Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
T he bowling alley reminded Marise of her younger days. Neon lights flickered over scratched plastic benches, the air thick with the sounds of squeaky boots, crashing bowling pins and a mix of pop hits in the background.
Cass territory.
She was dressed in her leather coat, black top and snug jeans, her hair pulled back in a loose plait. She looked approachable and low-maintenance. She carried herself like someone who had no secrets, no dicey backstory.
“Cass,” Ted called from the far corner, where the lanes opened up into glowing alleys. “Over here.”
She gave him a small wave and made her way over.
He was already seated with a jug of beer and a tray of fries in front of him.
The group was gathered around—three others tonight.
Two women and one man. The guy she recognized from the cinema night—Simon—was wearing a Jurassic Park hoodie and sipping beer from a pint glass.
The woman on his left had a pixie cut dyed cobalt blue and a shirt that read Science Is Magic.
The other, with a warm brown complexion and braids piled atop her head, wore a Tank top and jeans and was holding a bowling ball.
Ted jumped up and handed her a drink. “You made it.”
“I couldn’t wait,” Marise said, sliding into the plastic seat with a grin.
He laughed, already comfortable. “I didn’t think we’d get you twice in a row. That’s practically a relationship.”
Simon grinned. “Give it time. We’ve all dated someone we met at the movies.”
“I married mine,” said the woman with the braids.
“Divorced him too,” Simon added.
“Details,” she replied with a dismissive wave. “He kept trying to explain plot holes in The Matrix. ”
Ted gestured between them all. “Cass, this is Priya, and Neve. Guys, this is Cass Mullins. She’s a freelance science editor, reads obscure white papers for fun, and probably will destroy me at bowling.”
“Science editor?” Neve perked up. “We need to talk. I’ve got a grant proposal I’ve been avoiding for six months.”
“I’m expensive,” Marise deadpanned. “I charge by the number of adjectives I have to delete.”
Priya laughed. “You’ll fit right in.”
“Do you want shoes?” Ted offered, pointing to the rental counter.
“I got a pair on the way in,” she said, lifting one foot. “Trusty old size sevens.”
“Alright, bowling purist,” Simon muttered. “Let’s see if you can actually roll.”
They were bickering like old friends and Marise let herself ease into the banter. Cass was good at this. No pressure. Just laughs, eye-rolls, and charm.
She bowled second. Knocked down eight pins with her first throw and picked up the spare. Not a strike, but solid.
Simon gave her a clap. “Acceptable. Not impressive, but acceptable.”
Ted leaned in. “You should’ve seen her at the movies. She’s got ice in her veins.”
“Nerves of steel,” Marise replied with a wink.
They played two full games. Ted got steadily worse, Simon got steadily louder, and Priya managed a turkey and screamed like she’d discovered cold fusion.
They shared nachos, dunked fries into shared sauce tubs, and heckled each other with the kind of joy that came from mild competitiveness and too much beer.
It was so ordinary it hurt Marise.
She’d forgotten what it was like to sit among people and not have another agenda. She didn’t have to pretend to be mysterious or seductive here. Cass could slip into the shape of someone who was part of the gang. She liked that feeling—maybe too much.
“Where’s your doctorate?” Neve asked between frames. “You sound like someone who wrote their thesis in coffee shops and cursed at formatting for six months straight.”
Marise sipped her drink. “Dropped out before I could start one. I got tired of unpaid internships and conferences where everyone spoke like TED Talks with facial hair.”
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.
The sidewalk was warm under the streetlights, the buzz of the city fainter here. The others said goodnight with casual waves, piling into a shared car. Ted walked her to the corner, hands in his pockets.
“I’m glad you came,” he said.
“I am too,” Marise replied, and the words carried more truth than she’d intended.
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Hey, do you want a drink? There’s a pub down the block.”
“Sure. One drink.”
They walked in companionable silence. The sidewalk was cracked in places, the streetlamps buzzing faintly overhead. The pub sat on the corner, its windows glowing amber from inside. The sign read The Copper Tap, and a line of empty stools stretched along the bar when they entered.
They found a booth near the back. Marise ordered a cider and Ted a dark ale. The drinks arrived quickly, condensation beading on the glasses.
“This place has a nice vibe,” she said, glancing around.
“It’s where we hide when the lab tries to eat our souls,” Ted said with a grin.
She chuckled, then leaned back and let her expression soften. “You really love what you do, don’t you?”
Ted nodded, hands wrapped around his glass. “Yeah. I mean, it’s exhausting and half the time we’re flying blind. But when something clicks —when the data shifts and suddenly it all makes sense, there’s nothing like it.”
“I get it,” she said. “I used to help with data audits for a team doing aquatic phytoremediation. Watching a breakthrough land after months of stagnant readings—it’s addictive.”
He looked impressed. “That’s not a casual name-drop. You’ve got real background.”
Marise shrugged modestly. “Let’s say I know enough to recognize when someone’s being cagey.” She smiled over the rim of her glass. “You still haven’t told me exactly what you're working on.”
Ted hesitated, then gave a half-laugh. “Not because I don’t trust you. I mean, you’ve probably guessed it’s in the green-tech realm, but Kathleen’s strict about what we share. I signed an NDA.”
“I respect that,” she said lightly, though she could feel her curiosity prickling. “Still, you must be close to something. The way you talk about it—it sounds like you’re at the finish line.”
He nodded slowly. “We are, or rather Kathleen is. It’s her brain child, I’m only the help. The testing phase is basically over. It’s fine-tuning calibration models now.”
Marise raised an eyebrow. “So, it works.”
Ted looked down at his beer and ran a thumb along the rim of the glass. “It’s going to revolutionize things bigtime.”
She leaned in slightly, her voice gentle. “You must be proud to be part of it.”
“I am,” he said, quieter now. “Kathleen’s poured her whole life into this. Most people only see the awkwardness, but they don’t realize how brilliant she is. She sees connections no one else does.”
Marise let a beat of silence pass. “She’s lucky to have someone like you backing her up.”
Ted smiled, a touch shyly. “I try to keep up.”
They sipped in silence for a while. Marise didn’t press. She knew better. Too much pressure now would snap the line.
Instead, she asked about his undergrad years, his thesis, the time he blew up a sink trying to measure thermal output using kitchen foil. He told the story with animation and enough self-deprecating humour to be charming.
They ordered another, and by the time they finished, the pub was thinning out. Ted glanced at his phone and winced. “It’s late. I should head off.”
“Same,” she said, standing. “Thanks for the company.”
He laughed. “Any time, Cass.”
They walked together to the subway entrance. At the top of the stairs, he paused. “I’ll see you at dinner. I’ll meet you at six-thirty at Greg’s Steakhouse.”
She smiled warmly “I’m looking forward to it.”
And then he was gone, down the stairs to the underground station.
Kathleen’s project was about finished. She’s fulfilled half her contract, but she was expected to find out what she had invented before it was released. Time was running out.
She turned toward the cab rank, the cider sitting warm in her stomach and the pressure of the job beginning to tighten again around her ribs.
As the taxi drove through the city, Marise lay back thinking about yesterday. The lake, the kayak, the lunch on the grass. Her mind replayed the moment like a reel: Kathleen’s voice naming every flower, her shy smile over tea, her hand resting against Marise’s chest like it had a right to be there.
It didn’t feel like a job anymore. She should be preparing to cut ties instead of getting emersed in Kathleen’s private life.
And that terrified her.