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I take another drink before answering, partly because she looks entirely too pleased to have caught me avoiding it. “It tasted better when I ordered it.”

Her fingers tighten around her glass, and the amusement behind her eyes gives way to something quieter as she considers the lime floating near the rim of her glass.

“Mine has nowhere to go but up.”

She could’ve asked what I meant. Instead, she lets the silence sit between us until I want to fill it.

“What brought you here?”

She hesitates before answering, her attention dropping to the drink between her hands. I regret the question. She gave me the courtesy of leaving my bad day alone. The least I can do is offer her the same.

“You don’t have to⁠—”

“I wanted a drink.”

I wait, but she only rotates the glass against the napkin, tracing the edge of the paper with one fingertip.

“You ordered a vodka soda that you don’t like.” I drag my attention from the glass back to her face.

“I never said I was good at deciding what kind of person walks into a bar alone before dinner,” she responds lightly, but the smile never quite reaches her eyes.

Instead of looking at me, she watches the lime drift through her drink, as though she’s giving me room to decide whether we’re still joking.

“What kind of person did you decide on?”

“I was aiming for mysterious and independent.” She takes another sip, grimaces, and sets the glass down. “Apparently, I landed on a woman being held hostage by seven dollars’ worth of vodka.”

I glance at the nearest television and have no idea what has been happening on the screen. “Do you follow baseball?”

She doesn’t strike me as someone who spends much time in sports bars. She looks like she’d rather lose an afternoon wandering a bookstore than spend five minutes surrounded by televisions and beer signs.

“No,” she responds, her eyes drifting toward the television screen again.

“Then why do you keep looking at it?”

“Because every television in here is showing sports, and staring at a wall makes people worry about you.”

I glance around the bar and notice for the first time that the game occupies almost every screen, while a muted panel of analysts argues beneath a row of graphics on the television near the entrance. I’d chosen my seat because that screen was behind me. She chose hers because it was the only one left.

“You could stare at your phone.”

“I’ve done enough of that today.” Her thumb brushes the edge of the napkin again, working hard to keep her hands occupied.

“Let me guess…bad news?”

She looks at me over the top of her glasses. “That sounds dangerously close to a personal question.”

“You asked what kind of person orders bourbon alone before dinner.”

“No, I judged you for it. There’s a difference.”

“I stand corrected.”

“You should get used to that.”

“I don’t plan on knowing you long enough.”

Something flickers across her face before she reaches for her drink and turns toward the television again. The easy attention she had been giving me disappears, leaving me with the anonymity I came here for and no satisfaction in getting it back.