CLANDESTINE : Spencer Reid

45

Spencer Reid and I have been dating for six months.

That is what we decide after I go over everything he needs to know at the basic level. Parents divorced when I was a teen and I moved to Quebec with my mother, who never wanted to join my father in New Hampshire in the first place. After a year there, we'd had enough of her negligence as siblings and moved in with my father, who was also negligent but at least it was less cold and he didn't yell at us as much. His brain tumour killed him when I was eighteen. We go over my schools and degrees and the friends I've made. It's actually easy enough since we are co-workers, and he already knows a few things about me.

"I kissed you at midnight on New Year's Eve, for the first time," Reid explains the plan. "When did you start to like me?"

"When we were forced to go to the Gala together," I tell him. "I'm stubborn, of course, so I was really in denial about the whole thing."

"I started liking you when you walked in on your first day."

That makes me roll my eyes, "that's too big of a lie."

"It's a more compelling story," he explains. "You came in, I accidentally offended you because I was distracted by how pretty you are. You took an immediate dislike to me and I spent the better part of the next year getting you to slowly warm up to me."

There isn't enough time to argue. We're parking the car.

"Everything else can just fall into place," Reid offers. "If anyone asks about the dates we've been on, we can just tell them I've been busy at work this past month, but otherwise we've gone to dinners, pubs, and galas. We like to play chess and read books."

"Exactly," I agree. I turn the car key and pull it out of the ignition. For the first time in hours, I look at him, properly this time. He offers me the smallest of smiles. "You also don't really shake hands, so no one will think our lack of PDA is out of place."

I turn past him, reaching into the backseat. I had to turn abruptly a while back, and my cardigan flew across the car. I struggle to reach it.

"Also, Stéphane knows it's a lie. Mylène won't, but like I said, I don't even know if her English is passable enough for deep conversation," finally with the cardigan in my grasp, I turn back to look at him.

He doesn't say anything. Reid swallows. His jaw is tight, but his mouth is slightly agape. His eyes are on me. It looks like he's about to ask a question. Maybe he does get sidetracked when he talks sometimes, and he rambles, but I don't ever notice him at quite a loss of words.

"You can back out," I tell him. "Caro will live with the disappointment."

Reid blinks, "it's fine."

We climb out of the car. The rehearsal is at the dinner sight, which is nice enough. One of the employees greets us and shows us where to meet the others. We end up in the farmhouse, in a room that clearly has been converted to accommodate us. At the very least, we aren't the last to arrive.

"Cole!" Bastien notices us first.

He stands up at his table. There are two empty chairs around it. I don't know the woman who is with him, but I hope she's military and not someone Cletus knows. He starts to cross the room. I hug him first. He lets me go and looks beside me.

"This is Reid," I explain. "Reid, this is Bastien."

Reid shakes Bastien's hand. I blink, hopeful no one notices my surprise. Only Reid would notice it anyway, I bet. He isn't someone who shakes hands easily.