"He's military," I say, as if that explains everything.
"So?"
"So, I don't date military."
"Since when?"
"Since always."
Sophie's expression softens. She knows enough about Tyler to recognize the wall when she sees it.
"Cal." Her voice drops, losing the teasing edge. "Not every guy in uniform is going to?—"
"Can we not?" I grab a menu from the counter, even though I've memorized it. "I came here for coffee and books, not a therapy session."
"You came here because you knew I'd have information and you're dying to hear it, even though you're pretending you don't care."
"I don't care."
"Your left eye twitches when you lie. It's twitching right now."
I press my fingers to my eye. It's not twitching. Probably.
Carla slides a latte across the counter without being asked—oat milk, one pump vanilla, exactly how I always order it. "On the house," she says. "You look like you need it."
"I look fine."
"You look like someone who got four hours of sleep because she was up all night thinking about a pilot."
"I got six hours." Five, actually, but who's counting? "And I was up because my old dog, Biscuit, had a vomit situation. Not because of any pilot."
Sophie and Carla exchange a look that makes me want to scream.
"Okay." Sophie holds up her hands in surrender. "No more pilot talk. I promise."
"Thank you."
"Completely different subject."
"Great."
"Did you get the email from the county vet liaison?"
The question lands like a sucker punch. I take a long sip of my latte, buying time.
"What email?"
"Don't play dumb. I saw Dr. Reeves at the post office this morning. He mentioned he'd forwarded you a consultation request." Sophie's eyes are sparkling again, and I know—Iknow—what's coming. "From Ridgeway Air Force Base."
The coffee turns to cement in my stomach.
"It's about their K9 facilities," Sophie continues, clearly enjoying this. "They're upgrading the kennels and they need a veterinary consultant to review the specs. Good money, apparently. Interesting project."
"I haven't decided if I'm taking it."
"Why wouldn't you take it?"
Because taking it means going on base. Repeatedly. Walking through gates guarded by fresh-faced soldiers and navigating buildings full of people in uniform. Pretending that every uniform doesn't make my chest tight with memories I've spent two years trying to bury.
