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Her eyes hook to mine and she stops cold.
“Judge Baxter?” She laughs, and it’s then I realize who she is. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”
“The woman from the courthouse,” I say, my antennae going up without warning.
“Yes.” She laughs again. “I just moved into the neighborhood. Don’t tell me this is your home.” Her eyes widen as she looks up at the house I share with Lemon. “What a freaky coincidence.”
And this is where she loses me.
I don’t believe in coincidences.
Her olive complexion, her lips, her eyes—I study them all at record speed.
Should I know her?
Before Lemon came along, I slept with an entire legion of women. Some of them have come back for revenge.
Is that what she’s after?
Her eyes slowly meander over my face, tracing down my body like a promise, one I don’t care for.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you around the courthouse.” She checks her smartwatch. “I’m getting a late start. I’d better get moving myself.” She glances up at the house. “What a gorgeous home you have.” Her eyes cut to mine. “Your wife must be so very happy.”
Silence crops up between us as if we’ve reached a stalemate.
“See you later,” she calls out as she jogs back to where she came from.
“See you later,” I mutter.
And I have a feeling I will.
I climb into the truck and sit there for a moment, trying to let what just happened roll right out of my mind. I had another purpose for leaving earlier than usual today. And it was this—
I pull out my phone and dial a number I never thought I’d call.
“Judge Merrick,” a voice pipes up on the other end.
“Albert, it’s me, Everett.” I pause a moment to glance up at the house as Lemon and Charlie run through my mind. “I’m ready to call in that favor now.”
LOTTIE
There’s something about the beginning of summer that turns Honey Hollow into a haven for tourists as people flock to our cozy little town from far and wide. It’s most likely the lure of the sparkling blue lake that sits at the end of Main Street, but judging by the masses that have made their way through the bakery doors, my sweet treats may have a little something to do with it.
Confession.
I have a secret weapon when it comes to bewitching the masses to turn their feet in the direction of my bakeshop.
In a word—cinnamon rolls.
Okay, so that’s two words. And those two words just so happen to be too delicious.
Not only are my cinnamon rolls soft and gooey and slathered with intoxicating cream cheese frosting, but they happen to hold a heavenly scent while baking that has the power to sail all the way down Main Street and beyond.
I’ve heard rumors you can catch the scent of the delectable delights all the way down to the lake if the breeze is just right. And that scent is far too tempting to resist, even for me, thus the fact Lyla Nell and I are nibbling on a cinnamon roll at the moment.
“Mmm,” Lyla Nell moans so loud as she takes a bite, my ears twitch.
“Mmm.” Teeny Weenie does his best to mimic her, and I must say, his pitch is perfect.
