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“And that’s bothering you.” It’s not a question.

I stare down at the sketchbook again because, sometimes, eye contact is too much honesty.

“Laurel seems…” I search for the right word and hate that I’m searching at all. “Barely held together.”

“That bad, huh?”

“That bad.”

Saint waits.

I exhale. “You ever see a bridge right before winter finally snaps it? Everything still standing, still functioning, but every bolt’s already screaming underneath the weight.”

“Jeez,” he mutters. “And people say romance is dead.”

I flip him off without looking up.

“You like her, don’t you?”

How the fuck does he know? I can feel his grin and sketch another line I don’t need. “She’s Ben’s sister.”

Saint snorts. “That wasn’t my question.”

“She’s dealing with enough.”

“Still wasn’t my question.”

I rub my thumb over the tattoo on my wrist before I catch myself doing it. Three small marks hidden in black ink. Easy to miss unless you know where grief lives.

Saint notices. Of course he does. “You thinking about him a lot lately?”

Always.

But I don’t admit that. Instead, I meet his eyes. “Missing people tend to drag old ghosts up with them.”

Saint nods once, and I know he understands exactly what I mean.

A waitress drops off our food. Fern appears behind her immediately after, narrowing her eyes at me. “You’re getting too skinny again.”

“fern, I’m literally sitting here eating.”

“Mm. And yet.” She points a spatula at Saint. “You. Keep an eye on him.”

Saint deadpans. “I’ll add it to the list.”

Fern pats my shoulder on her way past, softer than her voice ever is.

That’s Redwood Run. People here love you sideways. Through food and insults and fixing things before you ask for help.

I watch the rain outside the window for a while after she leaves.

Then I say, “You know anybody who could help look into Maggie?”

Saint leans back slightly. “Officially?”

“Unofficially tends to work faster.”

“Fair.” He tears a piece off his toast. “You tried Bear?”