The restaurant was small, warm, and smelled aggressively of garlic.

Gary clocked this immediately and filed it under potential hazards.

They were shown to a table near the window. Gary sat down carefully, angling himself so he could favour the good side of his mouth without making it obvious. This was becoming second nature now, like learning to live around a minor curse.

Menus arrived. Gary stared at his like it might bite him.

“So,” she said, scanning hers, “any dietary restrictions I should know about?”

“Yes,” Gary replied. “Anything that requires enthusiasm from my jaw.”

She laughed. “Noted.”

Gary skimmed the options, mentally ruling things out. Steak? Absolutely not. Burgers? Risky. Anything labelled crunchy was immediately disqualified.

“This is harder than it should be,” he muttered.

“Welcome to my world,” she said. “I do this with patients all the time.”

Gary glanced up. “You ever judge them?”

“Only when they lie,” she replied lightly.

He raised his hands. “Fair.”

The waiter hovered nearby, pen ready. Gary panicked slightly, then pointed to the safest-looking option on the menu.

“I’ll have the risotto,” he said. “Soft. Respectful.”

She grinned. “Good choice.”

As the waiter left, Gary felt the tension creep back in. The pub had been forgiving. Dim lighting. Noise. Movement. This was quieter. More exposed.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Gary said. “Just aware this is the part where I usually mess things up.”

She smiled gently. “Then don’t.”

Simple advice. Harder in practice.

Gary nodded anyway.

Keep the conversation light → Page 48

Open up a little more → Page 49