“I really wish you would just answer my owls,” Bailey said, popping into the bar stool and looking at Odette expectantly. “Not that I’m complaining, precisely; I don’t mind this bar. Can I get a whiskey?
She was practically vibrating out of her seat at having finally caught Odette at work, questions racing in the back of her mind. All she wanted to do was pull out her notebook and start working, but that wasn’t exactly appropriate for such a public space.
“I really do only want to help. And I’m curious. It’s hard to find any willing to talk to me. Running away was a really dramatic response to a simple question, by the way.”
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