Page 40 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes (MURDER IN THE MIX #53)

LOTTIE

T he room is a flurry of far too much commotion, lots of cheerleading, and lots of blood, sweat, and tears.

Bright hospital lights blind me overhead.

The sterile scent of antiseptic clashes with the comforting whiff of lavender or whatever essential oil my mother insisted on dousing my pillow with.

The hum of machines beeping steadily, monitoring the twin occupants of my abdomen who, after nine long months, have finally decided to make their grand debut.

“ Push, Lottie! You got this! ” Keelie cheers from my left, sounding a lot like the sideline coach she is.

“I am pushing!” I shout back, gripping Everett’s hand like a lifeline. He winces but doesn’t complain, although I’m positive his bones will never be the same. And I’m betting certain parts of my body won’t be either.

“You’re doing amazing, Lemon,” Everett murmurs, pressing a kiss to my sweaty forehead. “We’re almost there.”

Noah is on my other side, equally doting, although looking slightly green himself.

“Yeah, Lot, just—oh wow, that’s—” He clamps his mouth shut as Dr. Barnette, my OB-GYN, and a redheaded one at that—and have I mentioned that she’s Everett’s ex?

(but we’re not talking about that right now)— gives one final instruction.

“One more push, Lottie! Here we go!”

I push with everything I have, and suddenly, a sharp cry fills the room.

Dr. Barnette lifts a tiny, squirming, perfect human into the air. “ It’s a boy! ”

The room erupts in cheers. Mom lets out an excited squeal. Keelie and Meg high-five as if I had just won a medal. Lainey is already dabbing at her eyes, and even Charlie looks suspiciously misty-eyed.

Both Everett and Noah stare at our son in complete, dumbfounded awe.

Everett grips my hand even tighter. “Lemon…” His voice cracks, and I swear I see a tear slip down his cheek.

Noah doesn’t even bother wiping his away. He’s too busy looking at our son like he just hung the moon.

“Not done yet,” Dr. Barnette announces. “Let’s get baby number two out.”

Oh, right. Another one.

I groan. “Can’t they take a cab?”

The room chuckles, but I don’t have time to quip because another contraction rolls through me, and before I know it, Dr. Barnette is holding up another tiny, squirming miracle.

Another burst of cheers fills the room.

“You did it, Lemon.” Everett kisses my forehead and his lips linger as Noah rubs my arm.

“You’re incredible, Lot,” Noah says with a sigh. “They’re incredible.”

I’m about to pass out when the nurse approaches, handing me two perfectly swaddled bundles—one with a gold ribbon around his wrist, the other with silver.

A few hours later and the room is twice as packed with friends and family.

Mom, Lainey, Meg, Charlie, and Keelie are all huddled around me, cooing over the twins.

Evie, Ava, Olivia, and Lyla Nell are perched on the bed, and even Carlotta and Mayor Nash have found their way in, along with Eliza, Meghan, and Wiley.

“They’re darling,” Mom coos, cradling the older one. “Twin boys! Can you believe it?”

The nurse labeled them with ribbons, but the truth is, I can already tell them apart.

Same shock of dark hair and same serious blue eyes, but the older one has a dimple on his right cheek, the younger on his left.

Their chins, their eyebrows both have tiny differences that might change over time, or maybe not at all.

“What are their names?” Lainey asks, practically vibrating with impatience. “Don’t keep us in suspense, Lot. We’ve waited nine months to meet them.”

I glance up at Everett and shrug. “Looks like push came to shove, and we still don’t have our names shored up.”

“How about Thing One and Thing Two?” Carlotta suggests with a smirk. “Or Thunder and Lightning? Peanut Butter and Jelly? Yip and Yap ?”

“Let’s not set them up for a lifetime of therapy before they’re even a day old,” Noah counters.

Evie raises a hand. “How about naming one after Dad and one after Uncle Noah?” she proposes. “I mean, he’s going to be their dad anyway.”

Noah grins. “Noah is a pretty great name.”

Everett growls, and it’s a sound that would make lesser men take a step back.

“How about using their middle names so there’s not so much confusion?” Mom interjects rather diplomatically. “Corbin Noah Baxter and Everett Essex Baxter?”

Lemon-Baxter, I mentally correct, but I’m too exhausted to say that part out loud at the moment.

