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Briggs looks at his boot. “Think the sidewalk got most of it.”

“Fantastic. I’ve always wanted to assault someone with cold brew.”

His mouth twitches slightly.

Not quite a smile. More like his face briefly considered the concept and chickened out.

“You okay?” he asks.

“No.”

Honesty again. Must be deteriorating.

Briggs studies me. “Tom?”

I exhale, irritated by his perception again. “Is it that obvious?”

“You look like you’re deciding whether murder would create too much paperwork.”

“Hypothetically, it might be worth it.”

A small sound escapes him. Almost a laugh.

It changes his whole face.

That feels like dangerous information to have about a man like him.

“I was heading to lunch,” he says. “You eaten?”

“I had half a granola bar at six.”

“That’s not food.”

“It contained oats. Oats are good for you.”

“I mean it’s not a proper breakfast, Laurel.”

Against my better judgment, I laugh, which startles me enough that Briggs notices.

His expression softens almost imperceptibly. Not pity, but something else.

“Come on,” he says, jerking his chin vaguely across the road. “Let’s go get Pizza.”

“I don’t know if pizza can fix this.”

“Nah. But it might help.”

Pine Knot Pizza is warm inside and smells wonderful, of garlic and freshly risen dough. I’m surprised when my stomach rumbles embarrassingly. Thankfully, Briggs doesn’t seem to notice. Though why I should care is a mystery.

Children laugh and dodge between the tables, servers carrying loaded plates swerve deftly around them, avoiding collisions. Marco Bellini yells affectionately from behind the counter in what sounds like three languages simultaneously. Acoustic guitar music drifts from an old speaker overhead.

“Briggs!” Marco booms the second we walk in. “You look homicidal today. Excellent. Table by the window?”

“Please.”

Marco points at me immediately. “And you! Sterling girl.”

I blink at him. “That’s alarming. Why does everyone here know who I am?”