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“A casserole?” Nora props her hands on her hips.

“Yes, chicken fajita!” I say enthusiastically. It really is good. It’s just… a lot for lunch.

“What is with the rogue casseroles in this town lately?” Nora demands.

I arch an eyebrow. “Rogue casseroles?”

“Well, this. And all of these casseroles that are showing up at Brewser’s house,” Nora says. “From some anonymous stranger. We have a Casserole Crew. If someone needs casseroles, they just need to call and we arrange it.”

I peer at my friend. “But the casseroles are for Lawson, right?” I’m even starting to have a hard time remembering that this whole thing started for Brewser, not the big, hot, surprisingly soft-hearted hockey player he lives with. “Stalking isn’t really Casserole Crew territory.”

Nora shakes her head. “Come on. Who would stalk somebody with casseroles? Stalking is…like what the girl who likes Beckett is doing.”

“Uh, hi. Sorry I’m late.” Andi says, stepping into the room at that moment.

“You’re just in time for our discussion about if casseroles are proper stalking etiquette,” Astrid says with a laugh.

“Oh…great.” Andi unwraps a basket of bread rolls and sets them on the table near Everly’s salad, Astrid’s ‘salad’, and the pitcher of strawberry lemonade Nora made.

“Here’s mine.” Quinn digs into the backpack she just shrugged off her shoulder. She pulls out a small to-go container from Perks and Rec and sets it on the table. “Pasta salad today.”

Quinn also doesn’t cook but agreed to stop at the diner and get something from Bruce each time we meet, which we are all very agreeable to.

“Is that a casserole I smell right now?” Andi asks with a confused frown.

I open the microwave and pull out the glass dish.

“Yup,” I say. “I made one for Beckett and had enough stuff to make two. So here you go.”

“See? That looks and smells delicious. And I’ll bet Lawson loves getting casseroles from…whoever,” Nora says.

I swallow. Oh, God. Has she figured it out? Does she know it’s me?

“But that’s really… weak stalking. Or even seduction,” she adds.

I blow out a breath. Well, ouch. I mean, I knew that, but I much prefer Lawson saying it’s sweet and endearing.

“Lawson likes it,” Andi protests.

I appreciate her.

Nora shrugs. “So, he says. He’s a nice guy.”

“Hey, are you voting for Beckett’s stalker as the best in the jar polls?” I ask her, actually feeling stupidly offended.

She doesn’t know it’s you. She’s not voting against you.

“Of course,” she says. “Aren’t you? I mean, Beckett’s notes say things like I watched you signing autographs for those little kids last night. You’re going to be such a great dad. We should have five kids. That is the proper mix of adoring and unhinged. Like a stalker should be.”

Andi stares at Nora. “One of the notes to Beckett said she thinks they should have five kids. As in her and Beckett?”

Nora nods. “Yep. Apparently she also thinks they should name their Golden Retriever Morrison. Because, according to her, Beckett is a Golden Retriever, and because his last name is Moore and because the dog would be like his son.” Nora grins. “See? Unhinged and adoring.”

“Oh, my God,” Andi says softly. She turns wide eyes to me. “Is Beckett okay?”

“He actually hasn’t told me about these notes,” I say, frowning. Naming dogs and talking about kids is a step beyond ‘here’s some body wash for when I spend the night’. I even thought that was a little weird. Talking about my future nieces and nephews is definitely a step closer to creepy on the sweet-to-creepy scale.

“I voted for Lawson’s stalker when Quinn and I went to pick the pasta salad up,” Everly announces.