Page 37

CHAPTER SIX

Ashby

I slide into the back booth before the breakfast crowd fills the café, setting my notebook beside a plate of eggs and toast before wrapping both hands around a mug of black coffee.

The seat gives me a clear view of the room, the entrance, and anyone who decides they're looking for me. Habit has made the choice so many times, I don’t even think about it.

People are easier to read this early. They haven't spent the day smoothing rough edges or rehearsing conversations that never happened, and whatever's bothering them usually shows up before the caffeine does.

Across from me, Casper Britt is pouring syrup onto pancakes as if he’s fueling a small aircraft. Which tracks. He flies for a living. His relationship with gravity is already suspect.

Cyrus sits beside him, stealing bacon off his twin’s plate every time Casper looks away. They’re identical in the way that makes strangers uncomfortable and everyone else tired. Same face. Same build. Different gravity.

Casper moves even when he’s still. Cyrus is the opposite, with the calm steadiness of something rooted deeply in the earth.

“You’re writing that down?” Casper asks, pointing his fork at my notebook.

I finish noting the zoning issue Cyrus mentioned near the mill road before I look up. “You said it mattered.”

“I said it was stupid.”

I smile. “Stupid is often what matters.”

Cyrus nods. “Most of Casper’s decisions support that theory.”

“I let you live out of respect for our mother,” Casper retorts mildly.

“You let me live because I fix your mistakes.”

“I don’t make mistakes.”

“You’re delusional. Or you have a bad case of amnesia,” Cyrus says, unperturbed by his twin’s protests.

I take a sip of coffee and let them continue bickering. The Britt twins need friction the way some men need oxygen. Remove it and God knows what might happen.

At the next table, Ruth and Henry Alder pretend they aren’t listening to the conversation.

Ruth has her tea cradled in both hands, silver hair pinned back neatly. Henry has a newspaper open, though he hasn’t turned a page in the last eight minutes.

I know because I count these things.

“You boys leave that man alone,” Ruth says without turning. “Ashby’s the only one here who writes things down properly.”

Casper grins. “Ruth, I’m offended.”

“Then stop giving me reasons to insult you.”

Henry smiles into his tea.

Behind the counter, Lorna Pike says to her waitress, “Ellie, if you’re going to hover, fetch them more coffee.”

“I’m not hovering,” Ellie replies not entirely truthfully. It’s quiet and she’s been listening in as well.

“You’re leaning on that counter with intent,” Lorna accuses with a smile.

“That’s different.”

“It is not. It’s just nosiness with posture,” her mother insists, giving her daughter a look that makes Ellie huff while propelling her toward the coffee machine. Moments later Ellie appears at my table with the coffee pot, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. She’s not learned subtlety yet. She might be someday, but not today. “Top you up, Ashby?”