Page 62 of Nobody Told Me Thrift Shops Sell Stolen Dragon Heirlooms

“It’s a small pour.”

“That’s exactly what people say before they butcher a karaoke performance.”

I paused with the bottle angled. “So, no?”

“No, thank you.”

I returned the bottle to its compartment. “There’s water as well.”

“Water would be great. That’s the beverage of someone who will remember which fork she’s supposed to use.”

I handed her a bottle, and our fingers brushed. A brief touch, barely enough to matter.

It mattered.

Why did it fucking matter?

Quinn jerked away, which gave me the deeply unreasonable satisfaction of not being the only one affected.

I took a drink of whiskey and immediately regretted the transparency of the act. I didn’t drink because I was nervous. I drank because whiskey was available, and because the evening required patience, and because Quinn had laughed in the stairwell after I caught her by the waist, and the shape of her had remained in my hand with troubling comfort.

Quinn twisted the cap off the water and watched me over the rim of the bottle. “Are you pre-gaming a charity gala or medically treating your mood?”

“My mood does not require medical attention.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

I looked at her. “Do you always interrogate your clients in transit?”

“Only when they open secret whiskey cabinets like Batman with a bourbon problem.”

Despite myself, I laughed under my breath.

Her expression changed, again. A quick brightening, followed by restraint, as if she’d found something she wanted and then remembered it was impolite to celebrate too openly. It made me think of the thrift shop again, of her glancing over when I smiled at Octavia, surprise and interest moving across her face before she covered it with competence.

“You do that very quietly,” she said.

“What?”

“Laugh.”

“I laugh at an appropriate volume,” I said.

“According to who?”

“Decorum.”

“Ah. The ancient enemy of fun.”

“I enjoy things.”

“I believe you. I just suspect all of them involve a reservation, a dress code, and someone explaining the wine list in a whisper.”

“That’s inaccurate.”

“What else do you enjoy, then?” she asked.

The question should’ve been easy to answer. It was, in essence, small talk. People enjoyed flying, music, food, travel, sport. There were dozens of acceptable answers. I could’ve selected one and returned the conversation to safer ground.