Gary lowered himself into the chair opposite her with the exaggerated care of a man sitting down for the first time since an industrial accident.

“Comfortable?” she asked.

“Extremely,” Gary lied. “I always sit like this.”

His jaw pulsed again, sharp and insistent, like it was trying to interrupt the date.

She watched him closely. Not in a judging way. More in the way a professional assessed a situation before deciding how honest to be.

“So,” she said, folding her arms loosely. “How bad is it really?”

Gary considered his options. Downplay. Deflect. Or admit defeat and hope vulnerability was attractive.

“It’s… impressive,” he said finally. “In a medical sense.”

She laughed, a quick snort she tried and failed to suppress. “That bad?”

“Let’s just say I’ve been chewing exclusively on the left side and praying.”

She winced sympathetically. “You shouldn’t leave it.”

“I know,” Gary said. “I just thought if I ignored it long enough it might respect my confidence and leave.”

She smiled. “That’s not how infections work.”

Gary sighed. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Despite himself, he felt something ease. The pain was still there, but the tension wasn’t. She wasn’t mocking him. She wasn’t recoiling. She was… engaging.

This was new territory.

Keep talking honestly → Page 31

Make a joke to deflect again → Page 33