Page 1 of Peach Cobbler Confessions

Chapter 1

My name is Lottie Lemon, and I see dead people. Okay, so rarely do I see dead people. Mostly I see furry creatures of the dearly departed variety, aka dead pets, who have come back from the other side to warn me of their previous owner’s impending doom.

But right now, I’m not seeing a dead anything. Instead, I’m seeing Noah Fox, my longtime boyfriend—I’m loath to use the wordexwhen it comes to Noah, but I suppose that’s where we’ve landed.

Noah has dark hair with red highlights, bold green eyes, and dimples for days. He’s got a face that demands the attention of every woman with a pair of functioning ovaries and a body built for speed. His navy suit is in motion as he takes his place up at the podium here at the Salute to Our Heroes awards ceremony.

It’s Saturday evening and it seems all of Honey Hollow has made the trek to Ashford County, where the city is hosting an event that pays homage to its public servants right here at the civic center.

My very pregnant sister, Lainey, is seated to my right, just waiting in anticipation for her husband, my hero of a brother-in-law, Forest Donovan, to be recognized as well.

Noah clears his throat as he accepts the triangular crystal award and leans into the microphone.

“Thank you to the city, and to the people of Ashford for participating in this event tonight.” Noah’s verdant green eyes narrow over mine and a warm sensation radiates through me. Noah and I may be off again, but that doesn’t mean I can just turn off my feelings for him. “I want to especially thank the love of my life, Lottie Lemon, for giving me the strength each day to do what I do. Thank you, Lottie. And thank you, all.”

A round of applause erupts and it seems the entire row of people I’m sitting with coos and moans at Noah’s sweet words.

“Hear that, Lot?” Carlotta elbows me in the ribs from my left. Carlotta is my biological mother, who had the good sense to abandon me on the floor of the Honey Hollow Fire Department when I was an infant. And believe you me, there was no sarcasm whatsoever in that statement. I was raised by Joseph Lemon, the fireman who found me, and his wife, Miranda, a couple of decent, loving people who I will cherish forever as my parents.

Carlotta just recently made her way back into my life. She’s an older version of myself, same caramel-blonde hair, same hazel eyes, more wrinkles, less good sense, and more than her fair share of mischievous bones in her body. “Good old Foxy is still hot-to-trot for you.”

Mom spins around and nods. “You don’t make a public proclamation like that to a married woman unless you’re still very interested.” Miranda Lemon has shoulder-length creamy-blonde hair with sparkling blue eyes, and when you get right down to it, she can be just as mischievous as Carlotta when she wants to. Mom wags a finger my way. “He’s still gunning for you, Lottie. This isn’t over.” She spins back in her seat, and I turn to my sister.

“Why did that sound like a threat?” I whisper.

Lainey hugs her belly. “Everything that woman says as of late comes across as a threat.” Lainey, too, shares my caramel tresses and hazel eyes. She was the reason that as a child I was convinced it wasn’t me who was adopted but my other sister, Meg.

Lainey is married to the love of her life, the aforementioned fireman, and they’re due to have their first child in less than three weeks. I, for one, cannot wait. My best friend, Keelie, is due at precisely the same time. But since she doesn’t have a dog in tonight’s fight—her words, not mine—she decided to stay home and watch TV with her new husband.

Speaking of husbands, I crane my neck toward the right-hand side of the room, where they’ve lined up the recipients of the awards, but I don’t see any sign of my handsome hubby.

Judge EssexEverettBaxter is actually far more than just handsome to a fault. He’s darn right arresting with that shock of black hair, cobalt blue eyes, face that was sculpted by the masters, and a body put together in just the right way by the Almighty Himself. He’s slow to smile, and quick to attract the attention of every woman in a ten-mile vicinity. He can’t help it. When they were doling out animal attraction, Everett was hit with a double portion. And just about everyone calls himEverett. Outside of his mother and sister, the only people who have the privilege of calling him by his proper moniker are the women who have tangoed naked with him. Even though I more than qualify, I still call him by the name I’m used to.

Everett was the king of all playboys when we first met, but he’s since abdicated his lewd throne and has honed all of his hormonal and emotional affection toward yours truly.

I scan the right-hand side of the room once again but come up empty a second time.

I’m not sure why I’ve had an awful feeling of foreboding the second I stepped into this cavernous infrastructure. A shiver runs through me, because for one, it’s a bit too chilly in here despite the fact it’s a hot and humid August evening.

Okay, so I might have some inkling why I’m having this awful feeling of apprehensiveness. Everett announced last week that he has some big, dark secret he’s been sitting on for a while now. He asked for some time to formulate his thoughts on the subject before we have a discussion, and I told him not to worry about it until after tonight’s ceremony, or longer if need be. I trust Everett with everything in me. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.

I do a quick scan of the men and women seated in the two front rows then back to the right, near the dessert table.

My bakery, the Cutie Pie Bakery and Cakery, provided all of the desserts for tonight’s ceremony. Both Everett and Noah thought it would be a great way to showcase my goodies to those who live outside of Honey Hollow as well, and I quickly jumped on the chance once they asked.

My assistant, Lily Swanson, and I hauled down platters full of rocky road brownies, blondies, blueberry hand pies, cookies in every assortment—especially the chocolate chip cookies Noah lives for—pretzel cookies, mini cheesecake bites, double chocolate cupcakes, vanilla bean cupcakes, a smattering of thumbprints, and individual peach cobblers set in cupcake parchment.

The local orchard just so happened to have a bumper crop of luscious, sweet, organic peaches, and the bakery has been the lucky recipient.

My attention gravitates toward a couple of men having a rather intense conversation. One is stockier than the other, bald with salt and pepper scruff over his cheeks. The other man has dark wavy hair, a heavily chiseled face, high cheekbones, and a flat forehead. He’s handsome in a conventional way. His face turns pink as he says something to the stockier man. He takes off and a svelte brunette with long glossy hair takes his place, and by the looks of it, she, too, is having an animated conversation with the bald man. She gives him a shove to the chest before stalking off.

Looks as if someone is having a lousy night. I wonder what the poor guy did? A blonde strides his way and slows down as she approaches him. She says something short and not so sweet by the looks of it, offers him a crisp slap over the face, and keeps on walking as if it were no big deal.

Wow.

Does that man unwittingly have a sign taped to his shirt that readskick me?

Okay, so no onekickedhim, but they have emotionally. The poor guy has to feel beat down.