No sooner do we park out in front of Honey Hollow’s own premier Italian restaurant than the thick aroma of simmering marinara and fresh basil drifts into the street like an invitation. The scent of oregano and garlic mingles with something deeper—the promise of real parmesan and butter and everything that makes life worth living. It’s the kind of smell that makes your mouth water before you even step through the door, and I’m already mentally forgiving Carlotta for whatever chaos she’s about to cause over dinner. It’s always best to stay one step ahead with her.
The restaurant is the best little Italian place this side of Sicily, and it just happens to be right across the street from my bakery, which makes it both convenient and dangerous for my waistline. Tonight, though, I’m too mentally exhausted from watching the husbands pose shirtless for a murder suspect to worry about carbohydrate consumption. Okay, so I shouldn’t call them that, but let’s face it,the husbandshas a ring to it, and even though I’m only still married to one, it sort of gets the point across.
“Mom texted to let us know all three kids are finally sleeping,which means they’ll be wide awake and ready to party the moment we walk through the front door,” I tell Noah and Everett. “It’s like they have supernatural radar for parental exhaustion.”
Carlotta snorts. “Those kids don’t sleep—they just power down to conserve energy for their next attack.”
“I hate it when you’re right,” I tell her.
Everett pauses before we head inside as he takes a gander at something down the street.
“Did you see the construction next door?” Everett asks, gesturing toward what appears to be some kind of renovation project happening in the space adjacent to Mangia’s and directly across from the Cutie Pie.
I blink at the obvious signs of destruction—scaffolding, plastic sheeting, contractor trucks—that I’ve somehow completely missed despite the fact I’ve been staring out of my bakery window all week.
“Wow, I didn’t even notice,” I admit, which suggests my observational skills are either seriously compromised or I’ve been too focused on murder investigations to pay attention to local business development.
“Looks snazzy, whatever it is,” Noah points out.
“Probably another yoga studio,” I mutter. “Because Honey Hollow has reached the point where we have more places to practice downward dog than we have actual dogs.”
“Maybe we should get a dog,” Everett teases as he gives my ribs a tweak. “A whole litter of puppies to add to the chaos.”
“Don’t you dare even joke like that,” I say, giving his ribs a pinch right back.
Carlotta shakes her head. “You sure don’t need a dog, Lot. Between Noah and Everett, you’ve already adopted two handsome strays who keep following you home.”
Both Noah and Everett shoot her a look, but neither denies anything she’s said.
We step into Mangia’s, and we’re immediately wrapped in a warm embrace of Sinatra, garlic bread, and the scent of a wood-fired pizza just coming out of the oven. Dark wood tables are topped with checkeredtablecloths, wine bottles filled with spring daffodils serve as centerpieces, and the menu boards feature Easter-themed pasta specials written in cheerful pastel chalk.
“There’s my sexy dog!” Carlotta’s voice carries across the restaurant as she spots Mayor Nash settling into a table near our usual spot in the back.
And just like that, Lenny materializes beside her in a spray of baby blue stars. “Did she just call me a dog? I’m not sure whether to be flattered or insulted.”
“Come on, Fur Face,” Carlotta continues. “I want you to meet my main squeeze—when I’m not squeezing you, that is.”
“Your dating life should come with a user manual,” Lenny says with a chuckle. “But hey, I’m just here for the entertainment.”
“Carlotta,” I whisper as we approach the tables. “Try not to out yourself to the mayor.”
Mayor Nash knows absolutely nothing about our transmundane state, and I’d like to keep it that way. The man has enough challenges running a small Vermont town without having to worry about whether his fiancée is dating a long-dead lion on the side.
Carlotta plops down and launches straight into advising Mayor Nash on “important civic matters”—like which residents need to stop wearing leggings in public and whose yard décor should be classified as a misdemeanor. The poor man has no idea he’s competing for attention with a supernatural big cat.
No sooner do we take a seat than we’re brought a basket of hot garlic breadsticks sprinkled with parmesan cheese, and I dive in with the kind of urgency only carbs can command.
Everett nods to the waitress. “We’ll take a pepperoni pizza, a half sheet of lasagna, and the chicken parmigiana,” he tells her, because he knows exactly what comfort food is required after the evening we’ve had.
She takes off to fetch the left side of the menu, and Noah adjusts his shirt with a touch of relief. “I’ve never been so happy to have my clothes on again.”
“Please,” I tell him. “Now women all over Honey Hollow aregoing to line up wanting to breed with both of you,” I point out, taking another breadstick because garlic bread fixes everything, including the mental image of Noah and Everett posing with farm equipment.
Noah waggles his eyebrows at the mention of his unexpected marketable skills. “My services are available twenty-four seven for you, Lot. In fact, we can start tonight if you like. I’ll give you the Wednesday night special.”
A laugh bubbles from me—oddly not from Everett. “You know what’s special?” I say directly to Noah. “Eight hours of uninterrupted sleep. So no, I’m not interested in your Wednesday night special if it comes with a baby at the end of nine months.”
Everett ticks his head. “Don’t take the shutdown too hard, Noah. She knows the Thursday deluxe package is superior.” He winks my way.
