Stuck

“The best of you,” she said, “in all senses of that phrase.”

I shook my head. “I dropped out, worked at coffee shops, got engaged to a pianist, and left everything to come to Montreal. What do you want from that?”

“What you’re hiding.” She took a lighter from my front pocket, and re-ignited the cigarette. Inhale, hold, exhale. I blew away from her, and she put back the lighter with a pat. “I know it’s in there, but what could it be?”