Page 62 of Smoke and Glitter

"What kind of gin?"

He stares at me.

I stare back.

"I don't know."

"Start paying attention."

He laughs.

I find him a bottle in his price range, and by the time he leaves, he's looking up florists on his phone.

Bex catches me wiping down the taps.

"Where's Autumn?"

I keep working. "Busy."

"Doing what?"

"She's managing PR for a client tour."

I look over.

Bex is staring at me instead of counting the door money.

Her eyes move toward the stool Autumn usually takes at the near end of the bar.

It's been empty all night. I know because I've looked at it every time the front door opened.

"She's busy, Bex."

"Right."

Bex takes the money to the office, and I keep wiping down the bar.

Her question shouldn't bother me as much as it does.

Where's Autumn?

Autumn is always busy. She has a client on tour, calls at all hours, people in three different time zones trying to ruin her day before breakfast. A few nights without her sitting at the end of my bar doesn't have to mean anything.

Except I know why she isn't here.

She came upstairs asking me to name what we were and tell her she hadn't imagined the last few months. I knew what she was asking. I just couldn't make myself answer it. Now her stool is empty.

The next afternoon, I start a text with You good?

I stare at it. Delete it. If she says no, then I'm asking a question I'm supposed to do something about.

Instead I send:

Me: You around this week?

Her answer comes less than an hour later.

Autumn: Working. Talk soon.