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"What about you? Do you always ask interesting questions?"

"I work in public relations. My entire career is figuring out what people want and why they lie about it."

"What do you think I want?"

The question settles between us.

I should say I don't know him.

Instead, I look at the man in the black suit, at the controlled hands wrapped around a whiskey glass.

"I think you like being the one who reads people."

"And if I do?"

"Then it must be exhausting when someone reads you back."

For the first time, he really smiles.

It's slow. Reluctant.

There's a dimple in it.

A real one.

On that hard, beautiful face.

"Just so you know, there's nothing wrong with being too much," he says.

The words catch me off guard. I reach for humor.

"That's very charming of you to say."

"It isn't charm."

He turns on his stool until he's facing me fully. His knee brushes mine.

Neither of us moves.

The contact is barely there, but I feel it everywhere.

"Some men prefer women who make themselves smaller," he says. "It lets them feel important."

"And you?" I ask.

His gaze drops to my mouth for one charged second before lifting again.

"I prefer a woman who knows what she wants."

For one breathless moment, I forget Mark.

The cruel things he said. Every man who ever made me feel like taking up space was something I should apologize for.

I want to believe him.

More than that, I want to know what he would do with a woman who stopped being careful.

So I look at him and say, "I just ended a relationship."