Page 25 of Alone With You in the Ether

More importantly, a bottle meant they’d be there a while. Considering his current discomfort, that had a more tangible guarantee than a glass.

“True,” he permitted, nodding.

She was gratified he didn’t sayyou’ll like it. That was one of her least favorite phrases; it was always unwisely assured. She hated all scenarios preceding the assumption that someone could predict her taste. Either they thought it universal enough that she could be lumped in with masses or they thought (usually incorrectly) that they understood herspecificneeds, and she wasn’t sure which crime was worse.

Ultimately, though, she thought the wine was good. She didn’t know the proper words for it, but was relieved that Aldo didn’t offer any. He merely took a sip, glancing with that same degree of discomfort over his shoulder.

She wondered if he resented her for taking him there.

“How’s the time travel research going?” she asked, and he let the wine linger on his tongue for a moment before answering.

“It’s not really research,” he said. “More like problem-solving. I know the solution, but I don’t know how it works.”

“I don’t think that’s how science works. Aren’t you supposed to hypothesize and then test it?”

“I’m a theoretical mathematician,” he said. “I hypothesize and then prove.”

She tucked that away for later use.

He glanced over his shoulder again, then back at her. Or, more accurately, at something that existed inside his head in approximately the place she was sitting, but not quite her.

“I’ve lost you,” she noticed.

“I was just thinking,” he said, “how the more harmful the sting of a honeybee, the less effective it tends to be at its job. The more the bee has to protect its hive, the less honey it produces.”

He took a sip of wine, and Regan said, “Tell me more about bees.”

“You don’t actually want to know about bees,” Aldo said warily, which was a hypothesis that Regan was happy to disprove.

“Don’t I?” she countered. “Besides, maybe bees for you are like art for me. Maybe it’ll teach me more about you than it does about bees.”

“Are you interested in me?”

It seemed to be a neutral question despite the phrasing, which in her experience usually meant something else. In general, Regan’s previous experiences were proving unhelpful when applied to Aldo.

“I’m here now, aren’t I?” she reminded him. “I don’t typically do things I don’t want to.”

He considered it, gaze dropping to the stem of his glass and then rising to hers.

“If I tell you about bees,” he said, “then you have to tell me about the heist.”

She already knew he was single-minded. She added ‘transactional’ to her mental list.

“That wouldn’t be an even exchange,” she said. “One is personal.”

“Maybe they’re both personal,” he replied.

She thought about it.

“Maybe,” she determined in answer.

“Maybe?”

“Yes, maybe,” she confirmed. “You tell me about bees and maybe I’ll tell you about—” She broke off before sayingthe heist,nearly shrugging on his interpretation of it. How easily she let other people take ownership of her story, she thought. “About what happened.”

“Okay,” he said, and thought about it. “Some honeybees have stingers incapable of penetrating human skin. So they make all this honey, right?” he said rhetorically, and she nodded. “But obviously people take it from them, and they just keep on making honey anyway.”

This has to be a metaphor, Regan thought.

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