“That watch he wears all the time,” she says. “He might walk in with a wrinkled Hulk shirt and jeans with holes in them, but that watch is straight off the yacht.”

I bite the inside of my lip. I never noticed a watch, but then again, I wouldn’t. Jayla’s the one who spends her days buried in lookbooks and fashion magazines.

“It could be a hand-me-down,” I say finally, and Jayla slams the lid on the strawberries hard enough to let me know exactly what she thinks about that hypothesis.

“That’s this year’s design. Nobody is handing down a ten-thousand-dollar watch they’ve barely even owned.”

“Ten thousand?” I say, nearly choking on my gum. “It’s gotta be a knockoff.”

“It’s not.”

“How could you possibly be sure?”

“I know accessories,” she says, and crap, she does. She really does. “The dude is hiding something.”

“Come on.” I groan. “He’s not hiding anything, except maybe a rich uncle or something.”

“Oh, you sweet summer child.” Jayla laughs. “How about this, then: Do you know how much houses cost in Claremont?”

“What does it even matter?” I say, because I just want this conversation to end. “Even if he has money, it doesn’t mean he can’t love comics and hang out at the store.”

“Look, you get three types of people hanging around at your mom’s shop: the wannabe artists, the lookie-loo Vera Flores superfans, and the rare people who actually need her to, like, feed them or give them a job. Why is he acting like the third one when he’s, at best, one of the first two or, at worst, something else entirely?”

“Like what?”

She shrugs. “You tell me.”

“Maybe he’s just lonely.”

“Well, yeah,” she snorts. “And obviously the dude’s in love with you, but that still doesn’t explain where he came from in the first place. Rich people don’t slum it in our town just because they like comics. There’s, like, three Geekerys on the other side of Claremont that are more his speed. And if he’s not here for comics, and he hasn’t been pitching his portfolio or gawking at your mom, then what is he doing here?”

“I love you, but you sound so paranoid.” But even as I say it, I feel a tinge of concern. Jayla’s planted a little seed of doubt, and it’s unfurling across everything I thought I knew.

My phone buzzes and I pull it out, smiling when I see that it’s Bats and texting back immediately. I don’t even realize what I’ve done until I look up, coming face-to-face with Jayla’s frown.

“Let me guess, Office Batman?”

I shove the phone into my pocket and go back to wiping down the counter. “Whatever.”