Simon snorted. “Preach.”
Ted, beside her, leaned back against the booth with an easy smile. “She’s got better credentials. She quoted Asimov while elbow-deep in nacho cheese.”
“Be still my heart,” Simon sighed.
Marise smiled, but there was an ache behind it. Ted was earnest in a way that made her stomach twist, because he didn’t see her. He saw Cass, this version she’d constructed so carefully. Someone who read his favourite authors, laughed at his jokes, and didn’t judge the awkward silences.
She hadn’t expected to feel guilty.
But then, she hadn’t expected Kathleen either.
A flash of her came unbidden, the way her voice had softened when she pointed out the blue flag iris, the pink at her cheeks after that hesitant kiss, the way her fingers had trembled when she’d touched Marise for the first time. Real touches and feeling.
Marise pushed her drink aside.
“Are you okay?” Ted asked quietly, his face close now.
She nodded. “Yeah. It’s been a long week.”
“You wanna bail early?”
“No,” she said quickly, then gentler. “I’m having fun.”
Ted’s expression brightened. “Good. I like having you here.”
She gave him a smile in return, but inside, something flickered. He liked her, and that had never been part of the plan. He wasn’t a mark anymore. He was a decent guy who deserved someone with the same transparency, a person who didn’t vanish into other people’s lives wearing borrowed names.
After the third game, the group dispersed to the snack bar. Ted stayed behind to tally the scores, his tongue sticking out slightly as he scribbled on the paper slip.
Marise leaned on the table beside him. “You lost.”
“I know.”
“Badly.”
“Don’t rub it in.”
“Why not? I earned the right.”
He grinned at her. “You want to come out again next week? We were thinking mini-golf. Priya gets absurdly competitive.”
Marise hesitated. “Yeah. That sounds fun.”
“Good.” He hesitated. “You’re not seeing anyone, are you?”
She turned toward him slowly, keeping her face neutral. “Why?”
“Because I’m interested—and I want to be respectful.” He ducked his head. “I’d really like to take you to dinner sometime. Just the two of us.”
The question landed heavier than she expected. For a moment she looked at him—earnest eyes, hopeful smile, nothing dangerous in him at all.
Marise reached for her Coke. “That’s sweet. What about Thursday night.”
He nodded immediately. “Great. They have great steaks at the Greg’s Steak House. You’re not a vegan, are you?”
“Nah, I like meat,” she added.
They didn’t speak much after that. They rolled up the scoresheets, gathered their shoes, and walked out into the night air.
