“It’s fine.” I cradled his face in my hand, stroking my thumb across his cheek until the worry line between his brows disappeared. “He knows you’re here.”
Smith followed me into the shop, and I shot Damon a warning look before we reached the counter.
“Damon, this is Smith. Smith, my meddling best friend, Damon.”
Damon let his lips pop out from his teeth and he gave Smith a much nicer smile than I’d expected. “Nice to meet you.”
“Same.” Smith fidgeted like he was about to try and shake Damon’s hand but decided against it, instead shoving both of his hands into the pocket of my hoodie.
“If I would have known Riggsy had company, I would have brought extras.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Smith said quickly, but if I had been starving, he must have been famished.
“Here.” I slid him the other half of my bagel and the tea Damon had gotten for me. I hadn’t touched either.
“I’m o?—”
“Eat,” I interrupted the protest, and Smith tucked his chin toward his chest and nodded his understanding.
The corner of Damon’s mouth twitched, and I sent him another threatening glare. He chased whatever remark he’d wanted to make went down with a swallow of his own tea.
“Did you two have fun last night?” he asked.
“Stop it,” I warned.
“Yes,” Smith answered.
I bit the inside of my cheek.
“Thank you for breakfast,” I said to my best friend. “And thank you for setting up the interviews. Don’t you have somewhere to be now?”
“I was going to loiter for your interviews to make sure you don’t pass on any good artists just because you were in a surly mood, but judging by the state of his hair—” Damon jerked his chin toward Smith. “—I think your mood will be just fine.”
“You can go,” I told him. “If you want to come back, I clearly can’t stop you, but you can leave for now.”
Damon chuckled, shaking his head at me before putting the lid back onto his tea.
“I’ll reconnect with you later today,” he said. “Dinner.”
“Alright.”
“Nice to meet you, Smith.” He gave a two-finger salute. “Maybe I’ll see you around sometime.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
Damon let himself out, and Smith finally pulled his hands out of the hoodie, flicking some of the poppyseeds off the top of the bagel.
“You should eat,” I told him.
“Is that an order?” he asked.
My chest ached. “It’s a suggestion. I’m not in a place to give you orders.”
“Just last night, then?”
I tightened my hand around my mug and took a steadying breath. “This isn’t anything more than it was.”
“And what was it?”
