Allan tried to remember all his brother had gone through. It was the only thing that helped him hold on to his temper and back down. "Right," he agreed. He tried lightening his tone. "Look, seriously. I just want to do something nice for her. Have her get to know us, what little we can let her, so she knows we're not jerks." He stepped forward and extended his hand to his brother. "Please?"

Like ice calving off a glacier, he watched as Ben deflated, his expression turning sad. He took Allan's hand and shook. "I'm sorry. I just... You have no idea."

Allan took this as an opening and put cooking out of his mind for a moment. He slid one of the chairs out and sat, switching to his "kind prosecutor" mode. The I'm-on-your-side persona he'd used countless times to ease witnesses through the trauma of preparing for a trial. "We're on the same side, bro. Honestly. The impression I got from Grover on Sat.u.r.day was that she rarely goes out, has hardly any social life. She could probably use the distraction as much as we could. That's it. That's all. I'm man enough to store it up in my brain for at night when I'm alone, or for in the shower."

That earned him a smile from his brother, which was what he'd hoped for. "I don't know who yelled louder," Ben said, "you or Mom, when she accidentally walked in on you that time. You dumb-a.s.s. You should have had the water going so she could hear you were in there. Or locked the door."

"You have no idea how long that ruined shower s.e.xy time for me."

Ben let out a long sigh. "I missed you."

Allan leaned over and hugged Ben, pleased when his brother hugged him back. "I missed you, too, bro."

Chapter Eight.

Libbie dove into her Kindle again. Which wouldn't have been a problem, except that regardless of how the author described the heroes, she now had absolutely no trouble superimposing Charles and Ken on their features.

Unable to focus on her reading without s.e.xy thoughts of her new tenants-slash-neighbors filling her mind with deliciously dirty thoughts, she opted for a little work. She needed to place her wholesale order tomorrow morning in order to have everything delivered Wednesday afternoon.

At least I can get something accomplished.

When she finished that, a sudden, horrifying thought struck her.

What am I going to wear tonight?

This time of year she was completely comfortable lounging around the house in men's flannel sleeping pants and oversized T-shirts. Especially when it was cool out.

As she stared down at her black and grey plaid bottoms, she knew she couldn't go over there looking like that. It didn't matter she'd worn them to the bank, because she'd used the drive-through and never got out of her car.

I can't have them see me like this. Gay or not, I want to make a good impression on them.

She burrowed into her closet, which was still in disarray from the move, and finally opted for a long, dark charcoal maxi skirt that would be both warm and reasonably presentable. She could wear leggings under it, and her Ugg-lookalike boots, to keep her even more comfortable. She selected a long-sleeved forest green cowl-neck shirt to complete the ensemble. Laying the items out on the bed, she nodded in approval. She wanted to take another bath before going over there, more to ease her aching body than because she felt she needed one.

As she studied herself in the bathroom mirror nearly an hour later, she opted to let her hair fall loose over her shoulders. Naturally wavy, she only managed to get her hair cut once every few months. Usually, she kept it pulled up in a ponytail, bun, or braid, held in place by a hairnet or bandana while working. She rarely got an opportunity to go out in public with it long.

For the first time, she realized it had crept past her shoulders. I need to call for an appointment and get it tamed.

She briefly considered putting on makeup, then decided against it. That's overkill. Not that she had much makeup to choose from. Just powder, two different sets of eye shadow, some tinted lip gloss, and blush.

I really am turning into a schlub.

Galileo watched her from the bed.

"Don't give me that look. I know what you're thinking."

The cat stared at her without blinking.

She looked in the mirror again. "He's probably thinking he's owned by a crazy lady who likes to talk to herself," she muttered.

After taking several deep breaths to calm herself, Libbie walked across the hall and knocked on Charles and Ken's door at exactly 6:01.

"Come on in," one of them called out.

It struck her, as she reached for the doork.n.o.b, that the men sounded alike in addition to looking very similar. They could almost be brothers instead of cousins.

Well, except for the hair. Why on earth does Charles think that color looks good on him?

She stepped in and felt her stomach immediately growl at the wonderful aromas floating through the apartment.

Charles stood at the stove. He turned and flashed her a grin. "There's our guest of honor."

She felt a heated flush rise through her body at his tone. I really do need to get out more often.

