The Renegade (The Moorehouse Legacy #3)(22)

“Alex?”

“Yeah?”

“Wine?”

“Sure. I’ll get the glasses. And the silver.”

The microwave dinged. She took the plate out with a potholder and carried it over to the table while he got the knives and forks.

Before they sat down, he went and put his wash in the dryer, peeling the nylon sweats away so they could air dry.

When he came back in, she was at the table, pouring the chardonnay. She looked tired.

“What time did you get to the house this morning?” he asked as he sat down. They traded bowls and plates until they’d served themselves.

“I don’t remember.”

“I woke up early. You were already there.”

“Don’t worry, you’re not paying me by the hour,” she chided gently, pushing her food around.

He finished what was on his plate. Went back for seconds. Was halfway through them when he realized she’d barely taken a bite. He lowered his fork.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, nodding to her food.

She shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Why aren’t you eating?”

Cassandra shook her head and went back to shifting lettuce leaves around.

Then she murmured, “You know, I’m thinking of selling Reese’s penthouse.”

“The one in Manhattan?”

When she nodded, he thought that was a weird way of referring to the place, considering it was her home, too.

“Where will you go?”

“I want something smaller. It’s not that I need the money. I just…” She took a sip from her wineglass and pushed her plate away. “Do you ever…get lonely?”

He stiffened and said the only thing that occurred to him. “I want you to eat more.”

She had another small drink. “Yeah, that’s probably a silly question, isn’t it? You aren’t the type who needs other people.”

Alex jabbed at her plate with his fork. “You worked hard today. You need to eat.”

If they kept this up, he thought, they would probably finish the conversations by themselves. Maybe move on to two new ones.

There was a noise from upstairs.

“Excuse me, I better go check on him.” Cass got up and went to the back stairwell.

Alex frowned, wondering why she and O’Banyon weren’t staying in the guest rooms in the front of the house.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, leaning up against the banister. “You okay, Ernest?”

Ernest?

She patted her thighs. “You want to go out?”

There was a soft padding noise and the jingle of a collar, then the golden retriever came into the kitchen looking sleepy. He wagged at Alex, but went straight for the back door as Cass held it open.

“Cassandra.”

“Hmm?” She shut the thing and came back to the table.

“Who else is in this house right now?”

She tilted her head to the side. “No one. Libby went to her brother’s. Why?”

Alex wiped his mouth with his napkin and eased back in the chair.

Idiot.

Jealous idiot.

Although mistaking O’Banyon for a dog did make some sense.

As she looked at him, he took a deep breath. “Tell you what. If you eat, I’ll try to…talk.”

Her luminous green stare became rapt. “So you do get lonely?”

“Pick up that fork.”

When she started eating, he took a drink and cleared his throat.

“No, I don’t get lonely.” He paused. “I, ah…I don’t get along with people that well.”

Her eyes widened as if she were surprised that he’d elaborated.

Well, that made two of them.

“You don’t get along…?” she prompted softly.

He shook his head. “Never really have. I mean, I’m great with them in a competitive environment. Otherwise, they make me…nervous.” When she stared at him, nearly openmouthed, he bristled. “What?”

“Sorry. It’s hard to imagine you scared of anything. Or anybody.”

“I did not say scared.”

Was that a smirk? He couldn’t tell because she’d covered her lips with her wineglass.

“So why do they make you anxious?” she asked.

“How about some more stuffing?”

“I don’t—”

“Yeah, I don’t feel like saying much more, either.”

She dug that serving spoon so far into the chicken, he could have sworn it came out the other side.

God, he hoped she got full quickly.

*

As Cass lifted her fork, she cocked her eyebrow. She had to keep Alex talking. Learning something, anything, about the man was unexpected. To have him admit to a weakness of sorts was extraordinary.

He took a long drink from his wineglass. “I never know what to say. In social situations. I mean, all that small talk? My mind just shuts down. That’s one of the things I love about being on the ocean. No chatting. Plus every time I’m on land, people look at me like I’m some kind of god and it’s just too weird.”

His hand came up and pulled at the collar of his turtleneck.

Good Lord. Alex Moorehouse was shy.

It was like finding out the earth wasn’t round. She had to recalibrate everything she knew.