She followed me to the sink at the back of the cellar. “I’ve actually never thrown a punch at anything in my entire life.”

“What?” I pretended to be shocked as I washed our glasses. “You’ve never been in a bar fight?”

She laughed, sticking her hands in her coat pockets. “Never.”

“No sparring with your sisters when you were young? My brothers and I beat the hell out of each other.”

“Nope. I think Meg and Chloe went at it a few times, and April and I definitely got into screaming matches over who stole whose lip gloss or hairbrush or jean jacket, but nothing physical.”

“Not even one playground brawl to brag about?” I teased, setting the glasses on the rack to dry and wiping my hands on the bottom of my shirt. That’s when I noticed the hole—fucking hell, did I have to be wearing a shirt with a hole in it the one time Sylvia Sawyer came in here to talk to me? I felt like I should apologize or something—she was always so well-dressed and perfectly put together. And there was no way she hadn’t noticed it—it was right fucking there on my chest. I put a hand over it, but she wasn’t looking at me.

“You know, there was this bully who shoved me off the swings once in third grade, but I didn’t fight back,” she said distractedly.

“Why not?”

“I was scared. She was bigger than me.”

“That’s why you need to learn to throw a punch,” I told her. “You should come to the gym sometime. There’s a great coach there who works with beginners, and she has a lot of female clients. I think there’s also a self-defense class too.”

“Really?” She perked up a little. “That might be good. I’ll be living alone here and everything, and even though this town isn’t very dangerous, you never know.”

“Exactly.”

“And I think it would be great to feel . . . stronger. More confident. To know that I can take care of myself no matter what. Chances are, I’m never going to have to throw that punch, but if I did . . .”

“You’d know what to do.”

“I’d know what to do.” She smiled at me, a gleam in her eye. “You know, I already saw the hole in your shirt.”

“Can’t we pretend you didn’t?”

Laughing, she tugged my hand off my chest. “I saw it, and it’s fine, Henry. You don’t have to feel bad for dressing comfortably at work. I crashed your space.”

“I’m glad you did.”