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Summary
“Go to that place you talked about,” he said, abruptly. “Get breakfast, or lunch, or both. My treat.”
Hawkeye’s eyebrows furrowed. He laughed, nervously. “You don’t have to…it’s sweet. You’re being sweet, but I—”
“I mean it. Make a day of it. Bring your book. Make friends with the Easterners. You’re a one man welcoming committee anyhow,” BJ said, smoothing his jacket, and adjusting his belt.
Hawk’s confused expression veered into dismay. BJ watched him, guiltily, afraid he’d overstepped, but unsure of exactly where the misstep had occurred. He didn’t want to say the obvious: I’m worried about you. I think you should eat something.