Gary took a careful breath through his nose, because breathing through his mouth was now considered an advanced pain sport.

“Actually,” he said, lowering his voice like he was confessing to a crime, “I’ve got a bit of a… tooth situation.”

That was one way of phrasing medical emergency.

Her expression changed instantly—not to pity or horror, but recognition. Professional curiosity. The look of someone who had heard this sentence many times before, usually followed by regrettable decisions.

“A tooth situation,” she repeated. “How bad?”

Gary considered lying, then decided honesty had already cost him nothing except dignity.

“It hurts,” he said. “A lot. And I’ve maybe been… managing it badly.”

She smiled faintly. “Define badly.”

Gary glanced at his pint, then back at her. “Painkillers. Beer. Googling things I shouldn’t.”

That earned him a real laugh. Not mocking. Warm. Encouraging. The kind of laugh that suggested she’d seen worse. Possibly that morning.

“Right,” she said. “That’s not ideal.”

“No,” Gary agreed. “I’ve gathered.”

She leaned in slightly now, lowering her voice. “Swelling? Fever?”

“Uh,” Gary said. “Yes and… maybe?”

Her smile tightened into something clinical. “You should probably see a dentist.”

Gary nodded immediately. “Absolutely. Huge fan of dentists. Always have been. Just… not recently.”

She studied him for a moment, then softened.

“Well,” she said, “you’ve come to the right pub.”

Something sparked in Gary’s chest. Hope. Or infection-induced optimism.

“Fancy sitting down?” she added. “You look like you might fall over.”

Gary grinned. Carefully.

What does Gary do?

Follow her to a table → Page 31

Make a joke and keep things light → Page 21