At the restaurant, the rest of the evening passed easily, conversation drifting from hobbies to work to the small, unremarkable details of daily life that somehow felt significant simply because he was the one asking about them. He wanted to know what she'd sewn most recently, laughed properly when she admitted to owning a sewing machine she'd used exactly twice since buying it, and told her, in return, about a role early in his career that had required him to learn the violin in six weeks flat — a fact she found both impressive and slightly suspicious, given how effortlessly he seemed to do everything.
And yet, somewhere underneath the ease, Alex kept catching him going quiet at odd moments, questions about himself that got nothing more than a smile or a small nod instead of an actual answer. She asked once about his family, and he'd deflected so smoothly she almost missed it, redirecting the conversation back to her own childhood instead.
