Page 127 of Smoke and Glitter

Her eyes go straight to the name.

"Autumn ordered this?"

"Before she left."

She looks from the card to the plate, then runs one fingertip through the blank space after EST.

Bex puts the card down exactly where she found it. For once in her life, she doesn't offer an opinion.

She picks the clipboard back up instead.

I watch her scan the schedule.

"Bex."

Her eyes lift.

"You good?"

The question is probably automatic.

My answer isn't.

"No."

Her hand stops halfway down the page.

For three years, Bex has asked me some version of that question. After bad nights at Vibes and worse ones upstairs. I have never given her that answer.

She lowers the clipboard.

"All right."

That's it.

No startled face. No demand that I explain. She just stands there.

I rub my palm over my beard. "You're not going to ask?"

"Do you want me to?"

"No."

"Then I won't."

She shifts the clipboard against her hip, and I almost tell her she can go.

Instead I glance at the plate.

"I saw Autumn this morning."

Bex's attention sharpens, but she stays quiet.

"I apologized."

"How'd she take it?"

"She believed me."