Page 20 of Exile

Suddenly, the smallest smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah, I had a dog. A Great Dane named Minute. I got him from the shelter when he was eight, and just two years later, he died. But let me tell you, those two years were the best damn years I ever had.”

I watched his eyes light up as he talked about Minute. I knew there was a heart in there somewhere. Deep down, Caspian was a good man.

“Tell you something, kid,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “I’ve met many people, and none have given me what that dog has. Some people are fucking horrible, but you can always count on a dog.”

I made sure to remember those words. Smiling, I said, “Minute sounds like he was very special.”

“He was.” His eyes were back on his drink.

I studied him for a moment, my curiosity bubbling up again despite his obvious reluctance to share much. “So…you never wanted another dog?”

He shook his head, his hand tightening around the glass. “No. After him, it just didn’t feel right. Some things you only get once. Everything else after that is just a cheap imitation.”

I nodded, sensing the weight of his words. I wanted to push further, to ask if that was how he felt about more than just dogs. About people. But I held back, not wanting to poke too hard at the fragile connection we were building.

I kept my voice soft. “I think I get that. Sometimes, you don’t want to try again because you’re afraid it won’t be the same.”

Caspian’s gaze flicked to mine, sharp and searching as if I’d stumbled too close to something he didn’t want me to see. But he didn’t say anything.

I let the tension ease a little, and silence fell over us again.

Neither of us said anything. The conversations around the bar filled the space between us, and I found myself content sitting with him.

Eventually, he downed the rest of his whiskey and set the glass on the counter. “We’re leaving.”

Oh.

“Already?”

“It’s almost midnight,” he stated with a frown, his expression telling me he wasn’t usually up this late.

“Right. I forgot that you’re old,” I teased. “Sixty, right?”

“Sixty-one.”

I raised a brow. “Since when?”

“Today.”

My jaw dropped. Seriously? “Today was your birthday, and you didn’t even tell me?”

“Could’ve googled it,” he said dryly.

I scoffed and jumped off the stool. “And you didn’t even celebrate?”

“I had three whiskeys. I did celebrate.”

Funny.

I rolled my eyes and sighed as he put money on the counter. He started walking toward the exit, and I grabbed my jacket and hurried to catch up. “Happy birthday,” I said once we were outside.

“Don’t bother.”

“But I want to. Birthdays are important.” He walked along the road in the direction of the camping ground. I decided not to ask why he was walking me home, but I assumed he wanted to ensure I got home safely.

“Not when you’re my age.”

“September third. You’re a Virgo.”

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