Sloane hoped Mrs. Jane wasn’t still a stickler about what was deemed appropriate for a young woman to be wearing when greeting company. She was still smarting from the long-winded, heavy-handed speech she’d been given at seventeen when she’d had the audacity to go to the mailbox wearing a crop top. If it was Mrs. Jane now, Sloane doubted she would approve of her current pajama set. The top read Down with the Patriarchy, and the pants were patterned with cats wearing glasses.

Very adult of her indeed.

The peephole had been fogged over since the Bush administration, so Sloane ran a hand through the frizzy mess that was her hair and opened the door, hoping for the best.

Well, it wasn’t Mrs. Jane. That was for damn sure.

“Hello, sweet cakes.”

It also apparently wasn’t too early for Sloane’s libido to go from slightly intrigued to Sherlock Holmes on the case.

Brady Knox was wearing a simple tee, gray shorts, worn red Chucks, and a smirk that woke her up faster than coffee. Sloane’s face flooded with heat. Then her stomach dropped as she realized he wasn’t alone.

Carol Freaking Robertson was standing next to him. In spandex.

“Hi?” Sloane grabbed the door and tried to hide her body behind it. Carol’s gaze had already dropped down to her cat pants. Then she was all perfect white pearls. “What are, uh… What’s going on?”

Brady shook the to-go coffee cup in his hand.

“Well, I was at the café and called to see if you wanted a coffee. When you didn’t answer, I thought I’d surprise you with one anyway.”

Sloane was so confused, she accepted the coffee while still trying to keep the door covering as much of her as possible.

“Oh, thank you.”

Brady nodded toward Carol. “And Carol here just so happened to be on her daily run when I was walking out. So we both decided to walk here. Together.”

Carol reached over and gave Brady’s arm a squeeze. She did one of those light, airy laughs. “Good thing I came along, too. This one here got lost. Twice! It was like he’s never, ever been to your house before. How weird is that?”

Brady shrugged. Sloane watched the two like it was a tennis match.

“Well, I explained that when I come to see you, it’s usually at night after the bar closes.” He laughed. The sound was hitting all the right notes down south, despite the situation. “For bartenders, the day is a wild, new world. I’m actually surprised you knew where it was, though, Carol. It was almost like you asked around so you could stop by out of the blue.”

For a moment, Sloane was sure both had forgotten she was there at all.