Judge looks like he’s perfectly fine with the idea, and I don’t doubt he’s tempted to hand over his credit card and buy out the entire shop because right now, for whatever reason, he’s still on edge. His eyes move over everyone that comes through the door, and he’s checked my old phone twice since we’ve been here, which seems odd.

“What do you keep looking at on there?” I whisper as Georgie and Solana discuss the placement of her new air plant display.

“Nothing,” Judge grunts in response.

Before there’s any more time to argue, a guy wearing the familiar apron from the coffee shop next door enters. It’s not the usual delivery boy who has a mad crush on Solana, so his eyes move over the shop before settling on Judge and me.

“Oh, here.” Solana rushes over to greet him, taking the tray of coffees and the bag of beignets. “I was expecting Brady.”

The guy nods, but his eyes don’t move from Judge and me. “He’s out sick today.”

Solana frowns but shoves a few dollar bills into his hand for a tip and thanks him again. The guy lingers for another second, and I think he and Judge are having a silent pissing contest, which is weird, but then he disappears.

Solana sets the coffees down and opens the bag of pastries so we can all dig in. But before I can even reach for one, Judge glances at me.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I stare at him in disbelief. Okay, whatever has him worked up is clearly making him overly paranoid.

“We order from them all the time,” I assure him as I reach out and grab a pastry anyway. “Don’t be so surly.”

He tries to grab the pastry from my hand, and I taunt him with a smile as I shake my head and hold it up in the air. Georgie rolls his eyes.

“We’ve checked the ingredients exhaustively,” he says dryly. “They are aware of Mercedes’s allergy, and they don’t use peanuts in any of their products.”

Those words don’t seem to pacify Judge, so I gesture to my purse. “Don’t worry, okay? I have my EpiPen if I ever need it, but I won’t.”

He doesn’t look convinced, but there are some battles he’s just going to have to get used to losing. I want my damned beignet, and I’ve eaten from this place a million times. It’s not even an issue.

Before he can protest further, I stuff the doughy, sugary concoction into my mouth and take a bite. When I moan, Judge eyes me again like that annoys him too. Almost as if… dare I say it… that sound should be just for him.