The earnest question kept him from scowling. This was a job. He was undercover. There was no reason for him to continue to rain on her parade by trying to change the rules of engagement.
He touched his hair and promised revenge someday against Alberto, who’d plopped it on there and glued it in place before Stone had known what was going on. “I won’t tank it, but I would remind you of Ms. Birdie’s mention of possibly hiring a female protector. Someone who could easily be passed off as your best friend. My feelings won’t be hurt if you decide to go that route.”
Sophie moved closer, her small apartment making even this small distance seem intimate. “Upon hearing that option, Frankie mentioned dumping the whole plan.” She spoke quietly, almost to herself.
He’d first heard about Frankie from the Prince of Shiretopia while working security detail at his wedding reception. According to Scott, the woman was a loose cannon. Not to be trusted to act rationally in any given situation. “I believe Frankie likes to hate on any ideas that are not her own. I wouldn’t worry too much about her.”
“You may be right,” Sophie said. “But you may also be absolutely wrong, and I’m not willing to take that chance.”
“You’d prefer to take a chance on my pulling off a cinnamon roll boyfriend ruse? A ruse that may fail despite our best efforts?”
“It won’t fail. The Glam Team has given you the look. Now, all that’s left is my teaching you the body language and actions that are consistent with the hero type.”
Stone looked around the tiny apartment, at the stacks of romantic novels lining the shelves, bookmarks sticking out of several. A small, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. When was the last time—other than with Clarabelle—that he had been bested in an argument? By someone who believed book heroes could come to life?
“All right,” he conceded, “let’s see how this goes. But if I start getting invited to book clubs and brunches, I’m going to shoot someone.”
Sophie’s laughter, genuine and relieved, filled the room, easing the tension. “Fair enough.”
“And, once I manage to get this wig off my scalp, it’s not going back on. I’ll let my hair grow out. It grows fast.”
“In that case, let’s get started.”
“Get started?”
“I need for you to see other cinnamon roll guys in action.”
He raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t a bad idea. “And where does one go in Manhattan to see them in the wild? The zoo? The flagship Apple Store? The line at a sample warehouse?” The lasthe only knew about because Clarabelle had dragged him to one yesterday after they’d had lunch together.
“You’ll see.” Sophie picked up her purse, flipped off the lights, and scooched around him to open the door.
Just as she did, the door across the hall creaked open, revealing an elderly man leaning heavily on his walker, the faint scent of Bengay wafting from him as he peered out. “Sophie, you going out again?” He shot Stone a glance. “And with a different guy tonight?”
Stone glanced at Sophie and waited for her reply. She’d said she was between boyfriends. He’d taken it to mean she’d not been on a date in a while. Obviously, he’d assumed wrong.
“Poppie, I won’t be out long. I promise. When I get back, I’ll fix us both dinner and tell you all about my back-to-back nights out with different gentlemen.” She linked her arm through Stone’s, her grip firm and reassuring, pulling him slightly as she spoke.
The hallway lights flickered.
Stone stiffened.
“I bet our damn landlord didn’t pay the electric bill,” Poppie muttered. “He’s going to try and—”
“Poppie, you and I can grouse about the landlord later. Right now, I’d like for you to meet Stone.”
Stone made a mental note to check into their landlord.
“Stone,” Poppie repeated. “Like a damn rock.”
Sophie sighed. “Yes, but don’t let his name fool you—he’s a big teddy bear. Isn’t that right?” She glanced up at Stone and gave him a cheeky grin.
“Only with you, darling. Only with you. If anyone else asks, I’m a grizzly.” He stepped forward, the old wooden floors groaning under his weight, and offered his hand to the frail-looking man, whose eyes were sharp despite the wrinkles. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Poppie.”
“Just Poppie. Nomister.” Poppie took his hand, his grip surprisingly firm for such a fragile frame, a hint of old strength lingering in his veins, and squeezed lightly.
Stone, despite his fear of breaking a bone, squeezed back. His instincts told him it was a test of his character. “You’ve got a lovely granddaughter.”
Poppie pointed a gnarled finger at him. “If you hurt her, I’ll do to you what I did to the last, and you can bet your wig he’s not coming back around anytime soon.”
