One week later, we're settled in. And I have to admit? It looks a-MAZ-ing in here.

We've got a large glass display case in front, one of those gorgeous high-end deals that Kathlyn somehow scored on Craigslist, housing our homemade cookies and baked goods. That segues beautifully to our smoothie stand, and to the far left we've got a brightly lit display of little bottles of essential oil blends that Ruby swears by. We've strung fairy lights and set out candles, the decor Ruby's specialty. And honestly? The girl nailed it.

I'm a little surprised, to be honest, because… our place is hopping.

I say it's because of Kathlyn's connections. Bitch's got rich investors all up the fuck, thanks to Mommy and Daddy. Turns out when you're opening up a business, it really helps to have connections.

Kathlyn says it has something to do with Ruby's energetic healing or something. And hell, maybe it does.

Both of them say it has something to do with my social media marketing. But I'm not really sure if that's it either. I'd done a little research and found out ways to market new places and businesses. I got us a sweet Groupon deal, have been snapping pictures for our Instagram, and we have some friends that have spread the word.

Honestly, though? I think it helps that today is the first sunny day in Boston.

You can't underestimate the effects of good weather around here.

Other people in warmer climates might not really get it, but we BosDanyans hibernate in winter. We start to emerge from our caves at about mid-March, and by April, when the trees are starting to show hard, green little nubs and the crocuses push their heads out of the frozen earth, we start to feel hopeful again.

That said, April in Boston's as unpredictable as a bitch in heat. Spin the wheel and what will you get? Warm and sunny, with the balm of a southern climate? Or spin again and land on… cold and blustery, bringing northern winds and icy rain or snow.

So an early April sunny day feels like a gift from the gods.

But I'm not the world's best optimist. I consider myself a realist, and the realist in me is waiting for the other shoe to drop. The honeymoon phase to wear off.

Things are… too good. Too fast.

And we haven't heard a peep from our neighbor, which means we're kind of holding our breath. He has a reputation, and rumor has it he doesn't want us here.

Kathlyn's chatting it up beside me at the smoothie bar, Ruby's gathering a group for a yoga session, and I'm dusting the glass display case of cookies next to Kathlyn when the door opens and a little girl rushes in. She looks over her shoulder like someone's following her, and I pause mid-swipe as she makes a beeline straight for me.

"You're her."

I blink in surprise at the little pipsqueak. She's got to be about six or seven years old. And she looks… strangely like me. She's got the same dark brown, wildly curly hair, and even a teeny pair of adorable glasses. When she reaches the display, I see her eyes are a deep, chocolate brown just like mines, she definetly could be a mini-me, except for the smattering of freckles across her cheeks.

Impossible, of course. I have no progeny because that would require sex.

"I'm… her?" I ask.

She looks to her left and right, like she's being hunted, like she's a detective or something. I know the moves. Then once she's apparently satisfied that the coast is clear, she leans in and waves her fingers at me to come closer. I do.

"You're Regina Mills."

I nod. "That's me." My name isn't a secret. There's even been an article in the Boston Globe about the newest store owners of the spring, and we were featured. But there's something about the way she says it that makes me feel like she knows more than my name.

She leans in even closer. "You're the detective."

I draw in a breath, leaning on the glass myself. We don't advertise our services, but I'm not going to deny it either. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm not," I say, eyeing her warily. I barely refrain from saying, "What's it to you?" like a gangster.

"Oh, you are," she says with absolute confidence. "And I need your help."

Oh, dear.

A casual glance at the faded tee that barely fits her, faded jeans that are a tad too short, and her thin pair of flip flops tells me that our client fees start at a price far, far above this girl's pay grade.

But I'm not the sort to be cruel to children, either. So instead, I decide to at least be polite.

"And your name is…?"

"Daniella."

I extend my hand, and she takes it, utterly serious.

"Pleased to meet you, Daniella," I begin. "Why don't you tell me why you're here?"

She takes in a deep breath, climbs up onto one of the barstools we have at the smoothie bar, and places her hands flat on the counter, like she's about to sign a business contract with me.

"I need you to find my mother."

Before I can react, the door to the shop swings open and I swear the estrogen gods wave their magic wands and every ovary spontaneously contracts, as none other than Emmett Swan himself comes our way.

