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“I’ll go to his house tomorrow.”
Saxon nods. “So… where are you going now?”
“Thought I’d take her for a drink.”
“To talk about sci-fi? See if she likes it hard?”
“Ah, Jesus, don’t. I felt so bad when I sent that.”
He slaps me on the back. “Happens to the best of us, and at least she found it funny. She’s lovely, bro. Hope it works out for you. Happy birthday.”
“Happy birthday. Can’t believe we’re twenty-nine.”
“I know,” he says. “Have you got any gray hairs?”
“Not on my head.”
That makes him laugh, and we’re both grinning when we finally open the door and go outside.
Saxon and Catie say goodbye and head off to his Aston. I see Alice’s gaze linger on it before we turn and walk slowly down the street.
“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I forgot to offer to pay my half of the bill. I really didn’t mean to assume. Catie was talking to me, and I got distracted.”
It’s a sweet thing of her to say when she must have guessed that the two of us have money. “Not a problem at all. I’m old fashioned enough to want to pay on a first date.” I smile at her. Saxon’s right—I do find her classy look with her cream sweater, gray coat, and hair in a bun attractive. The mischief in her eyes is a bonus. A good sense of humor is always sexy, and promises fun in the bedroom. But I don’t want to assume anything. I like this girl, and it’s more important to me to secure a second date than it is to get her into bed tonight.
“Would you like to go for a drink?” I ask.
“That would be nice.”
“Anywhere in particular? Murphy’s Law isn’t bad.”
“No,” she says hurriedly. Then she clears her throat. “Um… I mean… I’d rather not go there.”
“Okay.” I wonder if that’s where she met the guy yesterday. “Let’s try The Pour House.”
We walk across Courtenay Place to the bar, but it’s heaving with people, and not the kind of place where you can sit and have a conversation. I suggest York Tavern on Cuba Street, and we wander up there, but that’s packed too.
“Christmas parties, I guess,” I say, listening to the raucous crowd inside.
Alice glances up the street. “The bar in the hotel where I’m staying is really nice, and it’s quiet.”
“Which hotel?”
“The Elite.”
I’ve never stayed there, but I know that despite its name, it’s a three-star, cheap and cheerful. Still, our options are limited, so I say, “Sure.”
We head along Cuba Mall, past the iconic kinetic sculpture called the Bucket Fountain that’s happily splashing the tourists taking photos, toward the hotel at the end of the street.
“You don’t live in the city, then?” I ask her as we walk.
She shakes her head. I wait for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. I guess she lives in one of the suburbs, although wouldn’t she have caught an Uber home if that was the case?
She hasn’t told me a lot about herself so far. I know she has a sister at university here, and that she likes fantasy and science fiction. She knows a bit about music and guitars. But that’s about it. Still, I haven’t volunteered much information either. But that’s why we’re going for a drink, right? To chat and find out more about each other.
We arrive at the hotel and go into the lobby. It’s large and busy, but as we cross and walk through to the bar, we find it quiet, with only one other couple sitting at a table and a single businessman at the bar, drinking a beer while he studies his phone. Tinsel on the Christmas tree in the corner sparkles as the fairy lights flicker, and Dean Martin croons toSilver Bellsin the background.
“What can I get you?” I ask her.
