Page 41

Her eyes narrow slightly. She clearly didn’t expect agreement.

I gesture toward the empty seat across from her. “May I?”

A gimmer of panic flashes in her eyes. She gestures at the plate. “I don’t want to be rude, but I’m eating.”

I shake my head. “You’re staring at potatoes.”

After a short pause she says, “There’s always the chance they might do something interesting”

I like her. She’s dry and defensive. Like Ben.

I sit.

Her mouth presses into a line. “That wasn’t an invitation.”

“I know.”

Across the café, Lorna mutters, “Lord help him.”

Laurel hears it too.

Her gaze stays on mine. “Do you always ignore social cues?”

“No. Only when they’re inefficient.”

“That must make you very popular.”

“Depends on the room.”

She narrows her eyes. “I imagine a lot of rooms empty quickly.”

I almost smile. “Sometimes that’s the goal.”

She really looks at me now, her beautiful hazel eyes assessing.

I let her look.

People think being watched is the same as being understood. It isn’t. Most people look for confirmation of what they already think. Laurel’s building a file.

I respect that.

“I don’t remember you,” she says.

“You wouldn’t. I met Ben after you left town.”

Her gaze drops to the table. “Right.”

I don’t fill the space. That’s the trick most people never learn. Most people rush to fill silence. I learned years ago that waiting usually reveals more than talking.

Laurel takes a breath. “How did you know him?”

“Garage. Club. Life.”

Her eyes lift. “And you’re telling me this because?”

Because your brother was ours. Because we should've looked harder at what he left behind. Because you walked in wearing the face of someone holding too much weight, and I know what happens when people insist they can carry it alone.

Instead, I say, “Because Ben mattered to me.”