A moment later, Doyle was dragging his drafting chair up beside Larkin, who was seated on the stool. He sat, got comfortable in a way that seemed like there was too much of him and not enough air between them, and stuck the tip of his thumb between his teeth as he studied the computer screen. It wasn’t a self-mutilating gesture. Not even a nervous tick. It appeared to simply be ingrained, repetitive behavior born out of a need to control fidgeting.

Doyle glanced at Larkin, caught him staring, and took his thumb from his mouth. “What?”

“You were the class troublemaker,” Larkin stated. “As a child. Before you directed that energy into drawing.”

Doyle’s eyebrows—thick and expressive and probably as gorgeous as an eyebrow was capable of being—rose. “Did you run a background check on me after chewing my ass out yesterday? Ms. Steinfeld would be about eighty now, but I’m sure she remembers me from third grade when I flicked a cap eraser so hard, it launched across the classroom and got stuck in her wig.”

Larkin fought to control the tug of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “You display restless energy that’s coped with by harmless fidgeting, is all. You chew on things.”

“I chew on things?” Doyle repeated.

“My pen. Your thumb. I suspect you snack a lot too. But not mints or gum.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t smelled spearmint or peppermint on your breath.”

Doyle’s quizzical expression shifted to something like playful amusement. He’d given a go at shaving that morning, although it wasn’t as close as it really should have been, but the stubble on the bold and powerful cut of Doyle’s jaw looked… nice. “Maybe I’ve run out.”

“There’s a Duane Reade on every corner in this city.” Larkin returned his attention to the computer. He was on page sixteen of forty-seven. From the corner of his eye, he saw Doyle raise his thumb, stop, and lower his hand. “I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious,” he said in his usual modulated tone. “I don’t always filter my deduction process.”

“Not since I met you.”

“It’s bothersome.”

“No, that’s not it.”

Larkin looked at Doyle a second time.

“Lemon drops,” Doyle said. “I like hard candies because—”

“They last longer.”

“Exactly. I special order them, and my delivery hasn’t come in yet. You probably know why I do that, don’t you?”