Ken was setting the table. "Come on in and have a seat," he said, also gifting her with a delicious smile. When she felt heat fluttering between her legs, she quickly broke eye contact with him. Those blue eyes of theirs were deadly to a woman's reserve, gay or not.

Le sigh. "I appreciate it. Is there anything I can do to help?"

"Nope," Charles said. "It's all under control."

Ken held out a chair for her, and she offered him a bashful smile as she sat and he helped her scoot her chair in. "What would you like to drink?" he asked. "We have iced tea, water, or I can make you some coffee."

"Tea's fine, thanks." The caffeine might keep her up, but she didn't care. She sensed a fairly energetic rendezvous in her immediate future with Bob once she got back to her apartment.

Those always helped her get to sleep.

When they were all seated and working on their salads, Charles asked, "So, have you lived in Florida all your life?"

She nodded while she worked through a mouthful of romaine lettuce. "Born and raised here. I did have an offer to go to New York City after I graduated from school, but..." She felt her face redden in embarra.s.sment, wondering how this would sound. "I turned it down." She quickly stuffed another forkful of salad into her mouth.

"Why?" Charles asked.

Why indeed? If anyone else had told her the same thing, she would have called them crazy. Unless they tacked on the qualifier. "I honestly didn't think I could do it," she softly admitted. "There are days it's all I can do to drag myself out of bed and downstairs, especially in the winter. Here in Florida, winters are nonexistent when you compare them to harsh New England weather." She shrugged. "It was less disappointing to turn it down, I guess."

"Ah," Ken said. "I thought you were going to tell us your boyfriend refused to let you go."

She let out a snort. "h.e.l.l, no. I'm single. I was single then, too. I'd already divorced the a.s.shole and moved back home with Mom and Dad."

"This sounds like a story," Charles said.

She shrugged and took another bite of salad to buy her a moment to compose her thoughts. "My fibro cranked up in college. I was in an auto wreck at the beginning of my junior year, and apparently that's a really common trigger. I barely made it through the full four years at USF. I met my ex while I was going there, in my freshman year. I'd planned on teaching and going for my master's, but by the time I graduated with my bachelor's, I knew I couldn't do it." She studied her plate for a moment. "I was stupid and married him before my junior year started, not three months before the accident." She frowned. "I guess he forgot about the in sickness' clause in our vows."

With a deep breath, she forced a smile. "He was cheating on me not too long after that, when I wasn't bouncy enough in bed for him. Unfortunately, it took me a couple of years to figure that part out. When I found out, I divorced his a.s.s and moved home. Mom and Dad made me stay with them, to build up my strength and confidence. I always had liked to bake. Dad told me I should look into culinary school. That maybe I could find a job with a catering company or something that wouldn't be as stressful as a restaurant job."

She thought back with a wistful smile on her face. "My fibro did get somewhat better after I divorced him. I think the stress of not fighting with Kevin anymore helped."

"Kevin?" Charles asked. "Your ex?"

"Yeah. The rat b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Her smile faded. "I'd only been home a couple of months with the ink barely dry on our final divorce decree when the accident happened. Kevin had the b.a.l.l.s to approach me at my parents' funeral and ask if I wanted to get back together again." She stabbed at a piece of lettuce with her fork. "No imagination needed there. He was all smarmy and fake concerned. I could see the dollar signs in his eyes."

"Ah," Ken said.

"Yeah." She took another bite. "They had insurance, plus Grover helped me file a lawsuit and sue the f.u.c.k out of the drunk driver that hit and killed them."

"I'm sorry," Charles said. "How long ago was that?"

"Eight years." She took a deep breath and forced a cheery smile she suspected didn't fool them in the least. "I decided the best thing I could do would be to live in honor of my parents' memories and go for it. I sat down one night and thought about what I really wanted to do. The first thing that popped into my mind was what my dad had said about culinary school. I realized I wanted to own my own bakery. And it wouldn't leave my head. So off to culinary school I went. And now..." She waved her hand around the room. "I bought this building two years ago, sold my parents' house, and here I am."

"I'm sure they'd be very proud of you," Ken said.

"I hope so. I'd like to think so. Grover keeps telling me they would be, and I have no reason to doubt him."

"He seemed very protective of you the other day," Charles observed.

