Pecan Pie Predicament (Murder in the Mix #27) - Addison Moore Page 0,27
a blond little button. He’s all boy through and through with his stern expression and husky build and voice. Both baby Bear and my sweet niece, Josie, are just three months old, but I can’t even remember life without them.
Lainey is one year older than me and shares the same caramel-colored waves and hazel eyes that I do. Lainey and I look so much alike she’s the reason I doubted the adoption story my parents kept feeding me.
I reach down and give Josie’s precious reddish-blonde hair a quick pat. My dear sweet niece is the most beautiful baby girl on the planet.
“Oh, these babies.” I flick my fingers at them. “Give me one quick. I’m having a serious craving for some baby cheeks to munch on.”
“Me too.” Carlotta is right there next to me with her baby hungry fingers, and soon I’m holding baby Bear and she’s holding Josie.
“Wow.” I sigh as I take in Bear’s heavenly baby scent. “Why do babies smell so good?”
Josie spits up over Carlotta’s shoulder and Carlotta hands her to my mother so fast you’d think a baby bomb were about to go off.
“Why do babies insist on puking?” Carlotta gags as she wipes off her sweater.
Keelie and Lainey share a quick laugh.
“Puking is the easy part. Bear just had a blowout this morning,” Keelie says, taking a seat on a stool. “Trust me, Lottie, he didn’t smell so good then.”
“What’s a blowout?” I ask as I make my way behind the counter and produce a couple of slices of my creamy pumpkin roll for them to enjoy.
Lainey laughs. “Oh, Lottie, you’ve got so much to learn. A blowout is when your baby waits until you put them in their most adorable outfit before their bottom decides to do an impression of a human volcano.” She nods to Keelie. “Josie had one yesterday. I’ll never get those stains out of that outfit, and it’s the dress I spent a mint on for her to wear to Thanksgiving.”
“Ooh, speaking of which”—Mom goes from rocking Josie to jostling the poor thing—“I’m hosting Thanksgiving at the B&B and you’re all invited. Keelie, of course, I’ve already invited your mother and sister as well. And I’ve hired a photographer to come by so we can all do our Christmas pictures.”
“Christmas pictures?” Carlotta squints her way. “What’s with the holiday hopscotch, Toots?”
Lainey lifts her fork. “They’re for our Christmas cards. It takes a while to put ourselves together with the baby, and we figure this way we’ll already look our best. Plus, it’ll take some time to pick out the prefect picture then have it made up, not to mention finding the time to send it out. It’s going to be a rush job. Next year we’ll have to start around the Fourth of July. But regardless, I can’t wait to send out our first holiday cards with the baby.”
Keelie swallows down a bite of her pumpkin roll and moans. “I appreciate that, Miranda. Count Bear and me in for Thanksgiving, but I don’t think we can get our holiday pictures done that day. Thanksgiving is all about elastic pants and cranberry stains on my shirt.”
Lainey nods. “You’re so right. We’re going to have to move it up.”
“I have an idea,” I say, cradling little Bear’s soft head with the palm of my hand. “Mom, why don’t we have the photographer come to the surprise birthday party I’m throwing for Everett? I’d love to have the party at the B&B. It can be a Friendsgiving theme. I’ll have the Honey Pot cater the savory, and I’ll cater the sweets.”
Carlotta moans as if she were staring down a Thanksgiving Day turkey right this moment. “Now that’s a delicious idea, Lot.”
Mom nods. “Consider it done.”
“Great. His birthday is in two weeks on a Friday. If we can have the conservatory, that would be fabulous. The baby and I will get everything together.” I pat my belly as we share a laugh.
Keelie leans in and inspects my tummy. “I’m just dying to know what you’re having, Lottie. How are you carrying? High or low?”
“Hey, yeah.” Lainey squints at my tummy. “High—it’s a girl. Low—it’s a boy.”
I cup a hand over my belly for them to see. “I’m just now pooching out. I can’t really tell which way we’re going.”
Carlotta barks out a laugh. “You’ve been pooching out for a while now, Lot. I think you’re having a fried pickle.”
I make a face at her, although she’s probably onto something.