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“Don't lie to me.”

“He had one piece,” Gracie says.

I look at her.

“Two.”

I keep staring.

“Fine. Three. But look at his face.”

“I know. That's how he gets you.”

Alibi licks my nose.

“Manipulative little bastard.”

Someone laughs behind me. I glance over my shoulder. A man sits alone at a small table near the window. Forties, maybe. Brown hair. A dark jacket hangs over the back of his chair. Black coffee in front of him.

There's nothing particularly remarkable about him. Nothing that should make me look twice. But I do.

His eyes are on Alibi. Then they move to me.

He gives me the kind of polite smile someone gives when they've been caught watching a dog act ridiculous.

I smile back automatically, even though something about him feels vaguely familiar. I don’t know why.

I turn toward Gracie. “Can I get two⁠—”

Movement outside catches my eye. I immediately turn and look through the front window.

Roman.

My heart does a stupid little jump.

He's across the street. Dark jacket, hands in his pockets, walking toward the corner.

I smile.

Well, this is convenient.

For once, I wasn't even stalking him. Which feels important to clarify.

Then I frown.

Something about him is different.

It's subtle. So subtle I probably wouldn't have noticed it a few weeks ago. But I've watched Roman, probably more than is legally advisable.

He stops near a storefront across the street and pulls out his phone. To anyone else, he probably looks like he's checking a text.

But he's not.

His shoulders are loose. His posture casual. He doesn't look toward Bramble & Bean.

He doesn't have to. I've seen this version of him before.

My smile fades.