I know who he is. Everyone from here to the West Coast knows who he is.

Ruby's going on about some locust pose something-something, and she freezes mid-speech. Even Kathlyn's smoothie blender stops mid-spin.

And… gods. I've never seen Swan up close, and I can see now why the paparazzi lose their collective shit when the man clears his throat.

He towers over everyone in the room, his shoulders brushing the doorway as he enters. And I kinda thought we had a pretty decent-sized doorway. He ducks, just as his head bonks the little jingly bell that tells us we have a new customer. I wince as he glowers at it, half expecting it to incinerate from the heat of his glare, then he shrugs with effortless grace and walks into the shop.

Into our shop.

"I knew this day would come," Kathlyn whispers beside me. Her whisper becomes a whine. "But why did he have to come in on a day I'm wearing a crewneck?" She's always going on about her breasts being her best feature, and I can't blame her. Next time, she definitely needs the V-neck. Girl's got tits for days and ought to showcase them.

But while I would normally give her a sympathetic look or a pat on the arm, I can't seem to even swivel my eye sockets from the specimen of absolute masculine perfection who's moving over to me with the grace of a prowling mountain lion.

Lethal. Powerful. Predatory.

I do the quickest, most delicious, not at all discreet once-over I can as he makes his way over to me. I grip the counter for support in the most casual way possible.

His face. My God, that face, like the manly version of Helen of Troy, the face that launched a thousand ships. He's all hard angles and strength, somehow softened by gorgeous eyes framed with long lashes that are way too pretty for a man like him. Combined with a perfectly straight nose and lips that look like they'd know what to do to a woman. And his eyes… oh boy… not sure if they are green like forest or blue like the ocean but either way you will definetly get lost in them.

Shiver.

He's wearing this pale, robin's egg blue dress shirt, open at the collar, no tie. Good Lord, there's this little triangle of pale skin that peeks out, and my mouth goes dry. The sleeves are rolled up, accentuating the pale skin of his arms, all corded muscles and veiny in that "I lift weights for breakfast" kinda way some men have. Strong, powerful arms that could hold a girl down in the most delicious of ways. Effortlessly. Maybe even with one hand.

Hel-lo.

He looks like he's just shrugged off his suit coat at the end of a long day, and now he's—

Talking to me. "There you are."

Oh.

Oh, my.

Why yes, Mr. Swan, that's probably the best pick-up line I've ever heard.

My fingers graze my collarbone and I flash him my most fetching grin. There are some rumors about him being an ass but blah blah whatever, a girl has needs.

"Hello there," I begin, when he reaches the little girl, wraps his fingers around her wrist, and gives her a little tug so she hops down from the stool.

Kathlyn snorts and whispers, "Bitch, you thought he was talking to you."

I elbow her, but she keeps on snorting.

Daniella, however, is not amused. She is also the only girl in this entire shop immune to Swan's charm. She yanks her hand out of his.

"Don't you touch me," she says. "I'll call the police."

Kathlyn looks at me in surprise, and then we both look at Swan. His jaw firms, but he takes a step back from Daniella, then crouches down so he can look at her eyeball-to-eyeball.

"You can't run away from me like that." That voice. Dear God, that voice, all silky smooth and stern. So deliciously stern.

She rolls her eyes. "Puh-lease."

I stifle a grin. The girl has attitude up the wazoo, and I love her.

"Daniella," he says in a warning tone, all bossy. "Behave yourself."

I clutch the counter for support. His voice is all deep and husky and doing all sorts of strange things to my body.

I'm not the only one that felt that vibe. Kathlyn's begun to fan herself with the smoothie maker lid.

"Oh God," she whispers. "Aren't we supposed to hate him?"

"What?" Daniella snaps at him. "I came here to talk to Regina."

He narrows his eyes. "Who's Regina?"

Why do I feel guilty?

I raise my hand. Raise my hand, like he's my professor and he's calling on me in class.

I wish. I would intentionally break the rules just so he'd keep me after class. And then I'd—With effort, I pull myself back to the present.

What is wrong with me? Overworked and undersexed.

"I'm Regina," I say, and my voice is all weirdly squeaky. Kathlyn snorts again. This time, I stomp on her traitorous foot.

