“Never mind,” I say, sneaking a quick kiss to his cheek before turning toward the inn. “Please get Ella and put her to bed. But make sure she’s fed first! I’ve got a literarycrisis to handle.”
“Do I want to know?”
“Probably not,” I call out as I take off at a pace that would impress Olympic power walkers, leaving Jasper standing in the summer evening looking equal parts confused and resigned to his fate as the husband of Cider Cove’s most chaotic innkeeper.
The moment I step through the Country Cottage Inn’s front doors, I’m hit with a wall of sound that suggests either a very successful party is at hand or a very successful mutiny is afoot. Loud laughter pulses from the direction of the library, mixed with what sounds suspiciously like yacht rock music and the clink of cocktail glasses.
I follow the noise and step into what used to be my tastefully decorated library, but now looks like a tropical nightclub had an affair with a book club, and their love child is experiencing their wild teenage years.
“Holy moly,” I breathe, taking in the scene.
Faux tiki torches flicker from every corner—and I immediately send up a prayer that someone made sure these are the battery-operated variety because the last thing I need is fire in a room full of intoxicated literary enthusiasts.
To my right there’s a makeshift bamboo bar complete with a raffia skirt and a thatch umbrella, where a bartender in glowing neon clothing that looks like it was designed by radioactive fairies hands out cocktails that glow twice as loud as his accouterments in colors not found in nature.
Every woman in the room sports glowing bracelets and necklaces, turning the entire space into what appears to be a rave for the romance novel set. Pink spotlights have been rigged up near the fiction section, creating what I can only assume is a makeshift stage area.
“There she is!” Mom calls out, waving a glowing green cocktail in my direction. “What took you so long? We’ve been here for twenty minutes already!”
“I had to make sure Jasper could handle bedtime duty withoutburning down the cottage,” I reply, which in any other family would sound like an exaggeration, but in mine is a legitimate safety concern. Okay, so I may be stretching the truth, but still.
“Fair point,” Georgie says, bouncing over in a neon yellow lei that makes her look like a hula dancer. She’s still moving with the loose-limbed enthusiasm of an elderly hippy who recently conquered a brewery’s shot challenge—and scored a kiss from her most recent crush. “I’m still feeling victorious from my chandelier adventure. Did you see Conrad’s heroic rescue technique? The man has excellent upper body strength—and don’t get me started on his lips.”
“I was there for the entire spectacle,” I remind her. “I’m just glad you lived to tell about it.”
“I’m just glad we all lived to tell about it,” Mom adds. “The poor ceiling could only take so much nonsense. Georgie could have killed us all.”
“Speaking of landing toes-up in the morgue,” Georgie whispers in that special acoustically challenged way that only someone who’s had several drinks can manage, “The killerBeais here tonight. Over by the self-help section, looking like she’d rather be getting a root canal with a rusty drill.”
Before I can fully process this information, Fish, Sherlock, and Truffle come running over with the enthusiasm of pets who’ve been left to supervise a party and decided chaos was more entertaining.
We tried to hold down the fort,Fish announces with the dignity of a CEO delivering quarterly losses.
Rather unsuccessfully,Sherlock adds with a woof.
But the food is amazing,Truffle yips manically,and I found seventeen new hiding spots, and did you know your neighbor has three cats, and I barked at all of them, and also there’s a squirrel outside that’s been taunting me for HOURS!The little cutie pie rattles it all off in one breath.
The food is really that good, Bizzy,Sherlock is quick to assureme.Emmie really outdid herself. You should consider giving that girl a raise!
Sure enough, I spot what can only be described as a finger food paradise spread across several tables—mini quiches that look like tiny golden sunflowers, stuffed mushrooms glistening with herbs, bacon-wrapped scallops arranged like edible jewelry, a bowl of spinach artichoke dip that’s glowing with cheese, bruschetta topped with tomatoes so fresh they’re practically still growing, chocolate-covered strawberries arranged in perfect rows, an artisanal cheese board that belongs in a magazine, shrimp cocktail with sauce so red it matches the tiki torches, and mini cheesecakes that look like they were crafted by dessert angels.
“Emmie really does deserve a raise,” I admit, snagging a bacon-wrapped scallop and wolfing it down. Heaven.
“She’s been cooking for three hours straight for this event,” Mom says. “I think she’s having some kind of culinary breakdown brought on by excitement and terror of what’s to come.”
Emmie appears as if summoned, her hair slightly wild and her apron covered in what appears to be flour, chocolate, and possibly glitter. “Bizzy! Thank goodness you’re here. I think Macy and Camila created a monster.”
“The food looks amazing.”
“Not the food, the event! Look around! Every woman in a fifty-mile radius showed up. I think word spread on some kind of underground sisterhood network.”
Buffy walks in behind her with Skittles trotting at her heels, and they both stop dead. “Wow. Look at all these women. It’s like a book club but with better snacks.”
Food alert!Skittles announces, immediately spotting Truffle stationed strategically near the dessert table.Backup requested at the mini cheesecakes!
Ooh, mini cheesecakes do sound good.
She makes a beeline for the dessert table, her tail wagging with the dedication of a dog with a mission. And on her heels, I spotCandy holding court near the cheese board, surrounded by admirers who keep slipping her samples.
