Gary leaned back slightly, hands flat on the table, committing to honesty like a man who’d already tried everything else.

“I know I should’ve dealt with it earlier,” he said. “I just kept thinking it’d sort itself out.”

She tilted her head. “Did it ever?”

“No,” Gary admitted. “It escalated.”

She smiled sympathetically. “It always does.”

The pub noise faded slightly around them, replaced by the small, focused bubble of conversation. Gary became acutely aware of how rare this felt—being listened to by someone who wasn’t waiting for him to stop talking so they could escape.

“How long have you been a dentist?” he asked.

“Five years,” she said. “Long enough to recognise bad decisions when they sit down in front of me.”

Gary grinned. “I feel seen.”

“You should,” she said. “You’re practically textbook.”

That should’ve stung. Instead, it felt oddly comforting.

Gary shifted his jaw again and immediately regretted it.

She noticed. Again.

“Pain scale,” she said. “One to ten.”

“Seven,” Gary said. “But an optimistic seven.”

“That’s still bad.”

“I’ve had worse,” he said, then reconsidered. “Actually, no. This might be top three.”

She frowned slightly. “You shouldn’t be drinking.”

Gary gestured to his pint. “Too late.”

She sighed, but there was no judgement in it. “You’re lucky you haven’t made it worse.”

Gary thought briefly of the pliers. Decided against sharing that anecdote.

“Very lucky,” he said.

Something shifted between them. Less banter. More care.

This was either going very well… or heading somewhere serious.

Let things deepen → Page 34

Crack a joke to keep things light → Page 33