“Can you compete with Midge?” Effie asks, not looking up from the croissant display she’s restocking.
“I guess not,” I sigh with defeat. “But I’m going to try anyway because I’m a glutton for punishment.”
The Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery smells like heaven opened a pastry franchise—with cinnamon rolls, chocolate chip cookies,fresh-baked pies, and that rich vanilla-banana scent that’s apparently become catnip for the entire population of Honey Hollow.
Through the arched doorway connecting us to the Honey Pot Diner, I can hear Charlie barking orders and the sizzle of bacon hitting the griddle. Between the two businesses, we’ve created what my mother calls a full-service carb experience.
I’m stationed at one of the bistro tables near the window with the twins in their double stroller and Lyla Nell strapped into a highchair like a tiny, adorable prisoner. Carlotta sits across from me, working through a stack of chocolate glazed donuts with Olympic-level dedication.
“Are you planning to help me watch the kids,” I ask, “or just sit there eating my entire inventory?”
“Multitasking is my specialty, Lot Lot.” She licks chocolate off her fingers. “Besides, look at them. One little yipper has discovered his toes, the other little yipper is plotting world domination, and the biggest yipper of them all is... what is she doing?”
I glance over. Lyla Nell has her finger pointed at a cupcake like she’s delivering a closing argument.
“You listen to me,” she tells the cupcake sternly. “You be nice, or Ieatyou.”
Her dark pigtails are tied with pink ribbons, the ends tipped in that distinctive auburn red that matches Noah’s hair exactly. She’s got Noah’s dimples and his green eyes. She basically looks like his twin, except twice as pretty and twice as feisty. Maybe three times as feisty.
“That’s my little yip yip,” Carlotta says proudly. “Threatening baked goods before breakfast. The kid is going places.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.” Places with bars come to mind.
“You know,” Suze calls from the register, “there’s a contest for those of us dedicated enough to forgo modern dress and amenities like cell phones all the way up until Sunday, even while we’re not at the official events.”
I look up and immediately do a double take.
Suze has donned a pink gingham dress with a white Peter Pan collar, a matching cardigan, and an apron that saysKiss the Cook. Her blonde and gray hair is set in pin curls that look shellacked in place, and she’s wearing pearls. Actual pearls. At a bakery. At eight-thirty in the morning.
“I’m fairly certain I’m winning the Golden Whisk Award,” she adds, straightening said pearls with a touch of pride. “It comes with a one-hundred-dollar gift card to the Country Pantry.”
The Country Pantry just so happens to be a cute little boutique grocery store next to the Honey Pot Diner. I’m sort of addicted to the place myself. They not only have fresh organic everything, but their house mac and cheese is the stuff that dreams are made of. They have a hot dish buffet, fresh baked cookies, gorgeous fresh flowers, and they serve amazing lattes. Honestly, it’s as if they’re out to put half the town out of business.
Lily laughs from the decorating station where she’s icing a birthday cake. “How would anyone even know if you’re sneaking around on your cell phone?”
“Miranda confiscated my cell phone,” Suze announces like she just won a prize of a different order.
Lily, Effie, and I gasp in perfect unison.
“She what?” I squawk at the thought of my mother doing the unthinkable.
“Took it right out of my hands this morning.” Suze actually beams. “She said if I’m serious about winning, I need to commit fully to the experience. She’s in charge of making sure no one gets away with any modern funny business.”
“That sounds like my mother,” I quip.
Effie straightens up from the display case, fixing Suze with a look that could melt steel. “I would never give up my cell phone. You could offer me a Golden Whisk made of actual gold, and I’d still tell you exactly where to shove it.”
I love Effie. She’s about my age, no-nonsense, and happens to be a big crime boss’s niece, which means evenCarlotta thinks twice before saying something inappropriate around her. Well, maybe not Carlotta.
The bell over the door chimes.
“Speaking of the 1950s,” Carlotta mutters. “Look what the mothballs dragged in.”
My mother sweeps in wearing a lavender vintage dress with a full skirt that could double as a parachute, white gloves, a matching pillbox hat, and enough costume jewelry to fund a small country. My sister Lainey follows close behind in something mercifully modern, her caramel-colored hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders.
“Coffee?” I offer as I jump to my feet.
“Oh, none for me.” Mom waves me off with a gloved hand. “I’m just here checking up on Suze.”
