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“It was.”

I grin into my cup.

She points at me with hers. “Why center?”

The question catches me, because it’s not medical.

“What?”

“Why did you become a center?”

“Because I’m handsome and selfless.”

“No.”

“Strong opening, though.”

She waits.

I look toward the wall with the cold empty rink on the other side of it.

“I like being in the middle of it. The draw starts and you get one second where everybody shows you what they want. Then you have to know where your people are before you can see them.”

She lowers the mug. “That explains a great deal.”

“About my leadership?”

“About your need to tell everyone where to stand.”

I laugh hard enough that the coffee nearly goes the wrong way.

She smiles into her cup.

There’s no appointment attached to the smile. No chart, no sheet, no reason for either of us to still be in this room except that we decided to be.

“One cup,” she says, setting the empty mug down.

“You’re ruthless about limits.”

“They work when people respect them.”

I hold her eyes. “Tuesday?”

“At the clinic.”

“I know where you work.”

“You have demonstrated that.”

She picks up her bag. At the door she glances back once.

“Do not destroy another shirt before then.”

“No promises.”

“Then buy cheaper shirts.”

She’s gone before I can answer.