That gets his attention. He gives me a sharp look I feel straight between my thighs, then he unfolds himself as he stands, facing me. I wasn't prepared for the full power of his gaze on me. I could maybe handle it if there was an ounce of friendliness to him, but he's glaring at me.

And for some reason? That breaks the spell.

He's just a man. Just a man who puts his pants on one leg at a time like anyone else. He may be a beautiful man, he may be a powerful man, but he's still just a man. And does he have something to do with this little girl who just came to me for help?

And is there a reason that little girl told him not to touch her?

She said she needed me, and this little girl needs an advocate.

"May I help you?" I ask, in what I hope is a cool tone of voice. I hold my head a little aloof, even. I'm proud of myself.

"Ahh. Regina," he says, his enunciation of each syllable flicking my lady parts, one beat at a time. "You're the irresponsible owner of this shop who decided it was a good idea to paint the awning that hideous shade of pink."

He did not just say that!

Ass!

"Fuchsia," I correct. "And actually, no, that was Kathlyn." I give him one of those smiles-that-I-hope-doesn't-reach-my-eyes and extend my hand. "And you are...?"

I don't want him to know I know exactly who he is, and I may have even Googled his net worth over breakfast.

He eyes my hand coolly, then finally extends his, and yes, ohmygod, his hand is every bit as warm and masculine and virile as his —

"Emmett Swan," he says in that voice like chocolate fondue.

His voice. Yes, his voice.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

Kathlyn recovers from the foot stomp and so intrudes on our little moment.

"I'm Kathlyn. The fuchsia one. I mean, I'm the one that painted the awning hideous," she says in a breathy voice, like she's confessing a sin she hopes he'll punish her for.

He shakes her hand, gives her a polite nod, then turns the full force of his gaze back to me.

"You've violated zoning and community seller regulations," he says. "You'll be hearing about that later." He jerks his head at Daniella. "And you. Come with me." He turns and starts to go.

"No." Daniella crosses her arms over her chest, and we all give a collective gasp.

No one tells Emmett Swan no. Supreme Court Justices don't tell Emmett Swan no. And this little pipsqueak just takes him on.

He's halfway to the door, as if it never crossed his mind that she wouldn't follow him, when he freezes mid-step.

He turns back to face her.

"Excuse me?"

Do what he says! I want to scream at her, while at the Same time, I give a silent little fist pump. You go girl!

"I'm not leaving until I talk to Regina," Daniella says. Balls of steel, I tell ya. "We have business to conduct."

Oh I love her.

He turns his narrowed, furious gaze back to me as if I just paid her to say that, and glances at his watch. It's a very nice watch, I note. Probably a very expensive, very nice watch. I didn't know manly watches were hot until today.

He scowls. "Why?"

"That's private."

He looks back to me, and I realize I need the small audience who's watching this all unfold to evaporate, and now. I look helplessly to my friends as he stalks back to me, and thank the heavens, those girls read my mind. Ruby and Kathlyn spring into action. Ruby gathers her yoga troops and takes them out to the studio.

"Free samples!" Kathlyn says, pouring smoothies into little plastic Reginaple cups. "Taste our It Takes Two to Mango flavor on the house!"

I turn to the little girl. "Why don't you come to my office, Daniella," I say, as professionally as I can.

Swan frowns and snags a smoothie Reginaple. Somehow, it feels like a minor win.

"We'll be right back."

"I'll join you," he says. Then he looks at Daniella and scowls. "If that's alright with you, that is."

She nods. "It's fine."

Great. Problem is, I don't actually have an office. I have two folding chairs in the kitchen next to a little card table, and a notepad. It's part of the whole front.

Furthermore, Prince is in his little crate taking a doggy nap. He's not technically allowed back there, so that could pose a problem.

I gesture for Swan to join us. He stands to the side, hands in pockets, as Daniella sits across from me. Her little feet dangle, she's so little. We keep it clean in here, but there's no air, and it's like being stuffed into an oven. I fan myself, and it has nothing to do with Swan raising the temperature in here.

Nothing.

"Daniella, what can I help you with?" I ask, lifting my pen and preparing my notepad, as Prince chooses that moment to make little doggie yip sounds.

