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Almost.

Trust came back when he did the right thing while irritated, when nobody applauded, when there was no grave contest, no audience, and no danger.

That is how I knew it was real.

Bitter leans closer.

“Where'd you go?”

“Nowhere.”

“Liar.”

“Thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

“About you.”

“Very dangerous.”

I smile.

He touches one finger lightly to my wrist.

“You good?”

“Yes.”

“Still coming tonight?”

My stomach flips.

“Depends.”

His eyes narrow. “On?”

“Whether your grandmothers are involved.”

“They're always involved.”

“Then no.”

“Sweet.”

I laugh.

Tonight is apparently important. Bitter has been weird about it for days.

Not controlling weird.

Nervous weird.

Which on Bitter Adams looks a lot like being slightly more homicidal than usual.

“What are we doing?”

“Dinner.”