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“How would she murder all of us?” Patty asks, right on the heels of that.

“I’ve heard of things like that,” Muriel says, lifting a shoulder. “And none of us are spring chickens. A young woman whose plan was just thwarted, who thinks we’re standing between her and true love? You never know what she might be capable of.”

“You watch too much TV,” Patty tells her.

“Well, they are documentaries,” Muriel says, emphasizing the word. “That means they’re true.”

I suck in a breath through my nose. “I would really like it if we would stop talking about murder,” I tell them.

“If she’s murderous, we should definitely go inside and be with Brewser,” Wilson decides.

It’s as if I didn’t even speak.

Still, while they might drive me a little crazy, to their credit, the four older people in front of me are immediately on their feet and folding up their chairs, ready to go in and protect their friend.

Well, and eat cookies.

“She can’t possibly murder all of us,” Patty insists.

“Unless she brings a gun,” Muriel says. Then she holds up a hand when Patty turns. “And she probably won’t. She thinks she’s coming over to drop off dinner. She won’t expect us all to be here.”

“And if she does say, stab someone with a knife from the drawer, she’ll only get one of us. The rest can get away,” Harley reasons.

My eyes are wide, but I don’t even attempt to interject now. They won’t hear me anyway.

“We could definitely empty that drawer!” Wilson says.

“Great idea,” Harley agrees.

“I need to use the bathroom anyway,” Patty says, starting toward our house.

I try to stop them. Kind of. “Brewser was walking around in his underwear,” I tell her.

She laughs and waves her hand. “I’ve seen him in less than his underwear.”

I close my eyes for a moment. “Why have all of you seen each other naked?” I ask. Then hold up a hand. “Rhetorical question. Never mind.”

Patty continues toward the back of the house, and I just pray that Brewser is still sitting at the table nursing his coffee and cinnamon roll and not doing anything that will give away that his hands are a little shaky and that he shuffles when he walks when he’s not concentrating.

A minute later, from the back door, Patty calls, “There’s cinnamon rolls and cookies! Brewser says to come on in!”

Harley, Wilson, and Muriel start for the house, and I sigh. And give up.

Nine minutes later, I’m knocking on Beckett’s front door.

It swings open, and I feel my heart do a stupid flip in my chest.

“Lawson,” Sutton says, clearly surprised to see me.

Which makes sense. I have literally never been to their house. And it is before eight in the morning.

But I’m also, stupidly, surprised to see her.

She lives here. It’s early. Why did I not think about the fact that she might still be here? Might even answer the door. In gray cotton short shorts and a baby blue cropped T-shirt that shows a strip of creamy pale skin above the waistband of her shorts. And barefoot. With her hair up in a messy bun. And with no makeup on. Looking like the beautiful, sweet, girl next door lounging in comfortable clothes that don’t cover much of her petite, toned dancer’s body.

Fuck.

“Are you okay?” she asks, moving closer to look up at me with concern.