Page 9

Fair.

"Nobody taught me. It just needed doing, and I was the oldest."

He nods once, like that tells him more than I meant it to.

"What do you usually do?"

"Work. Take care of everyone. But you already figured that part out." I laugh, but it comes out sharper than I mean it to. "Get told I'm too much. Tonight I'm branching out. Overpriced whiskey and emotional damage."

"Branching out suits you."

"You've known me for ten minutes."

"I'm a fast learner." His gaze moves over my face, pausing at my smile. "And you're not hard to read when you forget to hide."

My fingers tighten around the glass. "I don't hide."

"No?"

"I strategically withhold."

"That sounds more like you."

"And you? What's your story?"

He considers the question like I've handed him a contract with hidden clauses.

"I ended something earlier this week that should not have started."

"That sounds ominous."

"It was practical." He pauses. "I'm told I don't commit."

"Can't or won't?"

His expression changes.

Just slightly.

"Won't."

"Why?"

He turns his glass a quarter turn on the bar before he answers.

"No wife. No kids. No family Christmas card." His voice doesn't change at all. "I decided a long time ago that whatever my family is, it ends with me."

It isn't a line.

There's nothing performative in it.

It sounds like something he made peace with years ago, alone.

"That's a heavy thing to tell a stranger," I say.

"That's the advantage of strangers."

He looks at me again, and the heaviness passes.