from her run. Dread filled her from inside out, spreading from her stomach out, reaching the sides of her nose. She pulled it out, knowing that letters from ‘A’ were best dealt immediately—like ripping off a band-aid. But things from ‘A’ stung for a lot longer than skin after a ripped band-aid. She could imagine the buff envelope turning blood red and transfiguring itself into a screaming Howler if she waited any longer to open it. She took the detested thing into the kitchen and pulled out a knife for a letter opener.

  Spencer,

  I know what I wish our relationship could be. I wish that you didn’t care about the carpenter, that you and I could be together without either of us wondering if you wished I were he, that you desired me not as a rebound, an escape, a distraction to make the day a little easier. But as long as you keep grabbing me and kissing me, I’ll be here for you.

  I have a plan. If you want, meet me tonight at seven at Rive Gauche. We will have a proper first date. Otherwise text me that you’re not hungry and I will meet you at half seven outside my apartment and we’ll have dinner and I will do everything within my power for you.

  Yours,

  Wren

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