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“Hey, I got it,” I say, but the bartender takes the money from Vale, handing me the drink with a shrug.

Deep sigh. My dream of sidling up to him at the counter with a nonchalant “hey” is dashed as he leads me over and waits while I plop down on the stool next to him with a little huff.

He seems to be suppressing a grin as he slides onto his stool. “Did I ruin your entrance?”

“Did you find what you’re looking for?” I ask archly, tilting my head to indicate the large window showing a view of the market. Vale’s eyes dart to the back door and he shrugs.

“Okay, you’re sneaky,” he allows.

“Thank you! Very sneaky, just remember that,” I agree.

He stares at me, still with that shadow of a smile on his face.

“What?” I demand.

“I’m surprised you came back after yesterday. Fights, gunshots…”

“Hey,” I bristle. “I said I’d meet you. I’m not afraid of that stuff...”

He arches an eyebrow at me.

“Get out of here,” I mutter. “You came back, too. Don’t you have other stuff to do?”

“My stuff is here,” he says. “This is Anchorage, the town where I live.”

“The town where you hang out at a bar,” I glance at my e-watch, “at ten a.m. on a Thursday?”

“Yes, absolutely,” he says but his eyes are laughing at me.

When he was a kid he was hard to play with. One of those kids who doesn’t always relate. A little too well-spoken, his humor a little too dry to fit in.

I shake my head. “You haven’t changed much, have you?”

Vale looks down at himself. “Is that so? Exactly the same, huh?”

I huff. “That’s not what I meant. You’re still…apart from everyone, sort of,” I hedge, not liking how it sounds.

His gaze softens. “Not from you, Ami.”

I remember that too. The careful way he treated me.

His eyes are warm. “You’ve changed a lot.”

I narrow my eyes, waiting for a leer, but his gaze is hot and glued to my face. I catch my breath.

“In what way, Vale?” I ask and his lips press together when I say his name. He seems to struggle inwardly for a moment, then he glances away and the intensity of our eye contact is broken.

“I never expected you here, of all places. Thought you were PS forever,” he tells me.

“PS?” I ask.

“Peaceful Society.” He says it with a grimace like it’s distasteful.

I blink, not sure what to say. “What about you? Where did you go?” I ask him.

“My dad moved up here,” he answers shortly. “I came with him.”

“What about your mom?” What happened to the woman I remember, my mom’s friend in Mothers Against Violence?