Page 109 of The Fire Line

“How long were you together?”

“Almost six years.”

Six years.

Long enough that Harris immediately began supplying details Jay had not given him: shared furniture, grocery lists, arguments conducted in familiar rooms, knowing which coffee the other man bought without needing to ask. Harris had spent twelve years married to Claire. He knew how thoroughly another person could become built into the ordinary architecture of a life.

He took a drink.

“You always live in New York?”

“With Miles? Mostly. We moved apartments twice, which is basically how New Yorkers mark the passage of time.”

“Thought that was rent increases.”

“That too.”

Harris smiled faintly.

He could have left it there.

Probably should have.

Instead, his mind returned to the tack room.

The question had been turning up at inconvenient moments ever since, usually when Harris was alone and therefore unable to blame Jay for putting it there.

“With Miles,” he said.

Jay looked at him.

Harris immediately disliked the amount of attention two words had earned.

“What about him?”

Harris took another drink. “Sex.”

Jay’s eyebrows rose.

“Very specific.”

“Forget it.”

“No chance.”

“Navarro.”

Jay’s mouth twitched. “What do you want to know?”

There was no graceful version of the question. Harris tried to find one anyway and accomplished nothing except a longer silence.

Jay watched him figure it out.

Then understanding crossed his face.

“Oh.”

“Don’t.”