“With a root canal?” she asks, distracted. I laugh. “I don’t think you want me in your mouth.” That statement earns her full attention. She turns to look at me slowly, arching one dark eyebrow. Her eyes are a pale green beneath her bangs. “I mean—I don’t—I don’t have any dental qualifications. To be in your mouth.” Christ. How did it get worse? I’ve somehow managed to…make it worse.
