“I value our friendship, but that’s all it is. We’ve never even been on a date.”
“Then what do you call yesterday at the Cranstons’?”
“A networking exercise?”
Apparently, that was the wrong answer.
“Everyone thinks we’re a couple,” Marielle hissed. “You know what? I’m going to wait for you to get over this dumb infatuation. I don’t suppose it’ll take long—Alexis doesn’t fit in around here, and have you forgotten that man she’s with?”
“Alexa,” Nolan corrected automatically. “And what’s that supposed to mean? How doesn’t she fit in?”
He almost pointed out that Chase was gay, but in the end, he held back. If Chase preferred to keep his sexuality on a need-to-know basis, then Nolan wasn’t going to broadcast the man’s private business.
Marielle ticked off the points on her fingers. “She’s clearly not an outdoor girl, she’s made no effort to get to know anyone, and she looks down on people.”
“She’s spent most of her time fixing my laptop—she hasn’t had the time to go out and meet anyone.”
Not that she’d want to, but the fact she had so many close acquaintances—Chase, Janus, Jerry, Barbie—had surprised him. Housemates aside, Alexa had always been a loner.
“Mark my words, she won’t stick around for long. You’re lucky I’m a patient woman.”
And also a woman in denial. Nolan backed away slowly.
“In the meantime, could you just work on finishing the cottage? If you need my input on anything, let me know.”
Yeah, it had been a hell of a day, but now Nolan was ready to turn things around by having a quiet dinner with Alexa. Sanguine sat at the far end of Main Street in Mason’s Hill, an eclectic place fronted by stone columns adorned with creeping ivy. Nolan parked his pickup beside a bright yellow electric sports car that straddled two spaces and hurried to open Alexa’s door, but she beat him to it and hopped out instead of waiting the way Marielle did.
A memory flitted back. Eddie Calder telling a young Nolan that a gentleman always opens the door for a lady. The part he forgot to add? Even if she’s dead in the trunk.
Alexa knocked on a column as they walked to the front door, and it made a hollow sound.
“I don’t think the ivy’s real either,” Nolan supplied.
“As long as the food is. It’s French?”
“It’s fusion.”
“A fusion of what?”
A good question. “Whatever the chef feels like cooking, I think.”
“Well, I hope they cook fast. I’m tired, and I already reached my caffeine limit today.”
A hostess led them to a cosy table for two, tucked in a corner near a larger party celebrating someone’s thirtieth birthday—the gold balloons were the giveaway. Nolan caught sight of a harried-looking server darting around and wished he’d cooked at home. Alexa tucked herself into the seat nearest the wall, leaving Nolan to take the other.
“You had a busy week in Oregon?” he asked once they had their menus.
“So many meetings. So many questions. So many people.”
“Is the data centre going ahead?”
She nodded. “Once the attorneys have done their thing.”
“It’s a big commitment?”
“Yes, and not just the money. When we build a data centre, we also pledge to invest in the community after the initial build. Data centres don’t lead to a significant number of long-term jobs—it’s basically just a massive warehouse full of servers—so we subsidise green energy initiatives and provide scholarships and charitable grants and stuff.”
Nolan couldn’t lie—he’d had occasional dark thoughts about Alexa’s chosen career. Dionysus was directly impacted by climate change, by the hotter, drier summers that brought terrifying wildfires, by the unpredictable storms in winter. That she tried to mitigate the impact of the technology she loved so much put him more at ease.
