Gary decided to test the mood with humour, but this time he did it carefully. Not with the reckless abandon he usually brought to jokes, but with the cautious precision of a man poking something unstable with a long stick.

“So,” he said, resting his elbow lightly on the bar, “on the bright side, at least I’m consistent.”

She looked at him, eyebrow raised. “Consistently what?”

“Consistently terrible at knowing when to stop,” Gary replied. “It’s actually one of my defining traits.”

She laughed, a real laugh this time, and Gary felt a small, foolish rush of relief. That was good. Laughter was good. Laughter meant he hadn’t completely torpedoed the evening beyond recovery.

“I’ll give you this,” she said. “You’re persistent.”

“Stubborn,” Gary corrected. “It’s a medical condition.”

She shook her head. “I don’t think it is.”

“Worth checking,” he said. “You are technically qualified.”

That earned him another smile. Softer now. Less guarded. The kind that suggested the worst of the awkwardness had passed, even if the situation itself was still fragile.

They talked for a few minutes more. Nothing heavy. Nothing dramatic. Just small things. The pub. Her shift. How long the night still had to run. Gary found himself relaxing despite the steady ache in his jaw, the pain no longer the loudest thing in the room.

This felt like a second chance. Not a big one. A small, delicate one. The sort that vanished if mishandled.

Gary knew his usual pattern. Push too hard. Overstay. Say something stupid because silence made him nervous.

He took a breath and decided to do something different.

Suggest getting food and continuing the night → Page 46

End on a positive note and leave → Page 40