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“How long?”

“Astrid.”

“How long, Colt?”

“It’s been on and off.”

“That was not what I asked.”

I flex the fingers once.

“Since November.”

She goes completely still.

“You lied to me.”

“When you asked, yes.”

“You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

I don’t take the hand off the counter. She can look at it as long as she wants.

“I saw it.”

“Yeah.”

“At the piano.”

“Yes.”

“And again on the sofa.”

“Yes.”

“I knew something was wrong.”

I wait.

“I said nothing.”

That’s not where I thought she was going.

“No.”

“I told myself it was yours to tell.”

“It was.”

“And I was relieved when you did not.”

Neither of us says anything.

I close the hand again. The finger comes farther this time, which means nothing at all.

“I should have asked,” she says.