And if Barry is right, no matter what, we would have found each other eventually. There would be no stopping us. I bite down over a smile as I look to the two of them. And oddly, it truly does feel as if there is definitely no stopping us.
We dance the night away as Everett’s happy harem of reformed women join us on the dance floor, and it’s safe to say Judge Baxter is a big hit at the Slammer Jammer.
Before we head out, Everett orders up a fresh side of fried butter to go, and I nosh on that slice of deep-fried heaven all the way back to Honey Hollow.
Everett and I get cozy in Noah’s bed while poor Noah takes the couch, and neither of us has it in us to get frisky in the heart of Noah’s bedroom.
“We can’t stay at Noah’s forever. I have never felt so out of control in my life, Lemon,” Everett whispers with a frustrated edge to his voice. “I can get us in a hotel in Ashford until we find a rental.”
“It’s too far from the bakery. I’d have to get up at two in the morning,” I whisper back. “And Evie would hate us for making her leave so early for school. Honey Hollow High is just a hop and a skip away from where we are now.”
I can feel Everett’s chest rise and fall as I give him a little scratch over it.
“Don’t worry.” His voice vibrates through me. “I’m going to fix this for us—sooner than later.”
“Thank you.” I peck his lips with a quick kiss. “And I think I just figured out a way to fix our other problem.” My hand dips a notch down his chest to give him an inclination of what that might be. “Send me your court schedule, Judge Baxter. I’m going to pay you a visit in your private chambers.”
“You are a brilliant, brilliant woman.”
Everett and I try our best to fall asleep as we lie wrapped in one another’s arms. There are so many unknowns about our future, it’s certainly enough to keep the both of us awake for a long time to come.
And there is certainly an unknown regarding who filled my pecan pie with TNT and stopped Hannah Beckham’s beating heart.
But I plan on knowing that information intimately as soon as I get to the bottom of this.
You don’t mess with my pies and get away with it.
Hannah Beckham’s killer is about to learn that lesson the hard way.
Chapter 6
Two words: fried butter.
That little sugar cookie brewing in my belly is demanding lots and lots of that creamy, buttery goodness, and you can bet your buttered bottom I’m about to deliver. It’s becoming quickly apparent that I can’t deny this little butterball inside of me a single deep-fried thing.
It’s a blustery afternoon, the winds are swirling outside the window of the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery as if a cyclone were brewing, and it feels as if all of Honey Hollow is about to be blown right off the map of Vermont.
The afternoon rush just died down. I’ve spent all morning baking more pecan pies than there are pecans in the universe, and the ghost of Barry Honeycutt has spent all morning eating more pecan pies than seems believable even in the supernatural sphere. Between Barry, my regular customers, not to mention the folks from the Last Thing They Ate tour my mother sent over, I’m down to just two of those pecan wonders left on the shelves.
Lily is helping a few stragglers by the register while Carlotta and I enjoy a platter of deep-fried butter just the way God intended.
I take in the first bite, and the first thing I experience is the powdered dusted sugar on top, quickly followed by the crispy crunch of the deep-fried batter, then comes the warm buttery reward.
I moan with delight as my eyelids flutter.
I’m not sure if there’s any food on the planet that’s brought me this much joy. As the butter melts over my tongue, I take a moment to soak in my sweet bakery, with its pastel mix and match furniture and its warm yellow walls. There’s a shared opening in the wall that leads next door to the Honey Pot Diner, and since Grandma Nell left them both to me in her will, I don’t mind at all sharing a customer base with them.
Years ago, Nell had a life-size oak tree made of resin installed in the middle