Page 41 of Poison Apple Crisp

“Don’t worry.” Hannah winks at Noah. “We take it inside. I’ve got plenty of room for all of us to get physical.” She licks her lips as she looks to Everett. “You would be shocked at how limber I can be.”

She claps her hands, and the crowd disperses with the exception of the few women who are petting Toby. Not only is Noah’s badge a chick magnet, but so is his dog.

And is that… a woman asking Everett for his number?

“Oh dear Lord,” I mutter. “This new neighbor is a nightmare.”

Carlotta wraps an arm around me. “Don’t worry, Lot Lot. I have a feeling this is just the universe’s way of testing the relationships you have with your men. It happens to all couples, or in your case, throuples.”

“Oh good. And here I thought it was just a harem of horny women looking to score with my exandmy husband. Glad it’s nothing more than a pop quiz by the powers that be. As if the who’s-your-daddy talk show fodder my life has turned into wasn’t enough.”

Noah and Everett do their best to fend off the estrogen-laden masses while Toby eats up all of the attention he can.

Something tells me Country Cottage Road will never be the same again.

And neither will Noah, Everett, and I.

* * *

Two words:fried pickles.

The bakery is busy as a bee in a hive all morning and well into the afternoon. And between helping with the customers, I’m frying up batch after delicious batch of dubiously delicious beer-battered fried pickles. I can’t help but marvel at how easy it was to duplicate and, dare I say,improveupon the recipe from the Brew Ha Ha. Of course, I used non-alcoholic beer, not just because of the baby, but because I don’t want Carlotta or God forbid Evie siphoning off my inventory.

Lily is petrified by the fried delight at hand, and the customers don’t seem to want to sample my dill wares either, but that doesn’t stop me from noshing on a few myself. I’m shocked at how well they pair with my cream pies, the napoleons, and the éclairs, too. Imagine biting into an éclair, only to find a fried pickle smothered among the Bavarian cream? A pickled delight within a delight! Although when I presented the idea to Meg, she ran all the way back to the Honey Pot Diner.

Once the rush dies down, and my shelves are nearly empty, Keelie strides in with a car seat in one hand and a trash bag in the other.

“Oh my goodness.” I rush over before she drops that little nugget onto the floor. “Let me take that from you.” I try my best to take the car seat, but she refuses to let go.

“No way, Lottie Lemon. You’re expecting. Baby Bear is too heavy for you. Take the trash bag instead.”

I do as I’m told, and she sets the infant carrier onto a table with a thud.

“I can’t believe he slept through all that,” I coo as I take in his adorable little face. He’s tiny, yet looks decidedly like a sturdy little boy with his chubby cheeks and stern expression. “My God, he looks as soft and scrumptious as a peach. What’s in the bag?” I ask, landing it on a chair next to me.

“Your new wardrobe. I’m not exactly in a hurry to expand my belly anytime soon, so I thought I’d send it all your way.”

“Thank you,” I say, pulling a powder blue dress out of the bag just as Carlotta and Evie stride into the bakery.

“What’s the tablecloth for?” Evie asks as she blows an air kiss to the baby.

Carlotta whoops out a laugh. “That’s your mama’s new date night delight. First comes the tablecloth, and next come the curtains.”

Keelie laughs. “You’re a hoot, Aunt Carlotta. Lottie, you’re really lucky you get to live with her. I bet it’s a laugh a minute.”

I don’t even smile for that one.

Keelie pats her backside. “Well, I’m tired of wearing tablecloths and curtains. Oh, hey, I just heard there’s some ritzy new class in town that promises to transform the junk in my trunk into twin granite globes. I need to find out when and where.”

“Six a.m. right next door to Lot Lot’s.” Carlotta grins my way. “I’ve already signed up and got my yogurt pants ready to go.”

Evie shakes her head my way. “I tried to tell her they have nothing to do with yogurt.” She gives the obligatory eye roll. “I’m off to load up on carbs. Cheer practice has left me drained of stamina and the will to ever scream at either one of my boyfriends again, even if it was meant to encourage them.” She takes off for the register, and I step in close to Keelie.

“You can’t join that butt lift class. It’s not right. It’s obscene,” I tell her. “And it’s happening right under my nose.”

Meg comes over from the Honey Pot just in time for me to spill all thebootyfuldetails about the shared trauma Noah, Everett, and I experienced this morning.

“Too Hot to Handle Hannah?” Meg tilts her ear my way as if she didn’t hear me correctly.