Archive of Our Own

“Are you excited to sing?” I asked.

In my peripherals, I saw him in the rear view, nodding his head in a reserved manner.

I’d thought that was going to be the only answer I got, but that little boy surprised me, as he so often did. In fact, he surprised me both by giving another answer, and the information it contained.

“I think you should sit next to Mister Spencer.”

“Oh yeah? Who’s that?”

“He teaches the big kids,” he said matter-of-factly.

“Hm…” I hummed as I bought time to consider how sweet it’d been for him to be concerned about who his mother would sit with, if not his father. Then, once that moment had passed, I smiled to myself as I asked, “Is he cute?”

“Gross!” the young boy screeched before quickly correcting, “He’s not cute, he’s cool. Like the coolest person I’ve ever meeted. He knows everything.”

“He sounds pretty great,” I conceded with a sigh.

The lighthearted nature of the conversation would take a swift and painful exit, however. All it took was a mirrored sigh as my son returned to wistfully staring out the window.

“Yeah,” he muttered, “I want him to be my dad.”

It felt like a punch to the stomach, and I winced just the same. I tried to keep in mind that he hadn’t considered the weight his words carried and took a deep breath to gather my wits once more after he’d knocked them all out of me.

“Wow. That’s some high praise, kiddo,” I laughed. It was an awkward, uncomfortable laugh, but he wouldn’t know that, nor would he care.

He was a brave, oblivious little boy. I’d raised him to speak his mind when things mattered to him. Of course, now that I’d seen the errors of my ways, I almost regret for teaching him to be so forward. But I was also proud. Proud to have a son that wanted his mom to be happy. But also, a little sad that he clearly missed having a father around.

That was why I forgave him when he urged, “Yeah. You should meet him.”

While eventually I would have to teach him about the oddness of his concern for my romantic life, particularly at his young age, I decided that was not a conversation for the packed elementary school parking lot.

So instead, I just turned and smiled at him. I took on that hushed whisper that denoted secrets of the highest importance, and I giggled with him when I said, “Well, he’d better come find me, then.”

I’d always considered myself to be fairly independent. My being single hadn’t ever bothered me nearly as much as it did that night. I couldn’t blame my son, though. Instead, I would blame the layout of the auditorium and the pesky habit of parents to insist on sitting as close to the stage as possible.

I’d wanted my son to be able to spot me, so I’d sat in a row on my own. It was not because I’d felt painfully inferior to the happy couples happily chatting away before the show began; let that be clear.

Not many people had filtered into the auditorium yet, and I suspected that many would wait to come until their children were ready to perform. So, for now, it was relatively peaceful as we all enjoyed the few, rare moments of peace on a weeknight.

But as the moments dragged on, I found myself scanning the crowd for someone I might be able to pass the time with. And for a second, I found myself wondering which of the men might be the one who’d captured my son’s attention. It was in that moment, looking through a sea of faces for my mystical Prince Charming, that someone caught my attention.

“Are you waiting for someone?”

How I hadn’t noticed the man walking down the aisle was a mystery, but there he stood in his impossible glory. His tall, lanky frame stood awkwardly as he swayed in place and awaited a response from the dumbfounded woman staring at him with a dropped jaw and wonder in her eyes.

“What?” I asked, only to process the question seconds later and nearly shout, “Oh, no, I-I’m alone! You can sit here.”

“Thanks,” he laughed, but I was the thankful one. Thankful that he had taken my odd behavior in stride and chosen to take the seat next to me even though I’d practically yelled him into it.

It was a bit strange, and perhaps a little bit uncomfortable, that he’d chosen the seat directly next to me rather than the others spanning the aisle. But at the same time, he was too adorable with his vintage glasses and scruffy beard that I couldn’t find it in me to suspect him of anything.

So, putting out of my mind what every true crime show I’d ever watched warned me about men like him, I settled comfortably into my seat. Every few seconds, I would glance over at him in my peripheral only to find that he was staring forward at the empty stage.

Until he wasn’t.

“You know,” he started as he glanced over to catch me staring at him with a wide-eyed fascination, “you’ve got the best seat in the house.”

