Dev watched as Lucian stepped out into the hallway, closing the door to his private apartment behind him. The plain white shirt he wore was covered with grayish charcoal smudges.

His brother must’ve been working.

“What’s up?” Lucian asked.

Dev’s gaze flickered to the closed door. He figured Julia was in there, and he found that interesting—that his brother could work on his paintings and sketches with Julia there. He thought painting was a solitary endeavor.

“I know Rosie wants your number,” Dev said, cutting to the point. “I do not want you to get in contact with her.”

Lucian leaned against the door and arched a brow. “Didn’t know you were in the position to dictate what I can and cannot do, Dev.”

“I’ve spent your entire life trying to tell you what to do, mostly for your benefit, but this time, I am asking you not to call her.”

“Asking?” Lucian laughed. “That sure as hell didn’t sound like a request at first.”

Dev stared at him.

“She’s the woman you were with last night,” Lucian said after a moment. “Wasn’t she? Nikki’s friend. Rosie.”

“You already know the answer to that.”

“Yeah, but for some reason, I want to hear you admit it.”

Dev frowned. “Why?”

“Because it would amuse me.”

“Well, since I live to amuse you, yes, she was the woman you saw me with last night, and yes, I was planning on filling you in on what we were talking about.”

His brother wiped his hands along his jeans. “So, the shit about the new house being haunted is true?”

“As true as any paranormal team would claim,” Dev muttered.

“Shit, Dev. Julia knows now. She’s all for having a team go in and clear whatever is in that house out. There’s no way I’m going to get out of that,” Lucian said. “That’s like the only thing Julia had on her wish list. Not an updated kitchen or a large tub in a master bathroom. She’s specifically asked for no ghosts.”

“Your house is most likely not haunted,” Dev told him, thinking that only in New Orleans would that be on someone’s list. “Rosie is . . . I don’t know if we can trust her motives.”

“What?” His brows lowered.

“Look, she’s friends with that reporter—”

“Fucking Ross Haid?”

“Yes.”

“Shit.” Lifting a hand, he dragged it through his hair, leaving behind streaks of charcoal. “For real? But she’s friends with Nikki and—”

“She hooked Nikki up on a date with Ross before she and Gabe got together. Ross wanted to use Nikki to get information on us.”

“Did Rosie know that was why Ross was interested in Nikki?”

Valid question. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”

“They’re a real thing, dude.”

“Look, all I’m asking is that you don’t have contact with her. We don’t know what her agenda is.”

“After seeing you two together last night, pretty confident I can tell you what her agenda was.” Lucian added a grin. “And yours.”

“You don’t know what you saw last night,” he replied. “You can have someone take a look at your house. Ghost hunters. Psychics. I don’t care. Just not Rosie. That’s what I’m asking.”

Lucian tipped his chin back. A long moment passed. “Okay. Because you’re actually asking, I won’t contact her.”

For a moment, Dev thought he might be having a fever-induced hallucination, because was his youngest brother finally agreeing with something he asked? He stared at him and saw that he wasn’t messing with him.

Pigs just sprouted wings and flew.

“Thank you,” Dev said, and he said this knowing he rarely said that to anyone, especially his youngest brother.

Lucian nodded.

“I’ll let you get back to work.” He started to turn.

“Dev?”

He faced Lucian. “Yes?”

“Did you ask Rosie if she was working with Ross?”

“Yes, I did.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said she wasn’t, but I don’t expect her to admit to it,” he replied.

“Hmm.” Lucian pushed away from the door.

The frown returned to Dev’s face. “What?”

“Nothing.” Lucian lifted a shoulder. “Just wondering if it ever occurred to you that she just might be telling the truth?”

Yeah, it had occurred to him.

Just about every damn time he thought about her and Ross and that shit she told him last night. It occurred to him that she could be telling the truth.

But that didn’t make her any less dangerous.

It didn’t make him any less smart.

What he did know was that there was no way he could allow Lucian to spend time with Rosie. His brother was too damn chatty and Dev couldn’t risk Lucian blurting only God knew what to Rosie.

He was doing this for his brothers—like always.

At least that was what he kept telling himself.

The Saturday evening rush hadn’t even hit yet, and Rosie was ready to press the rewind button on the entire weekend.

Nothing was going right. It started about five minutes after she finished organizing her closet and her mother called, asking if she could come in early. One of their regulars was sick.

No big deal, except Jilly called a moment afterward, wanting an update on Lucian’s house. Rosie had tried to explain she was working on it, but Jilly seemed to think Rosie could snap her fingers and a house key would appear in her hand. Rosie was pretty confident that Nikki would get Lucian’s number for her or just give hers to Lucian. Everyone just needed to be patient, because she wasn’t going to make Devlin hold up the end of his bargain . She would rather pluck every single strand of hair from her body with a rusty pair of tweezers than even speak Devlin’s name again.

Devlin de Vincent was now on the Do Not Speak in Her Presence list.

It was a new list.

Coffee was also on the list since she wanted some afternoon caffeine boost and her freaking coffee maker decided to shit the bed on her. The day kept getting steadily worse.

Rosie had decided to walk to Pradine’s, and she nearly died on the way when a cab hopped the curb and almost took her out, causing her to drop the coffee she’d picked up on the way—the coffee that had cost a ridiculous amount of money considering it was just freaking coffee.

