The air’s crisp, salted with sea spray, and the rising sun paints the water in shades of gold and pink.
Miles walks beside me, his sneakers scuffing the boardwalk, his stuffy’s head poking out of his backpack like a silent sentinel.
“He’s called Bean,” Miles says. “Seeing as you’re so interested in him.”
“Bean,huh?” I reply. “Nice. Just like you, always peeping your nose where it doesn’t belong.”
“Whatever,” Miles smirks. “Jeez. Do you always come out so early?”
He’s still grumbling about the early hour, but he’s here, and that’s a start. I lead him to my favorite coffee spot, a small café tucked between a bait shop and a yacht rental office.
It’s nothing fancy, but the espresso’s strong, and the outdoor seating gives me a clear view of the harbor—perfect for spotting tails.
“Table outside,” I tell the barista, a grizzled guy who nods like he’s used to my routine. Miles trails me, his eyes darting to the boats bobbing in the distance, probably calculating escape routes. He’s sharp, always thinking, and it’s both a pain and a draw.
I slide into a chair at a wrought-iron table, the sun warming my shoulders through my jacket. Miles sits across from me, his backpack on the ground, Bean’s nose just visible.
“What’s good here?” he asks, his voice still laced with that morning petulance.
“Espresso,” I say, signaling the barista. “Double, black, for me.” I glance at him, expecting him to order something sweet, maybe a latte with extra foam to match his marshmallow obsession.
“Same,” Miles says, lifting his chin. “Double espresso, black. No sugar.”
I raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at my lips.
“Didn’t peg you for an espresso boy.”
Miles shrugs, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Guess we’ve got more in common than you thought.”
I laugh, low and genuine, and damn if it doesn’t hit me—he’s not just funny; we share a taste for the bitter stuff, the kind that jolts you awake and keeps you sharp. It’s a small thing, but it feels like a crack in the wall between us, and I’m not sure I like how much I like it.
The barista drops off our drinks, the tiny cups steaming, and I lean back, watching him sip. Miles’ nose wrinkles at the first taste, but he powers through, and I can’t help but admire his grit.
The sun’s climbing higher, warming us both, and I decide it’s time to shift gears.
“Miles,” I say, my voice softer but firm, “I’m not your enemy. I want to work with you, not against you. Someone’s after you—trashed your place, left that note. I can help you find out who, but you’ve gotta meet me halfway.”
I watch as Miles thinks things over.
He sets his cup down, his eyes narrowing.
“You think you can charm me into spilling everything?” Miles snorts. “I’m not falling for it, Travis.”
I chuckle, leaning forward, my elbows on the table. “So you think I’m charming?”
His cheeks flush, and he pouts, but a small smile tugs at his lips, betraying him. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Miles mutters, but the spark in his eyes says he’s not as immune as he wants to be.
I hold his gaze, keeping my tone steady. “I’m serious, Little. You want to stay alive? You need to be honest with me. Tell me about your background, your investigations, your bosses at Knox & Rain. I know they’re hiding something, and I’m betting you do too.”
Come on.
Crack.
Give me just a little something…
Miles stiffens, his fingers tightening around his cup.
“I’m not your snitch,” he says, his voice sharp. “I’ll think about it, but don’t hold your breath.”
