In a blink, my sweet mama, Miranda Lemon, appears at my side, looking slightly frazzled with her creamy blonde curls bouncing in step with her. “Don’t mind us,” she gives a cheery shout as she pushes my adorable brood in the stroller, going Mach 5. “There are games to be played and an Easter bunny just waiting to take pictures with these little darlings!”
I know firsthand that the Easter bunny in question would be Wiley Fox, Noah’s wily father and my mother’s current main squeeze. Truthfully, I’m terrified of Wiley. Any man that enthusiastic about dressing up in fuzzy polyester should be monitored by professionals. Well, for that and the fact that he stole millions from Everett’s mother and lived to tell about it.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, trying to sound grateful, although I’m mentally adding up all the ways this day could go sideways, because let’s face it, everyone in Honey Hollow has long since figured out that me plus a public event usually equals trouble, and most likely a visit from the coroner’s office.
“I should probably get back to my cakewalk,” I tell Gina. “But it’s so good to see you.”
“Absolutely! We’ll catch up more later,” she says, hugging me goodbye. “I want to hear all about your adventures.”
If only she knew how adventurous my life has become since she left Honey Hollow.
I return to my cakewalk duties, but the festival atmosphere has shifted somehow. Maybe it’s the ghost of that lion that acted as a harbinger, or maybe it’s witnessing the Whitmore family circus, but something feels off. The Easter decorations seem a little too bright, the laughter a little too forced. And everything feels just a touch more dangerous.
Okay, fine. It’s just the ghost of the lion that has me rattled. And if everyone at this festival knew what that meant, they’d be rattled, too.
I’m about to continue with my hosting duties when a squeal from another microphone garners my attention and that of just about everyone here as we all turn toward the main stage set up on the lawn.
Duncan Whitmore stands at the makeshift stage, choking a microphone of his own.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” his voice booms across the festival grounds, causing conversations to die and heads to turn. “Could everyone gather around? I have something I’d like to share with the community.”
People begin migrating toward the stage, drawn by the promise of free entertainment, and, let’s face it, the magnetic pull of wealth in action.
“First, I want to thank you all for showering Whitmore Chocolatiers with so much love today,” Duncan continues, his voice warming with what sounds like genuine appreciation. “We’ve moved more chocolate bunnies than should ever be legal!”
“That’s the truth,” I mutter.
Everyone laughs, and the crowd grows larger as more people drift over from various booths and activities before falling silent to hear what he might say next. Millionaires can really get a crowd’s attention—I bet they’re all hoping he’ll start giving away hundred-dollar bills. Or at the least a few hundred chocolate bunnies.
“Speaking of love,” Duncan’s voice takes on a different tone, “I’d like to call my wife, Muffin Whitmore, up to the stage with me.”
The crowd coos appreciatively as a clearly reluctant Muffin makes her way through the gathered people and climbs onto the makeshift stage, her face already flushed with what I’m beginning to suspect isn’t pleasure. Her cheeks are the same rosy hue as her luscious locks.
“The community of Honey Hollow knows you as a kind-hearted person,” Duncan says, wrapping an arm around his wife’s waist in what looks affectionate but feels possessive. “Someone they can count on, someone who volunteers her time and talents for worthy causes.” His smile is cold and doesn’t reach his eyes. “But I’d like to share another side of you today.”
The tone in his voice makes my stomach drop. I have a feeling this isn’t going to be a chocolate promotion or a thank-you speech.
“My wife, Muffin, has been living a double life,” Duncan announces, his voice carrying clearly across the suddenly silent crowd. “Writing steamy romance novels under the pen name Scarlett Sin—you know, the kind of dirty books with shirtless men and chocolate-covered fantasies that would make a sailor blush.”
The collective gasp from the crowd is audible. I see Muffin’s face go white as she realizes what’s happening.
“What are you doing?” Muffin shouts as she pushes him away, her voice cracking with both shock and betrayal. “Duncan, stop this!”
“In fact, once Pastor Williams got wind of her literary talents, they gave her the boot from Honey Hollow Covenant Church faster than you can say fifty shades of frosting,” Duncan continues, ignoring her completely. “Apparently, writing about passionate encounters in chocolate shops doesn’t align with their family values.”
“Why are you saying these things?” Muffin demands, grabbing at his arm. “This is insane! You can’t just?—”
Duncan shakes her off. “But that’s not your dirtiest little secret, is it,Scarlett?” His voice turns razor-sharp with sarcasm. “Because for the last solid year, my dear wife has been rekindling an old flame with her ex-boyfriend. Oh yes, I know everything—I’ve seen the texts, the love letters, and thanks to the private investigator I hired, I’ve even seen the dirty pictures they’ve been exchanging.”
“You had me followed?” Muffin’s voice rises to near hysteria. “You hired someone to spy on me? What is wrong with you?”
“What’s wrong withme?” Duncan laughs bitterly. “I’m not the one cheating on my spouse and writing trash for money!”
Muffin’s face crumples, and she turns to run, pushing through the crowd with tears streaming down her face. But before she disappears completely, she whips around one last time.
“I hate you!” she screams, her voice raw with pain and fury. “I could kill you for this, Duncan! I could absolutelykillyou!”
The crowd collectively sucks in a breath at the threat, and suddenly Mayor Nash is rushing onto the stage, followed closely by Noah and Everett, who flank Duncan with the efficiency of seasoned bodyguards looking to hurt the man for what he just pulled.
