The bell above the door chimes as I push into The Honey Drop, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mixed with something sweet—cinnamon, maybe—wraps around me. A few locals are scattered throughout the café, murmuring in low voices over their steaming cups. I drag a hand over my face, exhaustion digging into my bones. I’m running on fumes, but at least I made it in one piece.

Behind the counter, Delilah is cleaning the espresso machine when she glances up and smirks. “Well, well. Look who’s here. Mr. I’m Never Coming Back Again.”

I grunt. “Miss me?”

“Like a hole in the head.” She grabs a mug without missing a beat. “What would you like? Whatever it is, I’m guessing it needs extra caffeine. You look like shit. Did you even sleep?”

“Just black coffee. A few extra shots of espresso.” I roll my shoulders, exhaustion settling in. “Nothing frothy today. And whatever you’ve got that’s solid—an egg sandwich, maybe?”

“You got it.” Delilah wipes her hands on a rag before tossing me a look. “So . . . a tattoo parlor, huh?”

I glare at her. No one should know about that yet. “How do you know? Did Nysa tell everyone?”

“Calm down. It’s not like she put up a billboard.” She shrugs, reaching for a mug. “We were having dinner last Monday, and she mentioned it.”

“To whom?” I press because while I love my best friend, since she came back to Birchwood, she seems to have forgotten the meaning of the word secret. I should give her a fucking dictionary for her birthday. I miss when things stayed between the two of us. Now, she tells Hopper everything because they’re a couple. And then there are her friends, and since when does she need more people in her circle?

“It was just Gale and me,” Delilah cuts in, rolling her eyes. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“But she told Hopper, didn’t she?”

She waves a hand. “Does it matter?”

I sigh, knowing there’s no point in arguing. “Whatever. I guess it’s back to the old gossip mill. Can I just get my caffeine?”

“We’re moodier than usual,” she teases, pouring the espresso shots into my coffee. “You Timberbridges are always grumpy for one thing or another. Unless . . . you’re getting laid. That’s when you’re all smiles and shit. How’s Keir, by the way?”

“I’ve been driving for almost twenty-four hours.” I ignore her question about my other brother, the one I hope I don’t have to ever see, and the fact that she lumped me in with the others.

We’re not the same kind of asshole.