That gets a small smile.
“It may have crossed my mind but I don’t practice avoidance.”
The silence stretches, and I let it. I’m not going to make this easy for her.
She steps into the kitchenette, opens the fridge, pulls out a bottle of water. Unscrews the cap. Takes a sip. Classic Alicia—buying time, organizing her thoughts.
Finally, she turns to face me. “About earlier?—”
“You needed to get it out of your system,” I finish, keeping my voice level. “So you could focus. I remember.”
She winces. “Noah?—”
“Look, I’m happy to help you meet your needs,” I say, and her eyes widen slightly at the edge in my tone. “But if we’re doing this again—and I’m assuming that’s why you’re down here—I’m going to request that dinner date.”
“Noah—”
“I’m not asking for a ring, Alicia. Just dinner.” Something normal. Something that doesn’t disappear the moment it’s over. “Maybe some conversation where we’re both wearing clothes.”
She sets the water bottle down with more force than necessary. “We’ve shared plenty of conversations.”
“About Stella. About your work. Surface-level shit.” I push off the counter. “I don’t even know your middle name.”
“It’s Marie.”
“See? Progress.” I take a step closer. “What’s your favorite movie?”
She blinks. “What?”
“Favorite movie. It’s a simple question.”
“I don’t...I don’t watch a lot of movies.”
“Favorite book, then.”
“Why does this matter?”
“Because I know how you sound when you come, and I don’t know your favorite book.”
Her cheeks flush, and I see her debate retreat—shoulders tensing, walls going up.
“There’s a ten-year age difference,” she says quietly. “You’re thirty-one. I’m forty-one. That matters.”
“To whom?”
“To everyone. To you, eventually.”
I shake my head. “You planning to stay single for the next six years? Waiting until Stella’s grown before you let yourself have something?”
“That’s not?—”
“Because that’s a lonely road, Alicia.” I don’t raise my voice—but I don’t soften it either. “And for what? To avoid some imaginary judgment?”
“It’s not imaginary.” Her voice hardens. “People will talk. They’ll assume things about you—about me. That I’m desperate, that you’re using me for?—”
“For what? Your money? Your connections?” I step closer, close enough to sense her tension. “I stopped caring what people think a long time ago. Turned out to be the best decision I ever made. Now, I don’t give a damn what others think. And frankly, I’m surprised you do.”
She takes a half-step back—instinctive—then stops herself. Forces her ground.