I stepped up to the desk for a second instead of heading straight through.
“You staying out of trouble tonight?” Martin asked.
“I tried to talk a man out of his fourth bourbon,” I said. “That’s the level I’m operating at.”
“Did he listen?”
“He did. I consider that a victory.”
Martin nodded. “Small wins.”
The elevator arrived, and the doors waited. I took the stairs.
It was three flights up to the fourth floor. The building got quieter the higher I went. The sounds from outside faded and left just the echo of my steps in the stairwell.
I had my key in my hand when I reached my door. Cath’s voice slipped into the back of my head, clean and careful.
He had a box in the closet.
I could see it. It was more of a crate. Bryan was good at holding onto things.
I looked at my door and then looked at Pratt's. The faint sounds of a TV drifted out from inside.
The choice wasn't difficult. My place was quiet. Pratt's had the lamp in the corner and someone who would sit close and listen to me talk.
I knocked. Two raps, a pause, and then a third. I invented a new pattern on the spot.
He was still fully dressed, and he'd put his coat away, but he wasn't ready for bed. He made one complete pass with his eyes—face, shoulders, fidgety hands.
"Everything okay?"
I leaned against the door frame, trying on casual. "Yeah," I said. "Just got home."
He waited.
"Didn't feel like going in yet."
He stepped back from the door. I followed him inside.
The lamp was on.
It always was now. He'd stopped turning it off, or he'd started leaving it on. It could be either—glass half full or half empty.
I dropped onto his couch. He sat at the other end and turned the TV off.
"How was the shift?" he asked.
"Good. Busy." I picked at a loose thread on the cushion. "Talked a guy out of his fourth bourbon. He thanked me for it, which—that's the whole evening distilled."
He waited for me to continue.
"Nora's cocktail is up to four a night," I said. "She's insufferable about it. Rightfully." I shifted on the cushion. "There's a regular who's been working through the menu alphabetically. He's on G now. Gimlet. It's not his drink, I can tell, but he ordered it anyway because it was next. I respect the commitment."
Pratt said nothing. He watched.
"The bus driver came in again," I said. "The one who always sits in the corner and stays too long. He asked me once why I thought people became regulars, and I said because the bar remembers them even when nobody else does.
"Sounds like a good night," Pratt said.
