8. Everett

EVERETT

T he morning sun barely filters through the kitchen window, casting a pale winter light over the breakfast table.

“ Daddy, ” Lyla Nell calls out from her highchair as both cats sit on either side of her. “I eat cancakes! ” She does her best to spear a pancake that’s already been cut up for her and smears it in syrup. “Not my kitty cat,” she says my way sternly as she holds the bite of pancakes my way.

Yes, the cats’ names are Pancake and Waffles, and each time we have pancakes or waffles, Lyla Nell sweetly reminds us not to eat the cats.

The cats are a couple of Himalayan brothers, and with all that white fur they have, I highly doubt they’d taste as good with syrup or without.

Lemon’s pancakes and waffles are pretty hard to beat.

“Is that bite for me?” I tease as I bite the air just shy of it and she squeals with joy as she shoves it into her own mouth.

Lemon chuckles as she comes out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee for me.

“Thank you,” I tell her and land a kiss to her lips—one I wish wouldn’t end.

Her belly thumps into my side and I look down.

“Whoa,” I say, placing my hand over it. “Someone is awake.”

“Oh, they’re both awake and you know it. Everett, these kids don’t sleep. I’m really worried about what’s going to happen to us once they get here. I’m going to be a certified zombie.”

“ We’re going to be certified zombies,” I assure her. “I’m officially putting in a request today for paternity leave once the babies are born. You’re not going to do this alone. And if you need a nanny?—”

She lifts a finger my way, and I know better than to continue with the conversation.

“I am perfectly capable of taking care of my babies. This is Honey Hollow, not Fallbrook. We don’t use nannies around here. We’re a hands-on kind of people.”

“That’s right, Lot,” Carlotta barks as she staggers down the stairs with her hair matted down on one side and her PJs twisted every which way. “You got yourself into this pregnant pickle times two, you’ll darn well get yourself out of it. You’re serving eighteen hard years plus time served with Little Yippy. No early release, no parole—just one hundred percent hard time, each and every day.”

Lemon closes her eyes a moment. “Well, if you say it that way, then I might just hire six different nannies, two for each kid. Make it seven. Carlotta, you can use one, too.”

“Just make sure he’s hot,” she grouses.

A rumbling comes from the stairs as Evie heads down as well. She’s already dressed for school and has her backpack hitched on her shoulder and a duffle bag in her arms.

Evie is a student down at Ashford University and she’s living in the dorm on campus as well. And as much as I hate to see her go, each time she leaves, I’m glad she’s living a healthy life. I’m glad about that and the fact she’s close enough to the courthouse to have lunch with her old man now and again.

Evie is a lot like me in every sense, right down to her long dark hair, blue eyes, and no-nonsense outlook on life. I haven’t always known she was my daughter. Her mother kept her locked away in some boarding school and conveniently forgot to mention that I had a child. But Evie has been in my life for a few years now, and I couldn’t be happier.

And as fate would have it, I found out a few weeks ago that I have other biological children as well—twelve-year-old twin girls, Ava and Olivia Griffin.

Their mother is a pediatrician out in Fallbrook, who I have no recollection of sleeping with. And considering I wasn’t exactly discriminating when it came to who fell into my bed, this doesn’t surprise me. They’re off on a ski trip this week with their school, but I’m hoping we can all get together for dinner soon enough.

Lemon has been an angel throughout the entire ordeal. And thankfully, so has the twin’s mother, Haley. There was once a time when I couldn’t picture myself as a father, and now I can’t picture myself without my children. Time is funny that way.

“I, for one, don’t need a nanny,” Evie says as she gives Lemon a quick kiss, high-fives Carlotta, and lands a kiss to Lyla Nell’s cheek as well. “I’ve gotta run.” She comes over and gives the scruff on my cheek a quick scratch before kissing me, too.

“What do you mean, you’ve gotta run?” I bemoan the fact far more than I meant to. “How about a quick bite?”

“Fine,” she says, stealing a bite off Lyla Nell’s plate and sending her little sister into a tirade that leaves her red in the face. Lyla Nell gets her temperament from Noah. I’ve seen him throw a fit or two that goes in that exact same direction.

“What’s going on that has you in such a hurry?” Lemon asks. “Your first class isn’t until one today.”

It’s true. Lemon and I have all but memorized Evie’s schedule.

Evie launches into a story that involves social justice, broken windows, and peaceable solutions.

“And so, after the protest, we’re all going to stage a sit-in right there in the middle of the quad,” she continues. “We did the same thing last weekend. You should’ve seen the dean’s face when he came out and saw us all in tie-dye and singing protest songs from the sixties. It was epic.”

