He held her gaze. Something in his expression shifted — not pity, nothing as condescending as that. Something more like respect.

"Here we are," he agreed.

He ordered the Burgundy.

The bartender poured two glasses and he picked one up and held it out to her and she took it and they stood at the bar and she thought about forty eight hours and a man who had used the word straightforward about himself and meant it and whose hand had been warm and brief in hers.

"Kit," she said.

"Mm."

"Why did Daniel tell you?" she said. "About me. About the timeline."

He looked at his wine. "Because he...