“Yep,” I said.
She nodded, then paused like she might say something else. But she didn’t, she just gave me a quick, crooked smile and headed out.
I watched her go, the bell over the door chiming cheerfully behind her.
When I turned back, Matt was at the table next to me, coffee in hand. He raised an eyebrow at me.
I frowned. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said easily.
Right.
Becca hadn’t said anything was wrong. She’d joked. She’d smiled. She’d made plans. And yet she’d been wound tight as apulled wire. And whatever she and Matt had been talking about—it hadn’t been breakfast burritos.
I’d known Matt Hartford for a long time. He was broad-shouldered without looking bulky, with dark hair kept just short enough that he probably trimmed it himself between shifts. In uniform, he looked like someone who knew how to carry responsibility without making a show of it, and out of uniform, he carried the same quiet attention to detail. It was all about the way he tilted his head when he was listening, the loose tension in his shoulders that said he was always ready to move if needed. People trusted him. I trusted him.
He cleared his throat. “Appreciate you.”
I looked over at him. “For what?”
“For helping keep an eye on Becca,” he said, low enough that no one else could hear.
I shrugged. “She’s my friend.”
He studied me for a second, then nodded. “Yeah. I know.”
A beat passed. The espresso machine hissed behind the counter. Somewhere near the window, someone laughed.
“So,” Matt said, casual on the surface. “You two going out?”
I snorted. “No.”
His eyebrow ticked up.
“We’re working on our friendship,” I said. “That’s it. And for the record, Becca knows you asked people to watch out for her. I’m not keeping anything from her.”
“That goes both ways,” Matt said immediately. “I’m not telling you anything she tells me, either.”
Good.
We held each other’s gaze for a moment. Matt nodded once. “Fair.”
“Fair,” I agreed.
He took a sip of his coffee, then added, quieter, “Keep your eyes open.”
“I already am,” I said. Our gazes shifted, almost unconsciously, to the door Becca had gone through.
Matt exhaled slowly. “Yeah. Me too.” Neither of us said anything else. We didn’t need to. Matt finished his coffee and set the mug down with deliberate care. “I’ve got to get to work. But I want to talk to you later. I heard you say you were off. Meet me at Holloway’s. I’ll text you.”
“Okay, yeah,” I said. “See you later.”
He hesitated, then clapped a hand on my shoulder. “Thanks again, Levi.” He headed for the door, leaving me standing there with a cooling cup of coffee and the growing sense that whatever was bothering Becca was more than Travis.
I stepped outside a moment later, the morning air sharp and fresh, Sweetbriar already moving around me as if nothing was wrong. Becca’s smile lingered in my mind—the way it had come a second late, as if she’d practiced it. The way she’d joked instead of answering. The way she hadn’t said a word about whatever had her wound tight enough to snap. I’d meant what I told her. I wanted my best friend back. But standing there on the sidewalk, watching the town wake up, I knew one thing for certain: I wanted more than that, and whatever was going on with Becca Hartford, it wasn’t nothing.
And I wasn’t going to stop paying attention. Because somewhere between the cheek kiss and the quiet “I’m here,” I’d stopped pretending I could live without her in my life.
