Something's off in the room, but every sense I touch gives me nothing. I shrug it off as something strange in the air and listen as Dylan starts to tell a story about back home. By the end of it, I'm laughing and my hand touches his, giving it a squeeze.

"That was a fabulous story," I say, still chuckling and picking the bins up to carry them into the back.

Dylan elbowed the guy next to him. "Yanno, she said she was with someone but I'm thinking maybe that was just a story. No ring, nothing. I bet if I slipped in the back there to help her, she'd forget all about even saying that." Without another word, Dylan slipped off his barstool, eyes still on the kitchen door.