The Half Moon

by Mary Beth Keane

But middle age was looming and he could already see the headline that would arrive with it: that a person could be extraordinarily good at something and still fail at it.

Charm was a performance for other people, Malcolm had learned. He came alive as soon as he stepped inside his bar every night.

When people were raised without that worry, you could feel it just by standing near them; something about the way they spoke and moved. It couldn’t be learned.

There were those who’d sympathize with following a temptation to its conclusion.