I tried to giggle in response, but the jaded scoff that followed was anything but. The stranger smiled, a small tilt that crept over his cheeks with a healthy confusion. I could feel him trying to read me, and I hoped that he couldn’t tell my feigned skepticism was a front for my complete inability to flirt.

“Let me guess, it’s the best because… it’s next to you?”

Immediately after I said it, I knew it had been a mistake.

“Oh. Wow. No, but—" he started, but our voices turned into an overlapping chaos.

“I’m so sorry!” I shouted, muffling the sound with my hands clamped over my mouth.

“Don’t apologize!” he insisted, and I wouldn’t have believed him if he hadn’t been laughing, “I just — I… would you think that? That’s… That’s very flattering.”

Slowly, I raised my hands from my mouth to cover as much of my face as humanly possible. I stayed there, groaning in embarrassment and hoping that the handsome stranger would leave me alone to wallow in my misery.

But when I did finally find the courage to lower them, he was still staring at me with a warmth and fascination that stirred butterflies to life. Once I uncovered my eyes completely, I noticed for the first time just how pink his cheeks had turned during our catastrophic conversation.

He must’ve noticed my noticing, because it took him very little time to clear his throat and change the subject back to where it ought to be.

“I was going to say that this is where all the speakers converge, so it’s basically the perfect surround sound outside of headphones.”

That time, the blank stare I returned was fitting. Still, he didn’t seem to understand my deadpan until I explained, “… this concert is performed by a bunch of kindergarteners. You’ve just described the worst seat in the house.”

He laughed, a light and honeyed sound among the echoing chatter. Before I knew it, I couldn’t help but smile, no matter how hard I’d tried to keep my cool. The stranger seemed all too comfortable in that awkwardness. He didn’t shy away from it, and instead chose to throw himself into murkier waters in the hopes of finding something valuable at the bottom.

With a small nod towards the stage, he brought my attention to the kids sticking their heads out from behind the curtains. Nervous little eyes glancing for someone to hold onto, the same as I had moments before.

“Which one is yours?” he asked.

And although my son wasn’t yet on the stage, I answered the only way I knew how.

“I am the very proud mother of the one dressed like a lion.”

To my surprise, it took him no time at all to understand what I’d meant.

“Oh, you’re (y/c/n)’s mom?”

On instinct, I answered his question with the more interesting question of, “How do you know my son?”

That odd, beautiful man held out his hand to me in the least inviting handshake I’d ever witnessed. I could see how his fingers shook and his eyes dropped to the floor in a different kind of bashfulness.

“Sorry, I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. But, uh, I’m sure your son knows me as—"

“Mister Spencer,” I finished. I could hear the lovesick dreaminess in my tone, but I did nothing to stop it. I also chose not to take his hand, and instead placed the tips of my fingers against his to usher him to lower them. I didn’t need to shake his hands to know exactly how they felt. Warm and soft, the same as his smile when he finally raised his eyes back to mine.

“So you do know me,” he confirmed in a hushed tone, like it was the answer he was hoping I’d give.

It all seemed so perfectly fairy tale in its timing that I found myself wondering if I’d been dreaming. Because every time our eyes met it felt like fate, and I had become jaded to such a thing long before that night.

So, I did what any good mother would do. I suspected my child.

“Did he ask you to come talk to me?” I blurted out.

But Spencer just tilted his head to the side. His eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the stage for a moment when he heard the scurry of dozens of little feet.

“No,” he said slowly, unsure of what answer I’d been expecting. Then, with just as much caution he whispered, “Was he supposed to?”

“No, it’s just…” I started. I was going to explain it all away, but before the words could come to me, the lights had started to dim.

He wasn’t so ready to give up.

“What?” he asked.

And that time I smiled when I assured him, “Nothing.”

I guess it was just meant to be.

As the music came and went, I found myself fixated on the stage in the strangest way. That wasn’t to say that I was disappointed or surprised by the quality of the children’s performance, or that I hadn’t been giving him all the encouragement I could from my seat towards the back.

Rather, it was strange because I hadn’t forgotten the near-stranger beside me. In fact, every few moments, I could feel him watching me with a similar kind of longing that I’d felt before.

