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“Um,” I say, grappling for a thought other than how big he is. Seriously, how does he not have fourteen stalkers like Beckett’s?

“How’s now?” Lawson asks Beckett.

“Perfect.” Beckett wipes his sticky hands on one of the dish towels.

I sigh and grab it. Now I’ll need to wash it before I can wipe a dish with it.

Lawson pauses in the doorway between the kitchen and living room. “Thanks for the rolls and coffee,” he says to me, lifting the to-go container he’s carrying. “It was…really nice.”

“Any time,” I say, sounding like I just sprinted in here. I look from his eyes to his mouth. I always do that. I can’t seem to help it.

He clears his throat and then turns and follows Beckett to the front door.

I hear them exchanging a few more words before they step out onto the porch and shut the door behind them.

I look around the kitchen and shake my head.

What just happened?

I had Lawson Landry in my house.

And I didn’t throw myself at him.

Or say anything stupid.

Or confess that I’m the one coming to his house with pot pies.

That’s a…surprise.

But an even bigger surprise is the fact that I think Lawson and my brother are actually becoming friends.

CHAPTER 7

LAWSON

I let myself into the house quietly, pausing to listen for any sounds.

Brewser should be at walking club, and his little entourage should have left when he did. No one is sitting around outside, and there are no cars in our driveway or along the curb. I parked my truck three blocks over so no one will know I’m home in the middle of the day.

I don’t hear anything and I have a sense that I’m alone in the house, so I shut the door and make a quick pass through the kitchen to be sure that I haven’t already missed our casserole queen.

There is nothing new on the countertops or table and when I check the refrigerator, everything inside was already there this morning when I left. And yes, I did inventory just for this moment.

I stand in the middle of the room, hands on my hips, trying to decide where my best spot for surveillance will be.

I haven’t decided exactly what I’m going to do when I see my stalker today. But I have to know who she is.

And who she isn’t.

Maybe most especially that.

It’s not Sutton. But it seems I need solid proof to convince myself of that.

I simply want to get a look and then sneak back out of the house. Confirming whether I know this woman, or not, and that she is not the sweet dancer I swear must taste like cinnamon, will help.

I don’t need to talk to her. I don’t need her to know that I’ve seen her. But somehow she’s avoiding the camera at the back door, and…I’m desperate.

Suddenly the front door knob rattles, and I straighten, my heart pounding.