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“That’s generous.”

“It’s bullshit,” I say.

Tommy laughs. “Mostly bullshit.”

We slide into a booth. Clara looks between us. “How do you know each other?”

“Tommy owns Ridge Supply.”

“Own three now,” Tommy says.

“Still owe me money?”

“Go fuck yourself.”

Clara blinks.

Tommy laughs again. “Sorry.”

“She works in a library,” I say.

“I don’t require people to whisper outside work.” I defend weakly.

“Good to know.”

Tommy disappears for coffee.

Clara studies me.

“What?”

“You’re different here.”

“Here being?”

“Not Devil’s Peak.”

I lean back. “How?”

She shrugs. “People like you.”

I laugh.

Her face changes. “That came out terribly.”

“A little.”

“I didn’t mean people don’t like you.”

“You did.”

“I meant…” She groans. “I’m stopping.”

“Smart.”

Tommy brings coffee and tells Clara how we met at a motorcycle expo twelve years ago, when I was selling custom parts out of the back of a borrowed trailer.

“I bought one of his first cargo systems,” he says. “Then everybody wanted one.”