Page 16 of The Love Losers

“It’s no big deal,” I tell her. “You know me, I’m curious about everything, and I have an addiction to being right. That’s all this is about. I definitely don’t have a thing for him.”

She has the decency not to call me out on my lie except for making another of her knowing sounds. I sigh and get out of the car, pausing at the back to grab the sack of peanuts before I head onto the porch.

I knock on the front door, and my brother answers it half a beat later, his cell phone pressed to his ear. He pulls me into a half hug before covering the speaker with his hand. “Claire’s still at work,” he says in an undertone. “Stay for a minute if you can. I’m on the phone with a client, but this conversation can’t possibly go on much longer.”

There’s a hint of impatience in his voice. Probably because he prefers the plants he works with to the people he tends them for. He’s also not much of a phone talker, and he thinks ninety-nine percent of people talk too much. Claire is probably the only exception—not because shedoesn’ttalk too much but because he’s obsessed with her.

He steps out of the way for us to come inside.

We take off our coats, hang them, and Joy pats my brother on the back. “I’ll just make us a pot of tea,” she says with a smile, then slips past him and enters his kitchen.

My brother’s expression shifts from worried to deeply alarmed, and a laugh escapes me as I follow her in.

Declan is still on the phone by the time we finish, and from his expression you’d think he was being tortured with thumbscrews instead of talking to a client who might be coerced into spending an unreasonable amount of money on landscaping.

So Joy and I start arranging the tea things on the coffee table. I’m about to suggest we open the bag of peanuts we put out when a knock lands on the door.

By then, my brother looks like he’s about five seconds away from blowing an eye vessel or being brutally honest with the person on the other line, so I figure I’ll do us both a favor and answer the door. Besides, I lived here for over a month before moving in with Joy. I figure that gives me leave to take some liberties.

I’m not surprised to see Jake and Lainey. They’re Claire and Declan’s best friends—I’m getting them friendship bracelets for Christmas to make it official. They live right next door and have a tendency to pop over whenever they feel like it. But Nicole and Damien, the private investigator couple who co-run The Love Fixers with them, are right behind them. It’s not odd for them to be here—Claire is Nicole’s half-sister—but it feels less like a casual drop-by.

I open the door, and Jake nods at me. “I saw the Jeep. We’ve got news concerning a mutual friend. I figure you’d be interested.”

“You’re talking about Anthony,” I say, picking up on the hint. He knows about my hangout with Anthony the other night, on account of I had to ask for his help with the peanut logo. It hasto be Anthony he’s talking about, because all of our other mutual friends, with the exception of Claire, are present and accounted for.

It hits me that Jake looks serious.

Jakeneverlooks serious.

Fear floods me, and my mouth drops open. “Holy shit, did something happen? That accountant didn’t murder him at the lunch table, did she?”

He watches me for a second, his face twitching, then bursts out laughing. I shove his arm, but relief floods me as I swing the door open, inviting them into my brother’s house. He’s an introvert and a half, and he’ll obviously be super pleased to have six guests when he finally gets off the client phone call from hell.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Nicole says, shoving past me and moseying up to the spread on the coffee table. She gives the tea a doubtful look and then grabs the sack of peanuts as the others filter in and shut the door.

“Aren’t you going to ask where it’s from?” I ask as she opens it and start riffling through them.

“Don’t care,” she says, cracking one open and letting the casing fall to the floor. She has her own special privileges as Claire’s sister, but she’d probably take liberties even if she didn’t. It’s her way. “I’m in a celebratory mood.” She chomps the peanut down, shrugs, then pulls out her phone and hands it to me.

“This isn’t porn, is it?” I ask, taking it.

“Not today, but I make no promises about tomorrow. Someone sent this website to your friend Anthony.”

I lift the phone up.

Well, butter my biscuits. The website is a countdown, with only a couple of sentences on the screen in an aggressive, glowing red font:

Dahlia Rosings –

You may have gotten away with it three times, but everyone’s luck runs out eventually. Here’s the countdown to yours running out.

The countdown ends at midnight on New Year’s Eve, two weeks and one day from today. It’s the day and time of Anthony’s would-be wedding.

Dahlia is his mother.

CHAPTER FIVE

ANTHONY

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