Page 66 of Kane

“’Cause you’re fuckin’ cute.”

The hostess leaves the menus, and we spend a quiet moment perusing. The bartender, a big-bellied man with a thin gray ponytail, slides a pair of bar napkins in front of us. “What’ll it be, folks? Dinner, or just drinkin’?”

“Dinner,” I tell him. “Need a minute, though.”

Anjalee looks at me. “Do you not want to have a beer, or whiskey?”

I shake my head. “Don’t drink.”

“Never?”

“Nope.” Ireallydon’t want to broach this. “Don’t drink.”

She holds her silence, still looking at the menu. “It is one of the things you do not wish to discuss, I think, why you do not drink.”

I nod. “Yeah.”

She looks at me. “I have never had alcohol.”

I frown. “Never?”

A shrug. “It is not allowed.”

“Wanna beer, have one. Not gonna bother me. Just a choice I make.”

“I would not want—”

I touch her chin. “Babe, if you want to try a beer, or a fruity mixed drink, go for it. It’s okay.”

She regards me for a moment. “No, I think not.”

“Sure?”

She nods. “I am sure.”

“All right.”

I keep waiting for her to push it, to ask. Even through our dinner—a double cheeseburger for me, big taco salad minus the ground beef for her—I keep waiting.

All the way back to camp, I expect the questions.

They never come.

We’re sitting on the old log, her in her jacket, me in my long sleeve Henley, when I decide I can’t take it anymore. “Anjalee?”

She’s staring thoughtfully into the fire. Turning into me, she leans a shoulder against mine. “Yes, Kane?”

“You never push it.”

“Push what?”

“When there’s somethin’ about me, my past…that I don’t wanna talk about. You gotta be curious.”

“Of course I am.”

“But you never ask.”

“You made it clear you do not wish to discuss it. Who am I to try to make you?” She takes my hand and presses it to her chest, over her breasts. “You gave me something already, Kane. The story of your men, the mission which went so badly wrong. I cherish this thing you gave me. I wish very much to know more. But I cannot make you want to share it with me.”