Nate couldn't help but laugh, though it was sharp and broken-sounding. The platitude was well-meant, but empty.

"Tell me that in forty years." Time had always been his real enemy - too little or too much, in turn. Never enough to do what needed to be done, but plenty afterwards to kick himself about not doing more.

He eyed the bottle she held out with a measure of suspicion. "What's in those?"