“Don,” he says, quietly insistent, smiling as she repeats his name with scrupulous formality. He reaches for his glass, his grip relaxed. Careless. His orange-tinged drink sways to one side, close to slopping over the lip. He takes a long swallow; a momentary stillness overcomes him.

“Really.” He looks at her, a measured glance. Bemusement lurks at the edges of his expression, in the slight arch of his brows. He taps ash into the tray. “Sure about that?”