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She unfolded it.

Maybe you’ll like the chocolate chip cookies better.

P.S. The key is yours.

The utter gall of the man.

“Oooh. Are those cookies?” Brianna gushed, leaning closer. “The ones from Books ’n Bakes? They’re so yummy.”

Her frown deepened as she noted the logo tied to the twine. Bella and Ruth’s shop.

One corner of her mouth lifted.

I wonder if Ruth helped him choose the keyring.

“And a key. Felicity, you sly one — who’s sending you a key?”

“None of your business.” She shoved the cookies and key into her drawer and slammed it shut.

The plastic container went straight into the trash can. Where it belonged.

Undeterred, Brianna pressed on. “You know it’s easy to find out, right?”

Felicity closed her eyes briefly. Arguing would only draw more attention. “It’s a spare.” The excuse was lame, but she couldn’t come up with anything better.

“Got nothing to do with you and a naked man on his porch at the ass-crack of dawn?” Mercer said, like he was enjoying the picture a little too much.

“He was not nak—”

Chyort!.

Brianna straightened, interest sparking. “Whose porch?”

*

It was late that night when she sent him a text: Chocolate is dangerous for dogs.

His reply came almost immediately: Noted.

*

The gift basket filled the entire mat outside her front door the next afternoon. It overflowed with dog treats, soft toys tucked in among them.

Felicity had received the security notification an hour earlier — and hated that she’d screenshot the image of him saluting the camera.

In her defense, it was a sharp salute.

He also left a note.

Hmm … No cake. No cookies.

You’re making this difficult, Lissy-love.

Damn him. And damn her for the stupid grin on her face.

*

After dinner, she snapped a photo of Maisie and Maggie straining for control of the orange duck and attached it to a text: You caused strife at work. Now at home. This is on you.