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“We were just coming down the street when she was coming up your steps. Too far away to call out,” Harley says. “But we figured there was a reason she was stopping by.”

“We had no idea it was dancing,” Patty says, her eyes twinkling. She seems very excited about this.

“You didn’t think maybe she was the stalker?” I ask, point blank.

They all look at one another, then at Sutton, then at me. And start laughing.

“Sure,” Patty says. “Sutton is stalking you.”

They all continue to the living room, talking at once, a tornado of gray hair, gossip, and optimism.

I take a deep breath and focus on Sutton. Well, hell. Maybe I’m wrong. Still…I like the time I just spent with her. A lot. “That was some amazing cheesecake,” I say, my gaze on her lips this time.

She blows out a breath and says, “Absolutely delicious.”

“By the way,” I tell her. “Whenever I taste anything with even a hint of cinnamon, I think of you. I thought of you all last night while eating this.”

Heat flickers through her gaze now. Again, exactly the reaction I wanted.

“How do you think your stalker would feel knowing you were thinking of me while eating the food she brought over?” she asks.

And this is why I’m only ninety-something percent sure it’s Sutton.

I think about Patty, Harley, and Wilson’s reaction to the suggestion.

Okay, I’m now down to seventy percent sure.

I reach up and drag my thumb over Sutton’s lower lip where there’s a tiny smudge of whipped cream left. I lift it to my mouth and suck it off. I have to find out.

If it’s Sutton, I don’t think she can keep the ruse up. She’s too sweet to be sneaky and to lie. I’m going to keep pushing.

“I’d really like to know what she’s thinking, actually.” I say. Then I add, “Pumpkin.”

Her eyes widen, and I see her suck in a little breath, but I decide to leave her just like that for now.

I step around her and head into the living room to move furniture out of the way for the dance rehearsal that has suddenly quadrupled in size.

CHAPTER 12

LAWSON

I’m partway through a transmission rebuild, but I can’t concentrate.

Unlike the past few days, it’s not just the sweet blond dancer that smells like cinnamon and makes me think of sunshine who is on my mind.

Finally, I toss my tools, wipe my hands, and grab my phone.

My sister answers on the third ring.

“Law?”

“Hey, Lyd.”

“Hey! What’s up?”

I feel myself smiling as I sink into the creaky chair behind the scarred wooden desk laden with paperwork in my office. “Just thinking of you.”

“Oh boy.” My sister laughs. “Why?”