“Direct, effective, minimal collateral damage,” Noah agrees. “Textbook.”
I blink their way. “You two realize you’re praising a two-year-old for punching your father, right?”
“Technically, she’s defending her siblings from a perceived threat,” Everett says.
“And doing it better than most adults,” Noah adds.
“Ow!” Wiley yelps from inside his bunny costume as he stumbles backward. “That actually hurt!”
“Lyla Nell,” I gasp, although I have to agree with Noah and Everett. Her solution was probably the most direct approach to the problem.
“Well, at least someone in this family knows how to handle a threatening situation.” Carlotta offers up a smug smile. “That’s my Little Yip Yip!”
“Our daughter just assaulted the Easter Bunny,” Everett points out with the flat tone of someone whose life has reached new levels of surreal chaos.
“In self-defense,” Carlotta corrects. “Little Yippy was completely justified. Plus, that little skill will come in handy when she starts dating.”
“Duly noted,” Noah says more than a little approvingly.
Lyla Nell looks up at me, and her lower lip begins a dangerousquiver, and just like that, she starts in on another high-pitched wail. Probably because hitting the Easter Bunny didn’t make him disappear and instead made him make weird noises.
“Oh dear, come to Glam Glam!” Mom announces, swooping in with her Glam Glam superpowers to scoop up the sobbing babe. She kisses Lyla Nell on the cheek and then, in the middle of all this chaos, shouts with authority that would make a church pastor proud, “He is Risen!”
A chorus of “He is Risen indeed!” echoes back from families throughout the festival area, including several teary-eyed children who momentarily stop crying to participate in the call-and-response.
“Well, that was unexpectedly spiritual,” Meg says.
“Leave it to Mom to turn Easter Bunny trauma into a religious moment,” Lainey adds with a touch of admiration.
“Glam Glam has an Easter basket for each of you!” My mother has never been above bribery with sugar. “But first, who would like a chocolate bunny?”
Case in point.
Josie, Bear, and Lyla Nell go from inconsolable grief to jumping with unbridled enthusiasm in approximately three seconds.
“Me, me, me!” they shout with joy as if they’ve just discovered that chocolate fixes everything, including bunny-related psychological trauma.
“And that,” Keelie says with a laugh, “is why we always bring backup chocolate.”
“I’ll say,” I grunt. “The resulting photo will either become a treasured family keepsake or evidence in future therapy sessions,” I mutter, watching the photographer somehow manage to capture a shot of our entire family looking like we’ve just survived a natural disaster.
“My money is on therapy,” Charlie says with a grin.
Sadly, my money is on that, too.
LOTTIE
It’s just a mere hour after the trauma and drama that was the photo session with the Easter bunny, and while the kids are happily noshing on enough chocolate to require a future dental intervention—at least those kids with teeth—I happen to notice a huge line at the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery booth that stretches halfway around the lake.
I squint that way, and sure enough, every last person is walking away from the booth with one of my coconut Easter bunny cupcakes. And nothing could make my baker’s heart prouder.
Apparently, murder-adjacent baked goods continue to be the hottest commodity at local festivals—and local bakeries, which says something either very disturbing or very practical about small-town priorities.
Since Mom has Lyla Nell, and both Everett and Noah each have one of the twins, I take this opportunity to hop behind the counter to help Suze and Effie, because we all know that Easter Sunday crowds don’t mess around when it comes to sugar consumption. Not only are the coconut bunny cupcakes flying off the tables faster than gossip at a church social, but someone has already bought our entire stock of Easter egg macarons.
“These people are insane,” Effie pants, as she boxes up another dozen cookies shaped like baby chicks. “I’ve never seen anyone fight over cupcakes with this much determination.”
“It’s not the cupcakes,” Suze explains while pulling espresso shots with machine-gun efficiency. “It’s the murder connection. People want to eat the same desserts that were involved in a homicide. It’s like culinary tourism for the morbidly curious. And don’t think for a minute that Lottie isn’t behind this.”
