Page 49 of Love Without Control

I didn’t even give her time to respond, closing the door and dashing to my room for my gun. With it pressed to my thigh and my heart beating like a racehorse’s, I made my way to the front door and pressed my eye to the peephole.

An elderly couple stood on the doorstep, and my pulse calmed a tad. They looked like Santa and Mrs. Claus and appeared to be completely harmless, but I wasn’t taking any chances. Leaving the chain lock engaged, I cracked the door open.

“Can I help you?” I asked pleasantly, the gun hidden behind my back.

“Hi, Osbourne family! We brought you a welcome gift,” the lady sang, holding up a plate stacked high with brownies.

They know our new name. That must mean they’ve talked to Jamie and Robert, right?My mind quickly worked through the scenario and judged them to be nothing more than friendly neighbors. I hoped.

“Oh, hi. Just let me unlock this,” I said, closing the door, stashing my gun in the cabinet beside me, and disengaging the chain.

“Oh. My. Goodness! Aren’t you a handsome young man,” the lady chirped, shoving the plate of goodies into my hand and pinching my cheek.

“Oh, uh, that’s…” Before I could finish, I caught something in my peripheral vision.Eden. Goddammit.My heart rate picked up again as she strode across the floor with a hand outstretched. I told her ass to stay put while I checked out what was going on.

“Hi, I’m Eden Osbourne,” she said, shaking the hands of both newcomers. “You must be the sweet neighbors Jamie told us about.”

Huh. I kinda sorta vaguely remembered that, but it still didn’t stop my fingers from tightening on the plate when the older woman reached for Eden. What if she was some kind of assassin in disguise? I had the overwhelming urge to tug on her gray hair to see if it was a wig.

But she simply hugged Eden before pulling back and beaming at her. “You are pretty as a picture, just like Jamie said.”

The old man looked at me with a chagrined shake of his head before finally speaking. “Uh, honey bun, maybe we should introduce ourselves before you go pinching and hugging these young’uns.” His voice was a deep, Southern drawl that somehow soothed my nerves.

“Oh right, sorry about that,” the lady tittered. “We’re your neighbors. The house to your right. I’m Helen Mims, but everyone calls me Mimsy. This is my husband, Charles.”

“Everyone calls me Charles,” he deadpanned, and I chuckled, shifting the plate to one hand so I could give him a firm shake.

“I’m Dane Osbourne, and this is my wife, Eden.”

“We know,” Mimsy said cheerfully. “We had dinner with Jamie and Robert when they were in town, and they told us you two would be honeymooning down here.”

“Ooh, what is this?” Eden asked, lifting the corner of the plastic wrap covering the plate in my hand. The scent of chocolate and sugar escaped, and I was suddenly very hungry for brownies. “These smell wonderful. Thank you for thinking of us.”

The woman patted her husband’s chest. “Charles here is the baker in the family. He owns Sweet Heaven, which is the best damn bakery in the Keys.” Pride emanated from her every word.

“Would you like to come inside and have a brownie with us?” Eden asked politely.

“Well, that would be wonderful,” Mimsy chirped happily. “It’s nice to have some young folks in the neighborhood. Of course, Robert and Jamie are younger than us, and then there’s Charlisse and her darling little boy, Cooper, who live across the street. Other than that, just a bunch of old fuddy duddies live on this street.”

I did my best to hold back a snicker as I wondered how old one had to be to earn the title offuddy duddyin her eyes.

Charles settled his large frame on one end of the couch, like he’d sat there many times before, and I followed the women into the kitchen with the plate of brownies in my hand.

“Here’s where they keep the K-cups,” Mimsy was saying, opening a drawer. “Do you know how to operate a Keurig?”

“Yes, ma’am. I had one at home,” Eden replied. While they started the coffee, I pulled down small saucers.

“You don’t need one for Charles,” the older woman told me. “He has diabetes, so no brownies for him.”

Placing one of the small plates back in the cabinet, I asked, “How does that work with him owning a bakery?”

“He only tastes small bites to make sure his flavors are spot on, but he doesn’t snack after work.” Then she laughed boisterously and smacked her hip. “He also relies on me as a taste tester, which accounts for the healthy size of my rump.”

After plating the brownies, which were topped with a decadent chocolate frosting, I carried three saucers to the living room and sat on the love seat. The ladies followed shortly after with the coffee.

Mimsy sat beside her husband, and Eden hesitated between the couch and the love seat, eyes darting around as if she couldn’t decide where to sit. With a subtle jerk of my chin, I indicated exactly where she needed to be, and she rolled her lips inward before perching on the love seat as far away from me as possible.

Well, we can’t have that, can we?

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