Page 19 of These Shoes Weren't Made for Stalking

She dabbed at her eyes with her apron. “Oh, Leo. You’ve got your own troubles. I couldn’t burden you with mine.”

She signed. “You’ve got such a big heart, Leo. Just like your grandfather. You’d give someone the shirt off your back without thinking twice. Just look at you now—you’ve been dropping everything to help.”

I reached across the table, grasping her weathered hand in mine. The skin was rough from years of kneading dough. “That’s what friends are for. There must be something I can do?”

“Sweet boy.” She patted my hand. “You’ve already done more than enough.”

“Someone’s targeting you... specifically you. And I’m going to find out why.”

“Leo Sterling-Hart, don’t you dare put yourself in danger over this.” Rosie’s hand squeezed mine, her grip surprisingly strong for a woman her age.

“I’m already involved.” I corrected with a half-smile. “And I’m going to get to the bottom of this.”

I pushed open the door of The Hideaway Café, the bell’s familiar tinkle mixing with the aroma of fresh coffee and pastries. My steps faltered when I spotted Penny in our usual corner booth. That grin. That damned shit-eating grin stretched across his face meant trouble. He practically vibrated in his seat, pink curls bouncing with barely contained excitement.

News traveled fast in the Historical District. I slid into the booth, bracing myself.

“So,” Penny leaned forward, eyes bright with mischief. “A little birdie told me someone was seen getting into a certain alpha’s silver Aston Martin yesterday.”

Blood rushed to my cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh please. You practically oozed chocolate when Mr. Steele took the podium at the meeting. And just now? Your scent spiked at the mere mention of his name.” Penny leaned toward me, his voice taking on a conspiratorial tone. “So spill… what’s going on with you and Mr. Tall, Dark, and Alpha?”

I cleared my throat, fumbling for my water glass. “We’re supposed to be solving a crime here.”

“Mhm. And I’m solving the mystery of why you’re suddenly so interested in corporate real estate practices.” Penny grinned. “I mean you even stormed into his office to interrogate him.”

“I didn’t storm.” I rolled my eyes, but couldn’t quite hide my smile.

My fingers traced the condensation on my glass, avoiding Penny’s knowing look. The memory of being pressed against Dominic, his pine and sandalwood scent overwhelming my senses, made my skin tingle. But I wasn’t ready to share that particular detail, even with my best friend. “Focus, please.”

“Very well.” Penny sighed dramatically. His fingers absently toyed with the lucky penny dangling from his necklace. “What about that cufflink you found?”

I hesitated, my hand instinctively reaching for the back of my neck. “About that... I might have... given it to Dominic.”

“You what?” His voice hit a pitch I didn’t know was possible.

“He offered to help trace its origin. Said he had connections.”

Penny’s eyes narrowed. “Leo Sterling-Hart, you handed over evidence to a suspect? And since when are we on a first name basis?”

“He’s not a suspect, I think,” I protested weakly. “He’s... helping.”

“Right. And I’m the King of England.” He shook his head, pink curls bouncing. “What were you thinking?”

I sighed, the weight of my decision settling on my shoulders. “I don’t know, Pen. There’s just something about him. I can’t shake the feeling he’s on our side.”

“Or he’s got you wrapped around his finger.” He paused, a sly grin spreading across his face. “Though I can’t say I blame you. Those eyes of his alone could melt steel.”

I felt heat creep up my neck. “Can we focus on the case, please?”

“Sure.” Penny’s grin was unapologetic.

“Rosie’s bakery is in trouble.” My fingers traced the worn edge of the booth’s table, following a groove worn smooth by decades of use.

Penny’s expression turned serious. “Wait! What?”

“The bank’s threatening foreclosure. She missed six payments already.” The rich flavor of coffee and blackberry scone couldn’t mask the sour taste those words left in my mouth. “If she can’t come up with thirty thousand in four months, she’ll lose Wilson’s.”