For the first time in forever, I hadn’t felt alone in the crowd of parents. For once, I’d had someone to share my joy with. Although I’m sure he could’ve dealt without my overdramatic flailing every time my son got a single word right, he didn’t ever do a thing to stop me from nudging or hitting him in my excitement.

Even when it had ended, and I watched a tiny hand wave goodbye to me before vanishing behind the curtain, I didn’t feel embarrassed or awkward in the slightest.

I felt... like my joy mattered.

It was a bold thing, to allow myself to fall for someone so quickly. But when I turned to look at him in the dim light, I realized that I had neglected myself for so long that I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be desired.

So, when Spencer lifted a finger to direct me closer, I went without hesitation.

“You want to know a secret?” he whispered into my ear.

I fought the goosebumps that immediately broke out over every inch of my body, and I tried to focus on the fact that I was, in fact, still a mother at a school function and could not jump this man in the auditorium aisle.

“What?”

“I can get you backstage early to avoid the crowd.”

I giggled at the suggestion made in such a clandestine manner, only to mistakenly alert the others of the secrets happening in the back of the crowd. Once the others turned their attention back to the front, I turned to face Spencer.

Unfortunately for me, I had miscalculated just how close we’d been. Our faces were mere inches apart, and I could see each fleck of hazel eyes in such pristine clarity that it made my breath hitch.

After I recalibrated, I finally responded, “A man after my own heart.”

Although I could’ve written off his initial confusion for my vague non-answer, I’d chosen to believe that he was as distracted by our proximity as I was. But he was a quick learner, and so once he realized that I’d accepted his offer, he jumped into action.

His hand wrapped around mine so freely that I gasped at the contact. To think that he was the same man that had been so afraid to shake my hand only an hour before. An hour of quiet and chaos was all it had taken before the two of us had forgotten the awkwardness of it all.

He all but dragged me from my seat and down the aisle like clumsy, lovesick teenagers at their first movie date. That time, I knew that my incessant giggling would make the others stare — but I didn’t care.

Because it felt like my joy mattered, and for once I wanted to share it with someone else.

Spencer didn’t let go of my hand. As we barreled through familiar, brightly decorated hallways, he kept me close, and he kept me laughing. We didn’t pretend like what we were doing wasn’t silly; we just had fun, anyway.

It made me feel guilty that I’d almost been sad when I saw another teacher. I knew the night was coming to an end, but it didn’t make it any less disappointing when his hand finally left mine.

In a true gentlemanly manner, he stuck by me while I waited for the teacher to return with my little lion. The awkwardness slowly came crawling back into the space between us. But just before it took hold, I decided that I wasn’t going to let it.

Taking a bold step forward in honor of his courage all night, I smiled as I said, “Thanks for keeping me company tonight.”

“It was my pleasure,” he answered. And unlike most men, I believed him.

“My son is a big fan of yours. He said you know everything.”

“I’m sure it seems that way to him,” he laughed with a humble shake of his head before adding on, “If you asked me, though, I’d say I’m pretty clueless.”

I laughed for two reasons. The first was because I deeply related to the imposter syndrome that was interacting with a toddler. The second was because he looked so damned cute with peach cheeks and a nervous smile that I couldn’t contain the happiness in my chest any longer.

Once the sound of our innocent infatuation started to die down, I felt comfortable telling him the conclusion I’d reached within minutes of meeting him. No matter how terrifying it was to be honest, to be vulnerable with someone I barely knew.

“Well. I wanted to say that… I’m a fan of yours, too.”

Because it felt like I’d known him forever. When his eyes softened in response, I swore I saw past lives swimming in the ponds of golden honey. I felt a warmth blossom in my heart until the space between us felt nonexistent.

For the second time that night, I found myself close enough to him that I knew he could feel my unsteady breath. But I wasn’t scared of the closeness; I craved it. And for a moment, I thought that something else might happen. I saw how he tilted his head and inched closer the same as I had.

But, alas, fairy tale things never happen the first night.

“Mommy!” A familiar voice rang through the hall. Its echoes hit me as hard as his tiny body crashing into my open arms at full speed. I only barely managed to not fall backwards, and instead used the inertia to lift him off the ground.

“Hey baby! Oh my gosh, you did so well!” I gushed into the soft fur of his costume. I poured every ounce of love I could into a crushing hug until the little boy started to squirm out of my hold, laughing all the while.