A true smile. "He's another dad to me. His wife, Connie, she died almost four years ago. My parents weren't huge churchgoers, but Connie and Grover were my G.o.dparents when I was born. Grover and my dad worked together for years, had a law firm together before they both retired. My mom and Connie were best friends." She swallowed back the unexpected and painful lump in her throat. "I don't know how I would have made it through the past several years without his family's emotional support."

"So," Ken teased, "does he screen your boyfriends for you?"

She let out another snort. "That's a laugh. What boyfriends?" She took a sip of her tea. "This dinner with you two is the closest thing I've had to a date in a year." Time to quit talking about myself. "So tell me about your families. What's Nebraska like?"

Allan frantically groped for a way to fill in the blanks while praying they didn't end up contradicting themselves or each other in the process. "Well, it's not Florida." What he knew about Nebraska was that they had a team called the Cornhuskers, and Penny from The Big Bang Theory hailed from there.

I'm going to need a trip to Wikipedia later if I'm going to do this convincingly for any length of time.

"Thank G.o.d," Ben added, throwing a warning glance his way.

They'd agreed to keep the details to a minimum, lessening the chance of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g things up. Allan hated lying. As a prosecutor, his job was getting to the truth. Ben on the other hand had way more practical experience in staying undercover and keeping a story straight.

h.e.l.l, it was all he could do to remember he wasn't supposed to be straight and to not start flirting with her. She'd seemed so sad when skimming over the details of her divorce and her parents' deaths. He longed to reach over and give her a hug, give her a comforting set of arms to relax into.

He mentally shook his head. Must. Focus.

"How are you guys related?" she asked. "You said you were cousins?"

The men spoke at the same time.

"Our fathers-" Ben said.

"Our mothers-" Allan said.

Both men's mouths snapped shut. Allan thought the fastest and beat Ben to the punch while Libbie's brow furrowed in confusion. "My dad and his brother married his mom and her sister," he quickly said.

He noted the desperate look on Ben's face, so Allan quickly threw in, "It was a double wedding."

Libbie was looking at him and missed the arched brow and warning look Ben gave him from across the table. When she looked at Ben, Allan sent him an apologetic shrug.

"What?" she asked.

"Two brothers married two sisters," Ben added. "Sorry, he always says that confusing. We're double cousins. Our fathers are brothers and our mothers are sisters."

"Oh," she said, not looking like she was any less confused. "Does that happen a lot?"

"It apparently does in Nebraska," Allan muttered as he took a swig of tea.

If Ben could, he'd reach across the table and slap the c.r.a.p out of his brother.

So much for keeping it simple.

"They grew up in the same town," he added as he glared at Allan when Libbie focused on his brother again. "Small town outside of Omaha," he quickly added when he remembered they were supposed to be from Omaha.

"I imagine the winters are cold there, huh?"

"So do I," Allan said. "I mean, yeah, you're right, they are," he quickly added upon spotting Ben's frantic warning look.

"Well, I guess that explains why you both look so much alike," she observed. "Makes sense."

"Yeah, we've gotten that all our lives," Ben said. He hoped they made it through dinner without blowing their cover. The guys would never let me hear the end of it back at the station. I made it three years in a New Jersey mob family, just to have a baker find out the truth in one dinner because my brother's an idiot.

"Any brothers or sisters?" she asked.

"Nope," Ben said. "We're both only children. We grew up like brothers, though. Very close."

"Ah. Oh, I was curious. I noticed you didn't have a Nebraska plate on the front of your car when I went out. Are they like Florida and just use one tag?"

Ben didn't dare risk throwing a glance Allan's way because he sensed his brother had frozen up. "I hit the tag office first thing this morning," Ben said before taking a swig of tea to buy him some time. "Already changed them."

"Oh."

"Ready for soup?" Allan quickly asked to change the topic.

Ben breathed a sigh of relief and hoped he could steer the conversation clear of their fict.i.tious families of origin and license plates that didn't exist. He mentally smacked himself in the head. The truck they'd borrowed belonged to another retired cop friend of his, one he knew was clean, who lived in Palm Beach. His own car was safely stashed in his friend's garage. Stupidly, in the rush to get out of Miami, he'd forgotten that little detail about license plates.

I need to get my head on straight. Ben stood and picked up his salad bowl, offering to take hers as well since she'd finished.

"Thanks." She gave him a warm smile with more than just a hint of sadness coloring her features.