16. Lottie

LOTTIE

“ I should have had both you and Mayor Nash arrested for that little stunt you pulled last night,” I snip at Carlotta as she noshes on a chocolate éclair while seated at the counter right here in the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery.

It’s the next day after that far too explicit disaster that started off at my mother’s B&B and wormed its way under my roof in record time.

“Oh, please, Lot.” Carlotta waves her chocolate-covered fingers dismissively. “You’re just mad because you didn’t think of it first.”

The late afternoon sun filters through the giant floor-to-ceiling windows of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, casting a warm, golden hue over the glass cases filled with an array of confections that could tempt even the most hardened carb deflector.

Raspberry tarts glisten like rubies next to lemon bars dusted with powdered sugar, and the triple chocolate brownies—sinful little squares of decadence—sit proudly on display, daring anyone to resist them. I certainly can’t.

I’m about to indulge in all of the above, but not before I finish giving her a piece of my mind.

“No, I’m not mad that I didn’t think of it first,” I counter. “For your information, my mind has gone to far more indecent places—a trait I’m positive I received from you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I’m mad because it kept my adrenaline pumping all night.”

Carlotta’s grin widens and she gets that deranged look in her eyes. “And according to all the thumping and bumping coming from your bedroom, you didn’t waste a single ounce of that adrenaline surge. Once again— you’re welcome. ”

“Good grief.” I roll my eyes so hard I’m surprised they don’t pop out of my head and fall onto Carlotta’s plate. Although if they did, she would have eaten them. Carlotta is so the type that would eat her young. Quite frankly, I’m shocked my story didn’t end at my birth. “You’re incorrigible,” I tell her.

“And you’re well-rested,” Carlotta bites back. “Just another satisfied customer. I should go into business.”

Before I can stomp out any big, yet dicey, business dreams she might be having, a deep chuckle rumbles through the room as Petey materializes on the stool next to her in all of his ten-foot-tall ghostly glory. His translucent fur shimmers faintly in the afternoon light, and he’s so mesmerizing, that even Lyla Nell is calling out for him from across the bakery.

“ Mine ,” she shouts. “Big Pete Pete, mine! ”

It’s safe to say she and Petey have been bonding. She lured him into her crib last night and then didn’t let go of his fur until morning. She can be strong-willed about which stuffed animals she wants to sleep with, and always seems to get her way in that department.

Let’s hope that doesn’t transfer to men when she’s older.

Granted, Petey isn’t a stuffed animal. But let’s face it, that ten-foot tall, and just about that wide, ball of fluff more or less qualifies.

“Did I hear someone mention adrenaline surges?” Petey’s voice is low and gravelly, and if I didn’t know better, I’d swear he was trying to be seductive. He nods my way. “And seeing Carlotta is at the helm of this conversation, I have a feeling I know exactly how those adrenaline surges were achieved.”

He’s been here for all of five hot minutes and he basically knows her inside out.

“Back in my day, those surges led to some wild nights at the zoo.” He strums out a chuckle and Carlotta laughs it up right there with him. “I had a little harem back when I was still ruling the roost. Let’s just say the zookeepers were shocked when they witnessed those adrenaline surges. They said it was a bad public image for the zoo and even threatened to separate us if those shenanigans went on.”

“Petey, please.” I try to stifle a laugh, but it bubbles up anyway. “The last thing I need is mental images of you causing that kind of chaos at the zoo.”

“Chaos?” He winks my way. “Oh, sweetheart, it was more like organized chaos. And I gave those girls the ride of their li?—”

“Bear claws, anyone?” I quickly whip out half a dozen from the pastry shelf and Petey’s mouth falls open as he looks from me to Carlotta.

“Did she just threaten me?” he asks with an incredulous tone to his voice.

“Welcome to my world,” Carlotta says, handing him one of the sweet treats. “She threatens me twice a day. Enjoy the bear claw. It’s basically a cross between a donut and a Danish that Lot Lot has filled with marzipan.”

“Sounds delicious.” He gobbles down four at a time before glancing around at the place. “I think I’ll pay Lyla Nell a visit. I see she’s nibbling on a cheese Danish, and these claws have gotten me in the mood for Danishes.”

Effie and Lily scoot up to the counter, each of them grinning like they’ve just heard the juiciest bit of gossip.

“All right, Carlotta”—Effie lands another chocolate éclair onto her plate—“I’ll keep the bear claws coming if you promise to spill the tea. Whose bedroom was doing its best impression of a zoo? Yours or Lottie’s?”

“ Please ,” Lily grunts as she pulls a glazed cruller out for herself. “Have you met Essex?”

Essex .

I roll my eyes again.

Everett prefers to go by his middle name, but for some reason the legion of women who slept with my husband before I arrived on the scene demand to use his proper moniker like some sort of a parting gift.

I squint over at Lily. I’d swear she had never been Essexed, but then the twins seem to have eaten just about all of my brain cells and I can hardly remember my own name anymore, let alone keep track of who calls my husband what.

All I know is he’s a judge in some courthouse somewhere.

Or maybe he’s a judge in a swimsuit competition?

That would explain a lot of things.

“I bet there was a lot more than just chaos in Lottie’s bedroom last night,” Effie says while sounding an awful lot like a cat toying with a canary. A very round canary pregnant with twins.

Lily nods to Carlotta. “She had a little Essex session, didn’t she? Of course, she did.” She turns my way. “You’re married to the man. That gives you both legal and Biblical rights to get Essexed as often and long as you want. You’d be a fool not to.” She smacks her lips my way. “You’ve been a fool before, Lottie. Don’t mess this one up.”

“I’m not. Everett is a gift—that keeps on giving.” I fan myself as I say it and I can’t help getting lost in a visual of last night’s sultry shenanigans.

“And what a gift it is,” Lily adds with a sly smile.

She snaps me right out of my dirty daydream, and I’m about to swat her with a kitchen towel when Suze catches my eye, busy at the crepe station with her back ramrod straight, staring out into open space as if she was anywhere but in this bakery.

Wherever her thoughts have zipped her off to, I’m pretty sure it has something to do with the dead man that showed up on Christmas night. What I wouldn’t do to be able to read her devious little mind.

The bell on the door jingles as a couple of customers leave, each clutching a pink box tied with a satin ribbon, and each of their expressions is of pure, sugary satisfaction.

It’s a good day. Or it would be, if it weren’t for the fact that Suze has been giving me the cold shoulder all morning, one that would make an iceberg feel like a campfire. But I suppose that’s par for the course.

I’m about to head her way when the door jingles again, and this time an entire crowd bustles in with half of them headed to the crepe station and the other half to the registers—well, all but one.

This hot mess is headed straight for me, and there’s not a thing I can do about it.