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Clara looks at me. “Cargo systems?”

“Outdoor gear.”

“He’s being modest,” Tommy says.

“I hate when people do that for me.”

Tommy ignores me. “Hale Ironworks started with bike gear. Now they do overlanding equipment, rooftop systems, racks, storage, camping gear. Manufacturing plant outside Denver. Distribution in six states.”

Clara’s eyebrows climb. “You built all that?”

“Had help.”

“How many employees?”

“Couple hundred.”

She stares. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“Looking at me like you’ve never seen me before.”

“Maybe I haven’t.”

That lands harder than it should.

I pick up my coffee.

She traces one finger around her mug. “So why didn’t you ever come back?”

There it is.

I look toward the window. Gray clouds are swallowing the mountains.

“Nothing to come back for.”

“Lila.”

“Visited her elsewhere.”

“Your dad.”

My jaw tightens.

Clara notices. She always noticed too much.

“Food’s coming,” I say.

“Ryder.”

“Don’t.”

One word.