Page 8 of Poison Apple Crisp
“Lottie.” Noah pulls me in for a quick embrace. “Let me know if you see the—you know,dog.” He takes a step back and nods. “How are you feeling? Do you want to get off your feet?”
“I’m fine. I’ve never felt better.” Not necessarily true. I’ve been a bit queasy all day, not to mention that I almost lost my cookies when a whiff of garlic wafted my way from the shop across from mine. Mangias is the guilty establishment in question. It’s an Italian eatery I’ve grown to love over the years, but the thought of stepping into the place makes me want to run for the nearest bush. If just the thought of garlic turns me green inside and out, I’m in a world of trouble. “I promise, neither of you needs to dote over me.”
Noah takes up my hand. “Lottie, I won’t stop doting over you until the baby comes. And when the baby does arrive? I’ll be doting over the both of you.”
A hard gasp emits from behind, and I turn to find two wiry blonde socialites that I was hoping I’d never have to contend with again, Cormack Featherby and Cressida Bentley. Cormack is the girl that killed the friendship between Everett and Noah in high school. Essentially, Noah swiped her from Everett, and Everett has been slow to bury the hatchet. And Cressida is the featherhead’s bestie, and she just so happens to be Evie’s biological mother. Although she’s not much of a mother. She’s been nothing short of torturously cruel to the poor girl.
I make a face at the two of them. Cormack is tall, with model-cut features and celadon green eyes. And Cressida has translucent looking eyes and a pixie-like upturned nose. They were both due to go to the pokey for doing horrible things to me, but they got off without a bruise to show for it, no thanks to their rich daddies, and perhaps even richer legal teams.
Cormack staggers forward, champagne flute in hand.
“Tell me it’s not true, Noah.” Cormack clutches her chest. “Tell me you didn’t sire a baby with this two-timing little tartlet.”
Cormack has been more than a little obsessed with Noah this past year.
Cressida giggles before he can answer. “I guess that tosses Essex back into the dating pool.” She winks his way.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve flirting with my husband,” I seethe. “You stole all those precious years he could have spent with Evie because of your selfish need to hold her back like a poker hand.”
Cormack sighs with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. That must mean my boss man is off the baby hook.” She runs her fingers through Noah’s hair. “Don’t you worry, honey bunch. We can start practicing for a little shrimp of our own later on tonight.”
Noah flinches. “Lottie’s baby might be mine,” he says that last half of the sentence as if he were painfully conceding to the fact that it might be Everett’s. And I have no doubt the fact is very much painful to Noah. He’s still in love with me. And if I’m being honest, I still very much love him, too. It turns out, there’s no internal switch to make it stop.
Both Cormack and Cressida gasp and gag at the thought of my daddy predicament.
Carlotta pulls out her phone, and before you know it, the flash is going off like a spam.
“Don’t worry, Lot.” Carlotta waves her phone my way. “I’ve got that dumb look on their faces trapped in here so you can remember it for time immemorial.”
“Give that back!” Cormack tries to swipe the phone from her, but Carlotta holds it high as she turns to run.
“Too late, Toots! I just sent it to the cloud! And soon enough, it’s going to start raining humiliation by way of social media.” She takes off with both Cormack and Cressida hot on her heels.
A woman zips forward and quickly fills their void—a redhead who just so happens to have eyes for my men. I’m sensing a theme here.
“Principal Hickman,” I say, partially amused.
She waves me off. “Call me Cokie.” She leans in toward Noah. “Unless, of course, we’re on school grounds or in bed.” She guffaws as if it were hilarious, but don’t think for a minute I didn’t let that proposition—on school grounds no less—go unnoticed.
Brenda strides up with Rachelle trailing behind her.
“Cokie?” Brenda calls out. “Shouldn’t we start this party before the fat wallets get bored and start heading out the door? Good thing you have me around to tell you how to keep ahold of someone before they leave for greener pastures.” Brenda’s tone is curt, and if I’m not mistaken, I’m sensing a bit of tension. I glance down to observe her footwear and—bingo!
I elbow Everett in the ribs and nod that way. No sooner does he look down than his shoulders pull back. He tips his head my way, and a smile flirts with his lips.
Gold Buckles has been clearly identified as none other than Bossy Brenda. Not a shocker.
Cokie tips her head back, her eyes slit to nothing. “I know how to keep the interest of the crowd. What I can’t control is someone waltzing in and snatching them from me.” She’s wearing a pair of black wedges, so at least we know Brenda and Cokie weren’t the ones almost coming to blows earlier.
Brenda averts her gaze. “Well then, if they can be stolen, were they ever yours to begin with?”
Noah tips his head. “Has there been a theft?” He’s teasing in an effort to add some levity to the strained situation.
“No theft,” Brenda is quick to answer. She pulls her arm forward and holds a book our way—a hardback with a crimson dust jacket—but she’s holding it upside down so I can’t read the title. “I’ve got our top value prize for the evening.” She flips it over. “A signed copy ofJustice Served Cold: The Story of Desmond Meadows.”
Both Cokie and Rachelle gasp as if they know the value of the book, and oddly, I think Noah and Everett just straightened as if they do, too.
Noah leans in. “Desmond Meadows? Can I see that?”