Gary exhaled slowly and raised both hands in surrender.

“Alright,” he said. “Full disclosure. The tooth’s a nightmare.”

Her posture changed instantly. Less bartender now. More dentist. The smile stayed, but it sharpened, focused.

“How long?” she asked.

“Longer than recommended,” Gary said. “Shorter than fatal, hopefully.”

She winced sympathetically. “Swelling? Fever? Bad decisions?”

“Yes,” Gary said. “In that order.”

She nodded, as though ticking boxes on an invisible form. “You’re in pain.”

“Constantly.”

“And you’re drinking.”

“Medicinally.”

She laughed. “You’re an idiot.”

Gary grinned. “I get that a lot.”

For a moment, they just stood there, the noise of the pub filling the gap. Then she surprised him by softening again.

“You should really get that looked at,” she said. “Soon.”

“I know,” Gary replied. “I just… haven’t.”

She studied him, then sighed. “Sit down. You look like you’re about to collapse.”

Something about the way she said it—casual, concerned, unjudging—made Gary’s chest loosen slightly.

This might actually be going okay.

Sit with her and talk properly → Page 31

Crack a joke to keep it light → Page 33