A block from Pradine’s, the entire sole of her ankle boots peeled back. Literally peeled back like an invisible can opener got ahold of her foot. And they were her favorite walking boots, worn suede with a small heel. Super cute.

Ugh.

So, she was wearing flip-flops even though a chilly autumn was in full effect and her toes were freezing while the boots were sitting in her parents’ office at the bakery, because her mother swore she could fix them, but Rosie knew she was just going to slather Gorilla Glue on the damn shoe and call it a day.

Worse yet, her mother had jacked up the cling-wrap roll under the counter, the one her father had installed eons ago, to the point they needed a degree in rocket scientist to untangle the damn thing.

Rosie’s knees were starting to ache—she’d been on them so long trying to fix the stupid thing while her mother stood beside her, hands planted on her hips. Rosie dragged her nail along what she hoped was the end of the roll while her younger sister, Bella, worked the register.

“That roll of plastic wrap is testing me.” Her mother leaned over her, closing the glass door to the freshly baked chocolate muffins.

Stopping, Rosie turned her glare on her mother. “How is it testing you? You messed it up.”

“And I’m supervising while you’re fixing it, like a good owner and mother would do,” she replied, winking when Rosie pursed her lips.

From somewhere beyond her mother, she heard Bella snort.

“What did you do to this thing?” Rosie muttered, turning the roll again, because what she thought was the end of the cling wrap wasn’t. “I do not get paid enough to mess with this.”

“You’re lucky you get paid at all,” her mother retorted.

“It’s just plastic wrap,” Bella chimed in. “It can’t be this difficult to manage.”

“Just plastic wrap? Have you ever tried to find the tangled, jacked-up edge on a three-foot ball of plastic wrap?” Rosie took a deep breath. “Giving birth has to be easier than this.”

“Are you out of your mind? Giving birth is not easier,” Bella shot back. “I would know, because—”

“You have two beautiful babies and I’m childless and joyless and going to die cold, alone with fifteen cats who are going to feast on my dead carcass,” Rosie finished for her, exasperated. “So, why don’t you come over here and fix this with baby-birthing magic?”

“But you’re doing such a good job at it,” her sister responded. “By the way, Mom mentioned you’d be interested in meeting Adrian’s friend.”

Rosie closed her eyes. “I did not tell Mom that. I so did—”

“That’s not how I recall the conversation,” her mom cut in.

“Satan is a liar,” Rosie muttered under her breath as she opened her eyes. This morning, when she thought about taking her mother and sister up on the offer to meet Adrian’s friend, felt like a lifetime ago after the afternoon she’d had.

“What did you say?” her mom asked.

“Nothing,” Rosie sighed. “I don’t want to be introduced to anyone right now.”

And that was the truth even though she’d briefly considered it this morning. She’d smartened up, though, realizing that wanting to meet someone new because she was ticked off about someone else wasn’t exactly the brightest idea.

Somewhere between her coffee maker breaking and almost dying by cab driver, she’d decided to swear off all men.

At least for the next month or so.

“Oh my . . .” Her mother kneed her in the back, causing her to grunt. “That is one tall drink of water walking down the street.”

“Mom,” she muttered, shooting her a look from where she was hidden. It was pointless, though, since her mom was staring straight ahead, a notably creepy smile on her face.

“And may I add to the fact that is one fine tall drink of water?” she continued, and Rosie rolled her eyes. “He’s walking like a man who knows how to keep you up all night.”

“He looks like he knows how to and he’s proud of it,” Bella said, and Rosie wrinkled her nose. “If I wasn’t married . . .”

“Ditto, my sweet child, ditto.”

Rosie had this theory that once you had children, you were suddenly able to openly discuss what it would be like to sleep with the same guy as your mother. It was like some kind of weird baby bond a mother and daughter shared. Her theory could be grossly incorrect, but empirical evidence was suggesting she just might be onto something.

“If Dad hears you talking like that,” Rosie muttered, finally getting the roll of plastic wrap unstuck. That was a useless threat. Her father would either just laugh at her or attempt to one-up whatever man she was talking about.

“Wait,” Bella whisper-yelled in a way Rosie was sure some of the customers heard her. “He’s coming in here and he looks . . . Oh my God, I know who that is.”

It was probably the guy down the street who dressed like Ronald McDonald.

The doorbell dinged and then Rosie heard her mother speak, suddenly sounding like she was an extra in Gone with the Wind . “Well, hi there, sweetheart. How can I help you?”

Rosie’s head fell to the side as she squeezed her eyes closed tight. Her mother was a mess.

“Hi” came a deep, familiar voice. “I’m hoping you can help me.”

Rosie’s eyes snapped open. That voice . . .

“I’m looking for someone I believe works here?” There was a pause. “Her name is Rosie.”

No.

No way.

Slowly, Rosie lifted her head and looked up at her mother as her mother looked down at her.

“There is a Rosie who works here.” Her mother narrowed her eyes at her. “And I happen to know exactly where my very lovely and very single daughter is.”

Oh my God!

Rosie went to stand up, but lost her balance, and landed on her ass just as a shadow crossed the counter. An all-too-familiar face appeared, and Rosie was positive she was hallucinating.

“Found her,” he said, and unless she was also having auditory hallucinations, it really was him, standing in her family’s shop, staring down at her, smirking.

Devlin.