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“Morning!” Cami hops off her stool to come give my legs a hug. Her polka dot apron is covered in the same sticky red substance as her fingers, leaving a nice smear on my sweatpants. Red, white, and blue star clips hold back her wild hair from her face.
“What’s going on?” I cover my mouth to yawn.
“Mommy is going to beat Missy’s butt.” Cami holds out her fist for me to pound.
Lana shoots Cami a glare from over her shoulder.“Camila.”
The kid shrugs. “What did I say?”
“I told you not to repeat that to anyone.”
“Oopsy daisy.” Cami pokes her tongue out of the gap between her teeth.
“Who’s Missy?” I ask.
Lana returns her attention to the stovetop. “My competition.”
“Boo!” Cami makes a big show of turning down her thumbs.
I choke on a laugh. “Competition for what?”
“The Fourth of July bake-off,” Cami answers for her while stealing a strawberry from a large bowl. “Are you coming?”
Shit. I completely forgot the bake-off was still a thing. It’s been a long time since I celebrated Fourth of July the Lake Wisteria way, with the town gathering at the lakeside park for a barbeque and firework show.
I run a hand through my messy hair. “I don’t think so.” If I learned anything from last week’s Strawberry Festival, it’s that spending time around the town only amplifies my anxiety. So, the only way I can limit my alcohol intake and keep Lana happy is if I avoid stressors.
“Oh.” Cami’s shoulders drop.
Sorry, kiddo. This is for the best.
I walk to the stove and peek over Lana’s shoulder. “What are you making?”
She drops a single dot of red food coloring into the pot of strawberries. “Something that is going to make Missy regret ever thinking she could copy my strawberry tres leches cake recipe and get away with it.”
My mouth drops open. Damn, competitive Lana is hot as hell.
“Do you need any help?” I tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, making sure to drag my fingers over the curved slope of her neck before retreating.
Her stirring pauses as her breath hitches. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m almost done.”
“How long have you been at this?” I fill a glass with water and take a sip.
“Five a.m.”
“Seriously? You’re going to fall asleep before you ever make it to the bake-off.”
She shoots me a pointed look. “I can sleep when I’m dead.”
“Would you like to be buried with your trophy?”
She grins. “Absolutely. That and whatever tissue Missy uses to wipe her tears after she loses.”
“This side of you is hot yet somewhat terrifying.”
Her smile is all teeth.
Although Lana said she didn’t need my assistance, I decide to help with the overwhelming number of dishes pouring out of the sink.
