“Kare.” His voice is soft as he reaches across the table to touch my hand. I jerk it away so fast you’d think it was on fire. It’s strange to remember the way we were, the way I never knew where he ended and I began. We were so in tune . . . so different than the way things are now. There was a time when he’d say my name, and just like that, I’d give him anything he wanted. I consider this for a moment. How I’d give that man anything he wanted.

I thought I was further along in my recovery from us, that whole getting over him thing. At least far enough along that I wouldn’t be thinking about the way his voice sounded when I had to wake him up early for physical training, or the way he used to scream in the night. My head is starting to spin and if I don’t shut my mind off now, the memories will split me apart, on this chair, in this little coffee shop, right in front of him.

I force myself to nod and pick up my latte to buy some time, just a moment so I can find my voice. “Yeah. I’m all right. I mean, funerals are kind of my thing.”

“Tell me about it.”

I don’t dare look at his face. I don’t want to see his grief or share my own, so I try to diffuse the intensity of what we’re both feeling with some dark humor.

“We’re running out of fingers to count the funerals we’ve been to in the last two years alone and—”

“There’s nothing you could have done, regardless. Don’t tell me you’re thinking you could’ve—” He pauses and I stare harder at the small chip in my mug. I run my finger over the cracked ceramic.

“Karina. Look at me.”

I shake my head, not even close to jumping down this rabbit hole with him. I don’t have it in me. “I’m fine. Seriously.” I pause and take in the expression on his face. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m okay.”

“You’re always fine.” He runs his hand over the hair on his face and sighs, his shoulders leaning onto the back of the plastic chair.

He’s not buying it. He can feel my anxiety.

He’s right. That whole fake-it-till-you-make-it thing? I own it.

What other choice do I have?

“How long are you in town?” he asks, scooting his chair a little bit closer.

Should I lie to him? Why don’t I want to?

“For two days. Maybe less. I booked a room at the W.”

“Oh, fancy.” He smiles.

“It’s so loud . . .”