“Am I what?”
“A long-lost puppy.”
“Poet, ignore him.”
“Kinda hard to do that.” I reached for the menus and handed one to Brooks and then looked back at Archer. “Let me guess. You’re younger.”
“Correct,” Archer said, lifting his coffee mug to his lips. “What gave it away?”
“The way you rib him,” I explained. “Very younger-sibling of you.”
“Someone has to do it. Otherwise, he might never laugh.”
“He laughs.” I perused the menu, and it took me a moment to realize the two men at the table were silent. I glanced up. “What?”
“Laughs?” Archer frowned. “He barely even smiles.”
I looked at Brooks. “Should I call you Jekyll or Hyde? Because everyone else seems to have a different read on you.”
“What are you going to order?” Brooks asked instead of answering me.
“Oh, deflecting. Good job,” Archer said.
Brooks sighed. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
“Nope. This is fun.”
“How much youngerareyou?” I asked Archer.
“Two years. I’m thirty. And how old are you, sweetheart?”
Brooks glared at his brother. “Don’t.”
Archer cocked a brow. “Interesting.”
“I’m twenty-three,” I replied.
“Oh, brother, you’re robbing the cradle!” Archer said with a laugh, causing other people to turn and look at us.
“I will end your life,” Brooks said, but it was without heat. “Or you can finish your coffee and get out of here.”
“Only if you promise to pick up the breakfast tab,” Archer said.
“Anything if it means getting you the hell out of here.”
“Well, because you asked so nicely . . .” He slid out of the worn booth. “Poet, it was a pleasure. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”
He punched Brooks’ shoulder on his way out. Brooks let out a low grunt but otherwise didn’t react.
The middle-aged waitress with a pencil stuck through her messy bun came by and asked if we were ready to order.
“Two poached eggs, extra crispy hashbrowns, sausage links and bacon, please,” I said with a smile.
“Any coffee? Or are you good?” she asked.
I picked up the Sweet Teeth to-go cup. “I’m good for now. Thanks.”
She smiled down at Brooks. “And you, honey? What can I get you?”