Lottie and I exchange a glance laced with a particular blend of amusement and concern that only comes from parenthood. This isn’t exactly the kind of educational experience we were hoping for when we sent Evie off to school, but it seems she’s making the most of it, in her own unique way. I’d expect nothing less.

“Sounds like a party,” I mutter into my coffee.

“Oh, don’t be such a wet blanket, Sexy,” Carlotta crows. “You know you did the same thing yourself when you were at that hoity-toity college of yours, and you did it while smoking the devil’s lettuce, too.”

She’s not far off, but I’ll never cop to it.

“You tell him, Cray Cray,” Evie says with an impish grin on her face. Cray Cray is the nickname both Evie and Lyla Nell have adapted for Carlotta in lieu of anything remotely close to Grandma. “And the thought of Dad smoking anything? That is so cringe.”

“I’m glad you feel that way,” I tell her. “Please extend those feelings to yourself.”

“You should be proud of Evie Stevie,” Carlotta goes on before turning to Evie. “You’re shaking things up, stirring the pot, keeping those boys on their sexy toes. Take advantage of ’em all! Lord knows they’re ripe for the picking at your age. And pick a few for me while you’re at it, too.”

Evie laughs. “I’m still seeing Conner. I don’t think he’d appreciate me picking up any other guys. Just like I wouldn’t appreciate it if he were picking up any other girls.”

“He had better not be picking up any other girls,” Lemon growls and yet manages to finish it off with a smile. “If that boy even looks in another girl’s direction, he’ll have Fred and Ethel to contend with and he knows it.”

Fred and Ethel would be the matching Glocks Lemon and I have. And yes, Conner Saint is very much aware of the fact that not only are Lemon and I protective over Evie, but so is Evie’s gun-toting Uncle Noah.

Evie grunts, “Mom, do not threaten that boy with bullets. It’s bad enough he has an anxiety attack each time I bring him to the house. He’s terrified of Dad and Uncle Noah.”

I can’t help but growl myself. “It does beg the question what’s behind all that anxiety.”

Clearly, Conner Saint is no saint. And that’s exactly what I’m afraid of.

Saints don’t typically date my daughter. They usually run for cover when they see her coming. But Conner has been in the picture for a few years now and he seems to be a good egg for the most part. At least the parts he allows us to see.

“I’ll catch you guys later,” Evie says as she sails for the exit. “I’ll try to be back for the weekend!”

“Remember not to leave your drinks unattended,” Lemon shouts after her. “Or your food. They can roofie anything! Maybe we should look into those straws that change colors when your drink has been poisoned!”

“I’m on it.” And with that, Evie is out the door.

“Do those straws exist?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “If they don’t, we’re patenting them.”

I nod her way because that’s something I’d throw my money behind.

“Cray Cray”—Lyla Nell calls out—“no take my babies!” she declares as sternly as she can while her big green eyes stare Carlotta down with the intensity only a toddler can muster. She reaches over and places a protective hand on Lemon’s rounded belly. “Mine. All mine !”

Carlotta belts out a laugh. “And you can have ’em. I wouldn’t touch those Little Yippers with a ten-foot pole.” She looks at Lemon and me. “And don’t either of you get any funny ideas about me babysitting either. Before you think of dumping them on me, I know where the fire department is and I’m not afraid to use it.”

Lemon shakes her head at the ceiling. “Don’t worry, Carlotta. I’d have Pancake and Waffles watch the twins before I asked you.”

“And I’d approve that,” I say as my lips curve just for my beautiful wife. “What’s on the agenda today?” I ask as I glance at my watch. It’s time for me to make tracks, too.

“I’m off to the bakery. Not only do I have to bake up a storm, but I’ve got to put a new order in to all of my vendors by three if I want to get all of my supplies in on time for the rest of the month.” Lemon sighs as she rubs her belly. “I don’t know about you, but I’m already exhausted just thinking about all the things I’ve got to do today. And it’s not even eight in the morning.”

I nod, understanding completely. Between the impending birth of our twins, running a bakery, solving murders (because that’s apparently something she’s hell-bent on doing), and keeping up with our ever-growing family, the word overwhelmed doesn’t begin to cover it.

“And what about the case?” I ask as I pull her in and she turns her belly to the side so we can get that much closer.

Her mouth falls open. “Judge Baxter, are you accusing me of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong?”

I tip my head before touching my forehead to hers. “I’m accusing you of being a naturally curious being. One who has a habit of holding conversations with people directly linked to a homicide investigation.”

“Like I said, I’ve got a bakery to run.” She bats her lashes at me, and I nod because I can read between the lash lines.

“Okay, stay safe.” I land a kiss to her lips and linger before kissing Lyla Nell on the forehead, waving to Carlotta and dashing out the door myself.