“Most of the time,” she said. “I was on an anxiety med that didn’t play well with alcohol.” She was nervous, the thoughts spilling over themselves. “Still doesn’t, obviously.”
“Is it helping?” he asked.
“A lot, yeah. That and a million dollars in therapy. I almost feel human again some days.”
“Still just the one therapist then?” He smirked, pulling in a long sip of coffee over the edge of his mug.
She grinned, flashing two fingers up. “You’ll be thrilled to know I’ve added a somatic healing coach.”
“Not quite the same?—”
“She charges two hundred dollars an hour and makes me feel good. It’s the same.”
Milo leaned forward, but before he could say whatever it was that bubbled against his lips, she held up a hand.
“I heard it.” She inhaled slowly, her ribs shaking around her swirling thoughts. “I’ve been trying to think about how to apologize to you every day for three months.”
Milo set his mug down.
“You could have called.”
“I could have,” she offered.
His eyes softened.
“Why didn’t you?”
“I was afraid to jump the gun,” she murmured. “I had a lot to process and I just… I didn’t want to rush the you of it all. You didn’t deserve another round of that.”
“True,” he said.
“Well, at any rate, I am sorry. For all of it.”
“All of it?” he asked.
“I can provide an itemized list if you want,” she joked, her lips twisting.
“Not necessary,” he sighed. “Thanks for apologizing.”
The tone threw her off—she’d never heard his voice that tight. She started to speak again, but his eyes swept from hers to the blonde beside her.
Logan leaned over the back of the booth, speaking in a hurried tone.
“Hi, so, so sorry to interrupt, but you have my keys.”
Hanna turned, her vision blurring at the edges as her head throbbed.
“I do?”
Logan pointed to her purse.
“If you don’t, we’re in trouble.”
Hanna sighed, fishing through her bag.
“Is this yours, too?” She yanked his keys and a leather wallet out of her purse.
“Yeah, thanks, okay, sorry, bye!” Logan snatched the keys and wallet, tucking them into his pocket as he bolted from the diner.
