Page 2 of Macaron Massacre
“Noah!” I shout before swatting him with a dishrag. “How dare you creep up on me like that.”
Everett grunts, “Emphasis on creep.”
Noah’s dimples press in deep as he sheds the hint of a wicked grin. Noah Corbin Fox is the lead homicide detective down in Ashford County, and he just so happens to be the cad that broke my heart. Okay, so Noah wasn’t exactly a cad by true definition, but we dated, and I’m embarrassed to say mated, for months before his wife walked back into the picture. I swear on all that is holy, I thought she was his ex. But as my luck in the love department would have it, she’s still the legal missus whose ring finger bears the diamonds he parked over it on their wedding day. Noah admitted later that they were separated, but it didn’t do much as far as making me feel any less like the other woman, and how Iloathethe other woman.
“Sorry, Lot”—the smile melts off Noah’s face—“but I was just proving a point.” Noah is handsome to a fault, face of a god, the aforementioned dimples, dark hair that turns red as fire in the sun. He’s built like a linebacker, and considering his career in law enforcement, he’s packing heat nearly twenty-four seven.
Everett nods as if he were in on it. “I get it. And, as much as I don’t want your banana hands on Lemon, I think you proved the point brilliantly.”
“What point?” I look at the devilishly handsome judge. Everett has black hair, steely blue eyes, almost no affect, save for the hard-won dirty grin he lets slip now and again, and he is rather dirty in the most delicious sense. There’s not a woman on the planet who isn’t capable of being disarmed by his charm and wit. Essex Everett Baxter was a prolific playboy before we started dating a few weeks back. In fact, it seems he’s bedded his way through most of Vermont. And oddly enough, each of the women who has landed him horizontally comes away with the ability to freely use his proper moniker as a door prize. Even though Everett and I have crested that coital horizon many, many times, I’ve yet to call him anything but what I’ve grown accustomed to.
Everett swoops in and drops a tender kiss to my lips.
Noah growls disapprovingly at the display of affection, and it sounds like thunder. Even though I broke up with Noah rather quickly after I learned of his matrimonial entanglement, especially after I learned that his wife halted the divorce proceedings and wanted him back—Noah still loves me deeply—as I do him, and none of those feelings are a secret to anyone in this room.
Everett takes a step back, his expression somber as he penetrates me with his gaze. “You have to admit, Lemon, you had someone within striking distance. Noah could have been anyone. If you had that gun we gave you, Noah’s head could have been splattered all over the wall right now, just the way it should be.”
“Everett.” I squeeze my eyes shut, forbidding the visual to ever take root. I may have forgotten to mention that Noah and Everett cannot stand one another, and the rivalry predates me by a mile.
They were stepbrothers once upon a time in high school. Noah’s scoundrel of a father took financial advantage of Everett’s mother. And while the two were legally brothers, Noah thought it was a good idea to steal Everett’s girlfriend, a beast by the name of Cormack Featherby.
Cormack has since moved into the bed and breakfast that my mother owns and has tried to pull every trick in the book to win Noah back. I can’t stand her. She’s wily, wickedly crafty, and a drop-dead gorgeous blonde who might just succeed at her mission. Honestly, nothing frightens me more. I realize that I’m with Everett now, but my heart is still tangled in the unfinished business between Noah and me.
Noah steps in next to Everett, and the two of them are observing me with the same disapproving look echoed on their faces.
I scoff. “You do realize I don’t care for it when the two of you team up against me.”
“It’s for your safety.” Noah is quick to bat a reason my way.
“He’s right, Lemon.” Everett always refers to me by my surname, and it just tickles me to pieces. “We’ll head over to the range later this afternoon if you’re available. I had two cases to preside over this morning, and I’m off for the rest of the day.”
A dull moan escapes me as I look to the marble island filled with hundreds if not thousands of the delicate French pastries.
“I could really use a break from the bakery. I’ve been dreaming of macarons all week.”
“Don’t I know it.” Everett gives a sly wink. Mostly he said that to drive Noah wild with rage, and, judging by Noah’s purple face, he succeeded.
Noah recently asked me to slow the frequency in which I entertain myself with Everett—Noah’s code for coital contact. But I can’t seem to slow anything down with Everett. He’s so ridiculously handsome, women of all ages and stages in life are practically required to crane their necks whenever he’s around. And I’m definitely not immune to his charms. In fact, I find them the calm in this ocean of misery Noah has inadvertently tossed me into.
Noah nods as if he’s suddenly on board with anything that Everett has to say.
“I’ll go, too.” He shoots a dirty look to Everett. “In fact, I’m the only one who should ever be at a gun range with you, Lottie. If you go with this buffoon, you just might hurt someone. On second thought, maybe I should give the two of you a fifteen-minute lead. Aim for his ticker. I’ll help cover up the crime.” He manufactures a dimple-laden grin my way. “I am the lead homicide detective. I can make this look like an accident, and we’ll live happily ever after.”
“With your wife?” I couldn’t help it. He had it coming for suggesting I commit a murder just to get me back in the sack—okay, so Noah wants everything with me, not just a quick thrill, but still. And boy was it ever thrilling being with Noah.
“Or your girlfriend?” Everett doesn’t mind getting in on the field day.
“He’s got you there,” I say, chuckling as I head back to the island to quickly finish constructing the last tower for the party.
While I’m busy assembling away, Noah and Everett get into a heated argument over God knows what—probably debating whose weapon is bigger, and I’m not talking about a pistol anymore. But I choose to ignore the clatter. It’s crunch time, and I can hear the voices picking up volume as they drift in from the Honey Pot.
Not only is it Rich Dallas’ impromptu birthday party—the real event is Mayor Nash’s official kickoff for his reelection campaign. Leave it to my mother to arrange a shindig for both of her boyfriends all at once. My God, she’ll be lucky if they don’t kill each other this afternoon.
Rich Dallas is basically a human stick of hostile dynamite just waiting to explode. It’s no secret he hates Mayor Nash, but he’s putting up with my mother’s lunacy in an effort to fully win her back.
I’m hoping that right after we cut into the birthday cake and Rich’s children leave, she’ll put his head on the chopping block.
A thought comes to me, and I pause midflight with a raspberry macaron in hand. A few weeks back I saw the ghost of—