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"Food has feelings. This chocolate is definitely feeling very self-actualized right now."

I felt the laugh escape before I could stop it—short, surprised, genuine. Harper's entire face lit up with victory.

"I made you laugh! Actually laugh, not just an almost-smile. I'm putting that in my win column."

"You have a win column?"

"I have several columns. Win, loss, draw, and 'Cam almost smiled but caught herself.' That last one is getting very full."

"You're keeping track."

"I'm a keen observer of human behavior. Especially human behavior that's trying very hard to be robotic."

"I'm not robotic."

"You're sitting like you're in a deposition. Your shoulders are so tense I'm worried they might spontaneously calcify. You've touched your water glass twenty-three times without actually drinking from it."

"You've been counting?"

"Like I said. Keen observer." She leaned closer, lowered her voice. "You're allowed to relax, you know. Nobody's grading you on posture."

"I am relaxed."

"This is your relaxed state? This is concerning. You might want to look into meditation. Or yoga. Or heavy drinking."

"I would never partake in heavy drinking.”

"That tracks. You seem like someone who needs complete control at all times. Even getting too tipsy probably feels too vulnerable."

The observation landed with uncomfortable accuracy. I shifted in my seat, felt our chairs touch, and immediately moved back.

Harper noticed. Of course she noticed.

"Am I making you uncomfortable?" she asked, her tone gentler.

"No."

"Liar."

"You're not making me uncomfortable. The situation is making me uncomfortable."

"What situation? Charity gala? Tables? The concept of enforced socialization?"

"All of it."

"Wow. Comprehensive discomfort. That's impressive." She studied me for a moment, her expression shifting into a more serious quality. "You know, for someone who's supposed to be a leader, you're really bad at the social aspects of leadership."

"I lead on the court."

"And off the court you turn into a hermit who glares at strangers and counts down the minutes until you can escape back to your cave."

"I don't have a cave."

"You have a metaphorical cave. It's where you keep your personality hidden from the world."

I should have been irritated. Should have shut down the conversation, turned away, found an excuse to leave the table. Instead, I felt an awareness close to amusement mixing with my discomfort.

"You think you have me figured out," I said.