“I can’t believe we pulled this off,” I announce, stepping back to admire our booth with the kind of pride usually reserved for edible art, sheer determination, and a deeply questionable relationship with craft store credit cards.
Thanks to my personal craft store incident, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery booth looks like the Fourth of July got a little carried away. Bunting drapes every available surface, and star-shaped lights are flirting with strobe territory.
We’ve really committed to the theme.
“Pulled it off?” Suze snorts, adjusting a banner that readsSweet Land of Liberty Dessertsin glittery letters that hurt to look at and may have long-term consequences.
“Effie, we’ve created a visual assault.”
“In the best way possible,” Lily adds loyally, straightening a display of flag cupcakes that somehow survived transport. “It’s festive. Potentially seizure-inducing, but in a good way.”
“We shouldn’t be winning anything,” Suze says. “We should be arrested.”
“If Coop is doing the arresting, I guess I won’t mind so much,” I say.
“Me either,” Lily quips, and just like that, my hit list grows by one.
Our competition clearly had the same idea in the decorating department—just with restraint and, I’m guessing, professional help from people who know the difference between festive and needing a sedative.
The hardware store’s booth looks as if it was designed by someone who actually knows what they’re doing: elegant star-spangled streamers, tasteful lighting that doesn’t requiremedical attention, and music playing at a volume that won’t cause permanent hearing damage.
“Look at that,” Suze mutters, eyeing their setup with the kind of resentment that comes from looking like a clearance rack at the dollar store. “I heard they hired actual decorators. Show-offs with their sense of proportion and basic design skills.”
“I still say we should have gone bigger with the glitter,” I say, watching sunlight bounce off our display in ways that could probably signal extraterrestrial life. If a spaceship lands and is looking to kidnap someone, I’m nominating Carlotta and Aunt Cat first. Uncle Jimmy can go, too—for public safety.
And if we’re using that criteria, I should probably start packing.
Have I mentioned the sugar is going to my head?
“Any more glitter and we’d be visible from other solar systems.” Lottie laughs, emerging from behind the booth, with Noah and Everett in tow as if she’s leading a parade of extremely good-looking men who double as emergency response.
All three of them are wearing matching red, white, and blue aprons that make them look like part of a very attractive cooking show I’d watch even if the food was questionable.
“Well, well,” Lily muses. “Look what the star-spangled cat dragged in. The usual suspects with their big throuple energy.”
She’s not wrong. Also, Lottie Lemon is one of the luckiest women alive—despite that whole corpse-finding hobby of hers.
“The booth looks fantastic,” Noah says, clearly high on flag-themed brownies. “Though I think I might be developing a glitter addiction. Is that normal?”
“Nothing about this is normal,” Everett observes with the dry wit that makes him everyone’s favorite judge, his eyes lingering on Lottie in a way that suggests his interest extends beyond baked goods. He’s into her cupcakes. We get it.
He nods. “That said, I see potential.”
“Speaking of abnormal situations,” Suze mutters to Lily, not bothering to lower her voice, “how long is this supposed to go on?”
“Which part?” Lily asks. “Because I feel like there are layers.”
I roll my eyes. “You two have been tracking this like it’s a competitive sport.”
“I’m not tracking anything,” Suze says. “I’m waiting for it to end.”
“You say that,” Lily murmurs, watching Lottie with open curiosity.
“She’s not ending anything,” I say. “She’s thriving.”
“That’s exactly the problem,” Suze mutters. “And my sweet son is caught in the crossfire.”
“Mom.” Noah shakes his head.
