“You’re blushing, Via.”

“Well...” She glanced over her shoulder where the bartender was busy filling drinks and chatting with regulars. “He’s very handsome. I’m allowed to blush when a handsome man gives me his number.”

Sebastian took a sip of his beer and tipped his chair back onto two legs. He squinted over at the bartender. “Really? You think that guy is handsome?”

Via glanced back over her shoulder. “Are you kidding? He looks like Dermot Mulroney.”

“I have no idea who that is. But don’t you think he’s a little old for you?”

She laughed in surprise. “He’s not old. He’s probably like forty-five or something.”

“And you’re, what...twenty-three?”

She forcefully pulled her face into a scowl even though it was fighting upstream against a smile. “I’m twenty-seven, thank you very much. About to be twenty-eight.”

Sebastian blinked at her for a moment, seemed to be turning something over in his mind. But then he shrugged. “Regardless, you’re a baby. Spring chicken. And way too young for Father Time slinging drinks over there.”

Via rolled her eyes. “Age ain’t nothing but a number.”

He let out a surprised laugh as he took another drink of beer. “Was that an Aaliyah reference? I wouldn’t have thought you were old enough to remember her.”

“Actually, that was an Andre 3000 reference.” For some reason she was blushing. “And I’m old enough to have listened to both of them. Though I admit the Aaliyah album was a few years old by the time it made its way to my Discman.” Her eyes got a little distant. “My parents were so thrilled to buy me that CD. They thought it was so delightfully American.”

“They weren’t from the States?”

She shook her head. “They came over from Italy after they got married. They didn’t have much family left there, and my dad got hired as a professor at Brooklyn College. It tickled them to no end that their kid was into the GAP and rollerblading and *NSYNC.” She looked down at the dark beer she was slowly rolling between her two palms. She so rarely talked to anyone about them. “They hated American food, though. I got grounded once when I came home with Doritos in my backpack.”

Sebastian smiled, a complicated depth behind his eyes. She knew he understood what it felt like to speak of the dead, quasi-casually, in a bar. She was sure he knew how rarely she mentioned her parents. That he could feel just how rusty the hinges were on that particular door. And for some reason, maybe because of the kindness in his eyes, or simply because she knew he’d lost someone special as well, she wasn’t embarrassed by the moment. She leaned into it.

“So you’re Brooklyn born and raised?”

She nodded. “Bensonhurst, actually. It used to be a lot more Italian. I moved away after my parents died, to a foster home in Carroll Gardens. Then there was a group home in Bed Stuy. And then I landed in Brighton Beach. With Fin and Jetty. Now I’m back in Bensonhurst.”