The second they’re out of earshot, Tamara arches a brow. “That didn’t look like your signature.”
Reid snorts. “Didn’t even look likeletters.”
Chase drops the act, grin stretching ear to ear. “Relax. I signed Michelangelo. That’s who I am tonight, the jokester turtle. Green shell, orange mask, and pizza, the works.” He sweeps his arms at the decorations in my yard, as if unveiling a masterpiece. “And I’mbigon the OTT, baby! You gotta commit to the bit!”
I smile my gratitude as Betty cackles so loud that half the block turns. “Oh, Sugarplum. You just earned yourself one of Betty’s Boopers.”
Chase blinks. “Betty’swhatnow?”
“Boopers, darling.” She holds out a neon-green martini glass toward him. “One sip and—bippity, boppity, boop—you’re on your ass.”
Logan mutters “Christ” into his drink.
Chase, of course, is already bounding up her porch steps. “Hell yes. Gimme that potion, Witchy Woman.”
Zoe blows her whistle after him, shaking her head but grinning. “Technical foul! Turtle brain thinks neon is a safe color to drink!”
Meanwhile, Dusty is working the street party like a seasoned thief, slinking under tables in front yards to swipe hot dogs and unattended cookies. Every so often, a neighbor shrieks, and he trots past with a bread roll hanging out of his mouth like a cigar, tail wagging, and proud of his haul.
Miso, however, has fully staged a coup. She’s stolen Zoe’s whistle, and every single breath out of her tiny gremlin body is met with a shrill blast that ricochets down the block. Zoe’s doubled over, wheezing with laughter, while Eli and Tamara chase after Miso like frantic first-time parents, pleading for their “child” to give it back.
“Give it back, Miso!” Eli groans, lunging for her.
She darts between his legs, a furry torpedo blaring the whistle again.
Tamara claps her hands, desperate. “Mi-soooo, sweetie, please—come here!”
The more they plead, the louder she blows, until half the neighborhood sounds like a fire drill.
Zoe’s still doubled over on the curb, tears streaming. “She’s got more stamina than Chase!”
“HEY!” Chase shouts from the porch, but he laughs as he takes another gulp of his Betty Booper.
Betty decides it’s the perfect time for a life lesson and begins corralling the kids to her corner of the porch with a sweep of herbroom. “Mocktails, sugarplums! Because no one should wait till twenty-one to learn how to shake a proper martini.”
Jake nearly chokes, Theo tucked under one arm. “Betty—no.”
“Betty, YES,” she declares, plunking a plastic shaker into Theo’s tiny hands. It’s filled with apple juice and grenadine, and he immediately slams it against the railing of her porch. Red juice splatters across his lion’s mane.
“Oh my god,” Jake moans, lunging to intercept. “Absolutely not, this is—”
“BRILLIANT!” Chase cuts in, clinking his own cocktail against Betty’s in some deranged cheers.
Meadow beams up at Betty as she’s handed a plastic cup with a wedge of lime on the rim.
“Mine looks like a real cocktail!” she says proudly.
“Itisa real cocktail, darling,” Betty croons. “One of Betty’sBabyBoppers.”
Logan turns his head, horrified. “Babywhat?”
“Baby Boppers!” Betty announces grandly, swirling her martini glass for emphasis. “Non-alcoholic, of course. Just enough sugar to put them on the ceiling. You’ve got your grenadine giggle juice, your apple spritzers, your Shirley Templars—”
“Shirleywhat?” Reid mutters around a mouthful of macaron.
“Acocktail, Sugarplum.” She smiles seductively at Hutch, clearly her favorite person here tonight.
Jake frantically tries to swap the cups for juice boxes before anyone’s scarred for life. “Stop sayingcocktailaround my daughter.”
