SEVEN MONTHS LATER

Rachel had not seen her former body since the night she stole Martin’s.

Seven months later, curiosity finally brought her back to the club.

Martin spotted her from across the room. Seeing his old face beneath that familiar, expensive haircut still gave him a strange jolt.

He picked up his tray and walked over to her table.

“What can I get you?”

Rachel hesitated. She had rehearsed several opening lines on the way over. None seemed appropriate now.

“You seem to be doing well.”

“It was hard at first,” Martin replied. “Going from executive meetings to waiting tables and performing on a stage took some getting used to.”

“I can imagine.”

“Can you?”

Rachel looked down at the table.

“Your job wasn’t what I expected either,” she admitted. “I thought you sat behind a desk telling everyone else what to do.”

Martin laughed.

“Then you met the regional director.”

“And the clients. And those dreadful quarterly reviews.” She loosened her tie. “I’ve started dreaming about spreadsheets.”

“That sounds familiar.”

For a moment, they smiled at each other.

Then Martin noticed his manager watching from the bar.

“You’d better order something before I get into trouble.”

“A cold beer, please.”

He returned a minute later with the bottle. Rachel watched him set it down, struck by how comfortable he seemed. She remembered how exhausted she was in this place, always counting the hours until she could leave.

“Do you actually like it here?” she asked.

“Most nights. Some customers are a pain, and my feet hurt by closing time. But I’ve made friends. I’m getting good at the work.”

He paused.

“And when I go home, nobody phones me about a collapsing account.”

Rachel turned the bottle slowly between her hands.

“I came to ask you something.”

Martin’s smile faded.

“I found a way to reverse it,” she said. “A reliable way. If you want your body back, we can arrange it.”

He glanced towards the bar, then pulled out the empty chair.

“Why now?”

“Because I should have given you a choice.”

“Yes,” he said. “You should.”

Rachel nodded, unable to meet his eyes.

Martin sat quietly for a moment. He could still remember waking up frightened, making frantic calls nobody believed, staring at a face that belonged to someone else.

“I was furious with you,” he said. “For a long time.”

“I know.”

“No. You weren’t here for that part.”

She accepted the rebuke without answering.

“But things have changed,” he continued. “I’ve built a life here. I have people I care about. Plans.”

“So you wouldn’t swap back?”

Martin looked at the suit he'd worn every week, at the watch he had bought to celebrate a promotion he could barely remember enjoying.

“No,” he said at last. “I wouldn’t.”

Rachel let out a breath.

“You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. But don’t mistake that for saying you had the right to do it.”

“I won’t.”

From the bar, his manager called his name. Martin stood and collected his tray.

Rachel reached for her wallet.

“Will I be seeing you again?” he asked.

“Would you mind?”

He considered her for a moment.

“You can come back. Just remember I’m working.”

Rachel smiled faintly.

“And leave a decent tip?”

“Now you’re learning.”