She pauses, and I sure as hell hope that mother’s intuition isn’t hitting right now. “Okay.” She draws the word out. “But that doesn’t make me feel any better about whatever it is you’re not telling me. I know you, Hendrix.”

I clear my throat. “I know. Oh, look. I have some customers coming in. I have to go.”

“You’re lying.”

“No. I’m serious. I have to go.”

She makes a noncommittal sound that says she doesn’t believe me, but I’m grateful that she lets it go. “Okay. Fine. Make sure to tell them that your mom says you have the best cookies in the world.”

I chuckle. “I will.”

But when the door chimes, alerting that a customer is here, it’s not some random person off the street, it’s Josie. Today she’s wearing polka dots on the top and stripes on the bottom and despite the fact that they should be nowhere near each other, it works perfectly for her.

“Hi,” she says as she pushes the door open and then hooks a thumb over her shoulder to the large, hulking man standing outside. “Who’s that? I’m thinking I should be alarmed that there’s a man standing at your door with a gun on his hip.” She glances over her shoulder again. “Right?”

“No. It’s—he’s—it’s just a security guard,” I say.

The security guard that Nathaniel said would be sent—though I kind of forgot about him—until I came downstairs this morning from my studio above to find him posted outside with a big smile and a scary-looking weapon holstered on his hip.

“A security guard?” She chews over the words.

“Yes.” I act like it’s just another day when it’s anything but. “His name is Sammy.”

“And why is Sammy here? Is Paul stalking you? Does some crazed, hot man want you as his goddess sex slave? Do we need to whisk you away for safety?” she asks with a dramatic flair that only she can. Her face falls. “I’m serious though. Are you okay? Why’s he here?”

“No. He’s—” What’s the lie going to be now, Hendrix? “The landlord said the alarm was tripped a few times over the past few days. He thinks someone might be trying to break into one of the units. When he told us, one of the other tenants complained they were scared so he hired a security guard for a bit.”

She eyes me with curiosity. “So he hired a gun-toting security guard versus a pretend rent-a-cop? I think there’s more to the story that he’s not telling you.”

“There’s not. It’s fine.”

“Sounds like there is to me.”

“Sammy’s temporary. So far he seems to be a pretty cool guy. Besides, I don’t mind him being there,” I say. “So what’s up?”