Uh oh. I ignore it. Maybe he'll go back to sleep.

"I'm here because I need to find my mother."

Right. She said that. Oh, God. My heart twangs.

She says it so calmly, like she's ordering from our smoothie bar and not talking about a hunt for the person who's probably the most important human in her entire world.

I glance up at Swan, whose eyes meet mine in surprise. For one brief moment, so quickly I almost miss it, there's warmth and curiosity in those eyes instead of the cool aloofness he adopts more readily. Then the moment passes and his gaze shutters once more. He holds my eyes as he sips his sample. Those lips. Those full, gorgeous, sinful lips —

"Your mother," I repeat, trying to hide the panic in my voice as I look back to her and Prince makes a louder, more insistent yip.

Shit.

But the wheels are spinning, and I'm trying to get an idea of what we're dealing with.

What does Swan have to do with this girl? The case of a disappearing mother is never a promising start. He isn't her father, I know that much. I've perused every article online I could find about him, and everyone knows he's single and doesn't have any children.

Unless the media's planted all that so there's hope for the rest of us.

"What else can you tell me?"

Daniella starts where I don't expect her to, by jerking her thumb over her shoulder. "He's my uncle."

"Yip yip YIP!"

I swing my eyes back to his. He sighs and nods, and I swear my nipples perk up. I have to get a grip on my raging hormones. It would help if he didn't sip that smoothie sample with such seductive flair.

There's a story there, and I need to find out what it is. With effort, I shake off the sexual tension vibe and focus on what's most important right now, but first…

"Just a minute," I say. With a sigh, I open the little closet door where Prince is ensconced in his nap time crate. He leaps to his feet and wags his whole butt and I melt a little, like I do every time he treats me like a celebrity.

Ignoring Swan's groan, I open the crate and Daniella gives a little squeal. "You have a dog!"

"Meet Prince," I say with a grin.

"What kind of a dog is he?"

Prince intuitively knows Daniella needs a little attention, so he scoots on over to her and hops right up into her lap.

"He's a shih tzu."

Daniella's eyes grow wide. "You called him a swear word!"

I look helplessly at Swan, whose lips look like they're twitching and he's doing his level best to stay all stern and commanding.

It's a look that suits him well, I'm not complaining.

Then Prince sees him, and his body goes rigid.

Uh oh. He starts to growl, then to my utter horror, lunges himself right off Daniella's lap and bolts toward Swan.

Swan scowls, snaps his fingers, and orders in that commanding baritone, "No. Down."

He points to the floor.

And to my utter shock, Prince lies down and obeys his command.

Not that I blame him. I'm kind of surprised I'm not lying on the floor myself.

Ask me again, big guy.

I give myself a mental shake and focus back on Daniella.

"Daniella," I say gently. "You are correct that I do take on private investigations and the occasional case." I ignore Emmett's eye roll and make a vow to ask Kathlyn to add the "smooth move" regularity supplement to his next smoothie. Double dose. "But we don't deal with cases of missing people," I finish.

Never have. They're far too complicated, personal and, sadly, rarely end happily. "There are cases we take and there are cases for the police. This case is one that would be better handled by the police."

She resolutely shakes her head and crosses her arms. "Nope. They can't help me. You have to."

I look back to Swan involuntarily.

He frowns. "I can't help either. This is the first I've heard of this. Daniella's just come into my care recently."

She rolls her eyes. "What he means is, he's got" —she pauses to make air quotes— "'important business' to do, so I stay with Winnie while he's away and he's got a nanny for me."

"Actually, three," he bites out. "She's gone through three in as many days."

I look from her to him, then back to her again. "Why three nannies?"

She shrugs. "I was testing them out."

Oh, God. She makes me want to hug her. Seriously, whereas other people might find challenging children off-putting, I feel a kinship with this girl. She's intelligent. Misunderstood. Hurt.

Just like I was.

I was that girl with a too-big vocabulary, eyes magnified by heavy lenses, eschewed by her peers… on the hunt to find her mother.

Only my story ended in heartache.

I make a vow right then, right there, that hers won't.

I hope I don't regret this.

"We'll discuss the nannies later," I say to her. And we will. Running off nannies isn't cool. But for now, I need to at least hear her story. "Tell me everything you know."