“Twenty-three,” he answers. “My birthday was in March.” And I didn’t even know. “Mine is in—” “July,” he answers with a ghost of a smile. “I know. I made it my business to know everything there was to know about you the second I saw you on the parapet.” “Because that’s not creepy.” I let the coffee warm my freezing hands. “Can’t know how to ruin someone without understanding them first,” he says quietly.
