He's giving Parker a look that should point out without requiring words that they've wandered into a multi-dimensional bar that should have been Main Street, and that pancakes can wait until after initial reconnoitering, but her words trail off midway through her own sentence, and he follows her glance to see the neat little take-out box sitting where his plate had previously been.

He considers it for a second. Reaches out, picks up the azalea, and brings it to his nose, then carefully places it back on the box as Miss Barlow turns to go.

He can come back for it. For now, he unfolds from the stool, hands sliding into his pockets, follows Kate and Parker with that same ground-covering, slowed down stride, and if he doesn't give much away on his face, it doesn't mean he isn't paying attention as they pass a number of doors and a further selection of the odd patronage making themselves comfortable here.