I smile like asking for my name is an Olympic gold medal. "I'm Edward, but you call me E unless I'm in trouble."
"Is there a reason I call you that?" She has a curious glint in her eyes.
That's good.
And sad.
And it fucking hurts.
"Your dad's middle name was Edward," I say, grinning. "So you always said calling me that had an ick factor."
"Charlie," she murmurs. "He's dead."
I nod.
The line of duty.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," she whispers. "It's been a while."
Longer than she thinks.
At least she seems open.
To me.
Us.