I study him for a second, then ask the question that’s been sitting in my head for weeks. “Why aren’t you ever at the bar?”
His expression shifts, not defensive, just surprised. “The bar?”
“That’s where I met you.”
“Technically.”
“Technically?”
“You make it sound like I live there,” he says.
I point my fork at him. “You were literally bartending while having a room above the place.”
“I was covering a shift.”
I stare. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Hector.”
“I’m not.”
The laugh building in me escapes before I can stop it. “Wait. You’re telling me I walked into that bar on the exact day you happened to be working there?”
“Pretty much.” He replies.
“That’s ridiculous.”
“It does seem statistically unlikely,” he says.
I drop my fork onto the plate. “Then why were you there?”
“One of
