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It’s twisted, I know. But not nearly as tawdry as it sounds.
Okay, so Everett is my real husband, but technically, Noah and I are hitched, too, and he’s not eager to relieve himself of the title just yet. Or more likely ever.
Anyway, Noah and Everett were the primary reasons why Jed spent the majority of his life in prison for pushing drugs back when they were all in high school. But Jed is out now and busy running a mob boss’ strip club down in Leeds.
Hadn’t I mentioned the town was dicey?
And well, that mob boss, Jimmy Canelli, asked Jed to find out who’s dealing the dirty through Rizzo’s. As far as Jimmy’s concerned, if he can’t deal illegal substances, then no one can. So it only made sense for me to team up with Jed. He’s already headed in the same direction, and I’m practically the new owner of Rizzo’s by proxy.
Here’s hoping I don’t live to regret either of those things, and yet I already do.
The scent of chocolate chip cookies cooling in the kitchen drifts over and woos me back to the present, so I quickly put together a plate of the yummy delights and make a beeline to my mother’s table.
“Fresh baked chocolate chip cookies,” I trill as I land the treats onto the table.
Mom is seated with her two besties, Becca Sawyer Turner, my bestie’s mama, along with Chrissy Nash, the mother of my half-siblings.
Just a few years ago, I found out Mayor Harry Nash was my biological father. Suffice it to say, Carlotta has had a long-running affair with him, and oddly enough, they’re still together. Mostly.
The three women have their hands full of knitting needles and yarn, each working on a project of various lengths, and I catch wind of the tail end of a conversation regarding a rash of fires we’ve had in Honey Hollow these past few weeks.
“Six fires in six weeks.” My mother shakes her head at her friends. “I have it on good authority it’s the work of an arsonist. You know my son-in-law works for the fire department. I have insider information.” She wrinkles her nose and smiles.
It’s true, we’ve had more than a few fires break out, but thankfully, they’ve involved some dry brush and a couple of abandoned sheds. My sister, Lainey, is the one married to a firefighter. Her husband would be where my mother is getting her intel from.
Although, I’ve yet to hear the theory of an arsonist. That’s what I get for burning the candle on both ends, working at the bakery by day and Rizzo’s by night.
It’ll be a miracle if Lyla Nell remembers who I am once this double debacle is through.
Mom winks my way. “Thank you for the fresh baked cookies, Lottie,” she says, quick to grab one.
My mother, Miranda Lemon, is the saint who adopted me after Carlotta left me on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department. She’s a perky honey blonde who loves to get tangled up in more than her fair share of mischief, and her fair share of mischievous men.
“Where’s Lyla Nell?” Mom cranes her neck past me. “Don’t tell me you have her working the kitchen already.”
“Please, she can hardly walk,” I say with a laugh. Lyla Nell is my sweet fifteen-month-old daughter that I share with Noah. “Evie offered to watch her for the night. I need to stop by Rizzo’s Trattoria this evening and make a quick delivery.”
“Ooh, I’ll be there as well,” Mom says as her shoulders jump along with her glee. “My local writing club is having dinner there. It’s the birthday of one of the members. There will just be a few of us.” She takes a bite of the cookie and moans. “I vote we take a break.”
“I second that,” Becca says, tossing her knitting needles to her lap. Becca has dark honey hair with red highlights and high-cut cheekbones that give her that model appeal. She’s the sole reason her twins, my bestie, Keelie, and her sister, Naomi, are so gorgeous to begin with. “I think my fingers are about to fall off.”
Chrissy nods my way with her short blonde blob bouncing around her neck. “A knitting club sounded like a great idea until we actually began knitting.”
I laugh at the thought. “Another club? Don’t you ladies already belong to thirty or forty?”
“Oh, there’s just a few.” Mom is quick to wave me off. “Let’s see, there’s the horticulture club, the book club, the purple hat club, the red hat club, the—”
“I get the picture,” I tell her.
“You’re right, it’s too many clubs with too many busybodies in them.” Mom snaps up another cookie for herself. “And that’s exactly why we’ve started up our own private club.”
“It’s very exclusive, just the three of us,” Becca says sternly as if threatening my mother and Chrissy from adding another member.
I’m sure it’s tempting. Both my mother and Chrissy are notorious social butterflies.
“Besides”—Becca adds—“this way it’s easier to gossip.”
Chrissy nods. “And we can focus on the important things, like running our children’s lives.”