I placed him back down on his feet, which he immediately used to begin bouncing. I couldn’t blame him for being excited. Lord knew I was, too.

“Honestly, I’ve never heard better singing from a lion!” I said with a deathly seriousness, “And I’ve seen Lion King, you know.”

He laughed, and the love that I’d given him returned with full force at the sound. But that little rascal wasn’t done yet. Tiny paws took hold of my hands and tugged until I bent down to his height. From there, I watched him suspiciously eye the man now standing a few feet away.

“Did you sit next to Mister Spencer?” he asked in what I’d suspect he thought was a whisper.

“Yes, I did,” I answered much the same.

The excitement quickly overtook him, and we could no longer pretend like the conversation was private in any way.

“Isn’t he cool?!” he beamed.

I turned my attention to the man of the hour before I answered quietly but honestly, “Yes. He is very cool.”

Spencer raised a hand in a wave, but my son was more than happy to abandon me in order to steal a high-five, instead. I expected nothing different. What I didn’t expect, however, was the way my stomach started doing flips the second I’d seen them together.

“What’s up, bud? You did great out there!” he squeaked.

Just like he’d done to me, my son took his hands and pulled him close before he answered the man with the utmost enthusiasm, “I want you and my mom to get married!”

Time stopped for the both of us as we realized what the little boy had just announced.

We both looked down at him, and then up at each other. And then I panicked.

“Oh, god, okay, time to go!” I shrieked once time started again. I was already clambering to grab hold of the boy by the scruff of his mane as I shouted, “Say bye to Mister Spencer!”

But he held on just as tightly to his teacher’s hand as he continued to explain, “She has cooties, but you can still marry her if you want!”

Eventually, I got hold of him enough that I could clamp my hand over his mouth to dull the noise. I could still hear him trying to talk, as well as feel his tongue as he licked me in an attempt to get me to move my hand. But I was as relentless and stubborn as he, so I did not let go.

“I-I’m so sorry,” I blubbered to the man whose pink cheeks had turned beetroot red.

But in his curious way, he didn’t look to me when he responded. Instead, he turned to the boy who’d just wriggled free from my grip and burst into a maniacal set of giggles.

“For the record, it’s a very compelling offer,” Spencer assured us both, “But… I think you’ve got to let your mom choose who to marry.”

My heart was pounding loud enough that I swore it would bust out of my chest. Somehow, it stayed, though. Even when that man — no longer a stranger, but still overwhelmingly odd — flashed me the most breathtaking smile.

Even when he said with the fullest confidence, “Whoever it is, he would be a very lucky man.”

My arms relaxed. Clutching my son closer, I hid behind his courage and tried to find my own before the moment had passed. Luckily, though, my son was too much like me to let the moment go to waste.

Leaning forward in my arms and cupping a hand beside his mouth, he promised his teacher, “Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her more.”

Spencer and I both laughed, and we both tried to hide it. But it seemed silly in hindsight when we saw just how happy it made the little boy in my arms.

“Thanks, bud. I’ll see you on Monday, okay?” Spencer offered to spare me any further humiliation.

Or, at least, that’s what I’d thought he was doing until he tacked on, “You can tell me all about it.”

That was enough for a hopeful child watching his mother fall headfirst in love with his hero. He accepted his win with a complete lack of grace, pumping his arms in the air in triumph as he shouted, “Okay! Bye, Mister Spencer!”

At first, I took off running at the first opportunity. I was too afraid to look back in the event that he wouldn’t be looking back. But after only a few steps, I felt that comfort and longing again. I could feel it like his hand still wrapped around mine. I could feel him almost like a memory.

I glanced over my shoulder to find honeyed eyes and a brilliant smile that had not waned in the slightest. I returned a flustered but flattered smile of my own before I continued on my way, hoping all the while that it wouldn’t be the last time that I’d get to feel so desired.

My son must’ve seen the yearning on my face that I’d recognized in him earlier that night, because I could see from the look that he gave me that he was already scheming.

“You guys are sooo gonna get married,” he snickered.

And once we were out of earshot, I was quick to admit to my favorite little wingman, “God, I hope so.”