Chapter 15: Nolan Parked the Car at the Residential Complex Entrance

Nolan parked the car at the residential complex entrance. Clara Whitmore thanked him but didn't head straight home, detouring instead to the fresh market on the street corner.

Golden sunset bathed the entire street as she emerged carrying two full grocery bags.

Elias Mercer appeared at the intersection. His crisp white shirt sleeves were rolled to the elbows, revealing well-defined forearms. The fading light softened his angular features, even warming the lenses of his glasses.

"Professor Mercer." She initiated the greeting.

He adjusted his frames. "Ms. Whitmore."

"I bought hotpot ingredients. Care to join?" She lifted the shopping bags slightly.

Elias almost declined when the memory of her cooking surfaced—the lingering umami of that simple noodle dish still vivid on his palate.

"Alright."

This marked Elias's first time entering her apartment.

The modest living room exuded warmth. Hydrangeas bloomed by the floor-to-ceiling window while goldfish circled lazily in their tank. Half-finished floral tea sat beside scattered graduate school materials on the coffee table.

"Water or tea?"

"Water's fine."

She handed him a glass—the temperature perfectly tepid.

His gaze caught the exam papers with sparse red markings, nearly flawless.

"Question three is wrong."

Clara followed his line of sight. "The interdisciplinary one?"

"Mhm." Elias picked up the sheet. "Potential selection alters the entire molecular dynamics calculation."

Her eyes brightened. "So variations in potential energy surfaces change molecular trajectories?"

His eyebrows lifted behind his glasses. "You understand molecular dynamics?"

"From your notes." She smiled sheepishly. "Despite some typos..."

Elias's ears tinged pink. "Undergraduate drafts."

"But the logic was clear." Her sincerity shone through. "They helped immensely."

The aroma of simmering broth began permeating the space.

* * *

Grant Holloway exited the shopping center into full darkness.

His knuckles whitened around a navy velvet jewelry box.

"Dinner first?" Mason Reed eyed his tense profile.

"Whatever."

Mason chose an award-winning restaurant requiring reservations. Grant barely registered the meal, his attention continually darting to the entrance.

The box rotated in his grip, its diamond necklace refracting icy brilliance under the chandeliers.