I watch him take another bite. A lock of brown hair flops across his temple; he absentmindedly pushes it behind his ear, but it immediately springs loose. I wonder what it would be like to run my hand through it, then flush when he looks up to me staring.

“So, ice cream,” I add quickly. “Any other pieces of sage wisdom for what helps?”

He licks the back of his spoon. “Friends. Ice cream, time, and friends.” He responds seriously. “And if you’re a friend of Bronte’s, you’re in with me. So call me if you need—especially if you’ve got mint chip.” He pushes the offensively boring French vanilla away, and I laugh.

Then we hear the screaming.

CHAPTER SEVEN

“You son of a bitch!”

“Fuck you!”

Gabriel and I exchange a millisecond of a look before abandoning our bowls for the dining room, where we push through a semicircle of spectators. In the middle of the room: a graying old man in a checkered button-up shirt is half bent over and prepared to charge like a bull…into the mayor.

“Sheriff, arrest him. He’s trespassing, and this is harassment!” Mayor Bergen shouts in no particular direction.

“I am the sheriff!” the old man growls back.

“Not anymore, Dick. Go home. You shouldn’t be here.” The mayor squares his shoulders. They inch closer to each other, an insult away from a full-on fistfight.

“Great party you have here, Maura. So flattered to not be invited!” the older man hollers.

Who is this?

Then Ben pushes into the circle. “Grandpa, come on!”

Ben, grandfather, the mayor…This is about the lawsuit.

The next seconds are chaos. Ben’s grandfather rounds on the mayor, dropping language and an insinuation so filthy it draws gasps from the crowd, and the mayor finally snaps. He goes to throw a punch, but Ben steps in front of his grandfather, taking a blow to the face. There’s a sickening crunch of bone, and glasses knocked askew. Before anyone can even blink, Ben swings back, landing a punch hard to the mayor’s cheek.

Holy fucking shit. Ben punched the mayor.

“Hey, hey, stop it right now!” Sheriff Morrow appears, pulling Ben gruffly to the side.

“I want them arrested!” the mayor screams, hand pressed delicately to his face, like a big baby. Ben’s ignoring his own rapidly purpling eye to look after his grandfather, who has retreated to the corner.

“Bradley, you punched a literal child,” the sheriff responds, making no moves to apprehend anyone. “I could arrest you. But let’s just call it done and everyone walk away.”