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Whip it into shape is essentially code for drug bust at this point. But nobody knows anything about my narcotic intentions—other than Jed Silver, of course.
I glance to the bar and, sure enough, there he is—tall, quasi-handsome in a cheesy villain-like way, wearing an ill-fitting suit, and surrounded by a couple of all too familiar women, Noah’s sister, Sam, and my sister, Meg.
I offer a meager smile before stepping toward Everett, and all of the women surrounding him flutter away like pigeons.
“Hello, beautiful.” Everett pulls me close and offers a heated kiss to my lips. “How are you doing?”
“I’m exhausted. As soon as I get home, I’m going straight to sleep.”
“Are you sure about that?” His lips curve just enough to let me know he has different plans in mind.
“I suppose I could be coerced into staying up a little past my bedtime.”
“Let the coercing begin,” he says as he gives me a kiss that’s twice as heated than the last.
“Oh, cool it, would you?” a female voice snarks and we pull back to see my trusty employee, Lily Swanson, looking a bit bedraggled while holding a tray full of luscious lasagna.
Lily’s dark hair is pulled back into a messy bun, her eyeliner is smudged, and her apron is covered with marinara sauce.
“Lottie, this place is way too busy for its britches,” she says. “You need to speak to your sister. She’s doing way too good of a job in the kitchen. As it stands, we have a one hour waiting list to get into this place.”
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’ll increase the waitstaff. In fact, I’ll start hiring in the morning.”
“Don’t you dare,” she’s quick to scold me. “I’m not sharing my tips with anyone. And don’t worry, I’ll still be working for you at the bakery. But let’s face it, the tips I get here in the evenings are enough to retire on.” She takes off and I sigh in her wake.
“Well, I suppose she can keep working here after we sell the place,” I say.
Everett’s brows dip, giving him an even more forcefully delicious appeal.
“The place is pumping, Lemon. You might just want to keep it.”
Everett has almost always called me by my surname, and it makes me giddy each time he says it.
Despite the fact I have two husbands, I have never bothered to change my surname, because as much as I love them, I also love it.
“Believe me”—I say, giving his tie a quick tug—“as soon as this place can stand on its own two feet, we’re going to pass it like a hot potato to whoever will take it.”
“Says you,” Carlotta grouses as she straightens that hexed crown on her head. “This is the first thing in my life that I’ve had any success with. You’re going to have to pry it from my cold, dead hands.”
I’m about to set her straight on just why this place is so successful when Meg and Sam descend upon us, sans Jed, thankfully.
I glance back to the bar and see that two men have taken their places, a thin man with dark hair and a chubby guy with a wreath of gray hair, both in dark suits, both speaking rather intently to Jed.
It’s bad enough Jed is hanging around. Personally, I’m shocked Everett and Noah haven’t handed him a restraining order to keep him off the property.
Not even they know about my drug wheeling and dealing intentions when it comes to nabbing the evil that’s bent on destroying our little corner of Vermont.
“Gee, Essex.” Sam bats her lashes up at my man in a flirtatious move that I highly disapprove of.
Sam used to date Everett way back when, and she’s never stopped reminding him of it. And the fact she calls him by his formal moniker is practically a bullhorn to all around that she’s slept with him. I’m not sure why, but all of the women Everett’s slept with use his formal moniker as a parting gift.
He was a serious playboy before we got together.
“You never kissed me that way,” she coos in an annoying baby voice.
Case in point.
I take a moment to frown at Noah’s twin. She’s pretty, with her short dark hair and pouty lips. She has verdant green eyes and Fox-issued dimples. She essentially looks like Noah in female skin. And seeing that Lyla Nell bears a strong resemblance to her daddy as well, I always feel as if I’m being treated to an adult version of what my baby girl will look like one day—sans the attitude, of course.
