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“Just promise you’ll keep your eye on Flock for me,” she said. “Report back on anything of interest while I think of a way to kidnap him, lock him in my basement, and force him to be my sex slave.”

From the stories Coop had told me, Brody wouldn’t need much forcing. He didn’t believe in abstinence.

“Who’s a sex slave?”

A smooth, familiar voice washed over us, and both Eve and I turned. I took a slow breath. There stood Brody Flockhart in all his glory. He had a sexy smirk and looked like he just stepped out of a movie. What the hell was he doing here?

My cheeks heated like molten lava. Eve just grinned. “Ro is. A slave to her insatiable libido. She’s Tuft Swallow’s answer to Taylor Swift. A notorious serial dater.”

“No, I’m not,” I squealed, my voice far louder than I expected. “And neither is Taylor. It’s just a case of optics and people being mean.”

Brody’s eyes met mine, and something glinted in them, like mischief or delight. My protests weren’t enough to divert Eve from her course, though.

“Call it what you like, Bestie, but you’ve had more dates than most.”

Brody leaned against the side of the booth and tipped his head to one side.“You popular, Small Fry?”

I blinked. He hadn’t called me that in years. Not since we were kids. Back then, he’d towered over me, too. Took great delight in making me the butt of his jokes.

Eve turned to Brody, warming to her subject. “Last summer, I swear Ro’s dating life was like a season of Love Island.”

Brody chuckled. “This I have to hear. Do you mind?” He gestured to the space next to Eve. She patted the spot beside her, inviting him to take a seat. Brody edged into the booth, struggling to squeeze into the tight space. Just like Eve before him, he sat down without a squeak.

“No. You don’t need to hear this.” I threw Eve a look, trying to channel a condemned man pleading for his life.

“But Ido,” said Brody. “I need to know If I’m staying under the same roof as a notorious maneater. There could be a clause in my contract against living with loose women. I may need to claim danger money. What do you think, Eve? Should I wedge a chair up against my door at night?”

My mouth hung open. Who was he to callmea loose woman?

Eve grinned at him, resting her chin in a palm and gazing at him with goo-goo eyes. “Well, last summer, old Mrs. Woodcock…”

“The crazy bird lady?” asked Brody.

“She’s not crazy,” I said. “Just a little old school. People call her odd, but she does great things for the town. Plus, she runs her bird-watching group voluntarily.”

Brody raised his eyebrows. “Anyone who goes around with binoculars trained on the locals is odd in my book.”

Eve nodded so fast I thought her head might pop off. “So, Mrs. Woodcock and Ro’s Gran took it upon themselves to fix her up with someone…anyone.”

“Why?” Brody’s brow furrowed.

Eve leaned into him, pretending to talk behind her hand. “I recall hearing the words ‘ticking clock’ and ‘spinster’ being bandied around.”

“I’m only twenty-three!”

Eve continued, waving me off like an annoying fly. “The two of them ran Ro through a rigorous dating program. Anyone single and under thirty was fair game.”

My pulse throbbed in my ears, and I swear my insides and my dignity curled up and died. Why didn’t Eve stop? Whose side was she on anyway? Now Brody would think I’m even more tragic than he already did after my solo wet T-shirt competition last night.

Brody turned to me, a sizzling grin on his gorgeous lips. “How many dates did you go on?”

Damn. It was too late to feign innocence. “Fifteen,” I mumbled, cheeks warming.

His eyes widened to the size of our cinnamon rolls. Awesome.

“And nothing to show for it? No heartbroken men throwing roses at your feet? No proposals?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, attempting a withering glare.