“Essex would be a better fit for the first name,” Eliza suggests with the confidence of someone who’s never been wrong about anything. And, of course, she would suggest it. She thought it was a good idea the first time around, too.

Keelie coos at the boys. “Okay, so the older twin is Essex Everett Baxter, and Corbin Noah Baxter for the second cutie pie.”

Mom lands the older babe into my arms once again, and Lyla Nell edges closer to them from the corner of the bed with a bout of curiosity overcoming her initial shyness.

“Look at your brand-new baby brothers,” Evie tells her. “That’s Essex, and that’s Corbin. Do you like those names?”

Lyla Nell nods, and the room erupts in a quiet cheer.

“Ozzy and Co- bean ,” she’s quick to announce while clapping up a storm.

“I love that,” Evie says. “Dad never goes by Essex anyway. I vote we nickname the older one Ozzy. What do you think?” She looks to Everett then me.

“What do you think, Lemon?” Everett brushes the hair from my eyes and offers a loving smile that warms me to my toes.

“I think it’s perfect.” I glance between Noah and Everett, my two favorite men—up until now at least. Now they’re forever tied with these two little men who came into my life today. “I love that we’re paying tribute to the two most important men in my world. What do you think, Everett?”

“I’m in love with them, their names, and our growing family,” Everett says softly. “It’s perfect. They’re perfect. And you’re perfect.” He leans in and offers me a lingering kiss as the room breaks out in another round of coos.

Lyla Nell tugs at the blanket as she inches in closer still. “Where they mommy at?” she asks with wide-eyed concern as she looks from me to Everett then Noah.

The room goes quiet, and it’s the kind of sudden silence that makes you wonder if someone hit a universal pause button.

“Why, I’m their mommy,” I tell her with a smile—an exhausted smile, but a smile nonetheless.

Lyla Nell looks genuinely confused, but adorably so as her little brow furrows like mad.

“ No ,” she shouts a touch too loud. “You my mommy. Who day mommy?” She looks around as if the maternal offender might be hiding somewhere in the crowd.

The crowd coos again. It’s like watching a tennis match of adorable yet questionably traumatizing moments.

“Sweetheart”—I lean her way—“I’m their mommy and your mommy,” I explain gently. “That’s how families work sometimes.”

“That’s right. Sharing is caring,” Lainey quips.

“Unless it’s the last donut,” Meg adds, and a loose chuckle breaks out in the room.

“Or one of Lot’s men—she doesn’t share those either,” Carlotta mutters under her breath, and another round of laughter breaks out.

Lyla Nell’s lower lip starts to tremble.

“No! You MY mommy! These babies need different mommy.” No sooner does she get the words out—rather aggressively might I add—than the wailing begins.

Loud. Sharp. Shrill cries, certainly loud enough to wake the dead, but thankfully not loud enough to wake two sleeping twin boys who just made their debut into the world.

Mom swoops in like a superhero and scoops Lyla Nell up, heading for the door as half the room clears out with congratulations tossed over their shoulders like confetti.

Charlie steps forward once the room quiets down, looking suspiciously excited. “So, about the event in Las Vegas next month. You know I’ve already committed to the Savory Sizzle in Sin City. And you know I’ve been begging you to sign up for the Sin City Sugar Showdown.”

“Oh, Charlie,” I moan. “The Flavor Frenzy is a big event, but I have a feeling these two are going to be an even bigger event at my house. Especially at night. There’s no way I can make it.”

“Have I mentioned the winner gets their signature creation stocked in gourmet markets nationwide?” Charlie counters. “We’re talking coast-to-coast distribution deals, Lottie. Your cinnamon rolls could be the next big thing from Seattle to Miami.”

My mouth falls open. “Oh, wow, that’s big!”

She nods. “The winner gets featured in Pastry Monthly and named America’s Premier Bakery for the year.

And the winner gets a permanent feature in the Culinary Hall of Fame,” Charlie counters.

“Not to mention exclusive rights to supply pastries to the White House for their holiday gala. This is bigger than money, Lottie—it’s legacy . ”

“You should totally do it, Lot.” Lainey shrugs. “I’ll be there.”

Meg nods. “And I’m going to be performing as Madge the Badge—also known as Mad Madge. I can’t wait to crack a few skulls.”

“Free babysitting from Mom.” Lainey throws it out there like the ultimate temptation—and right now it so is.

I look up at Everett and Noah, trying to gauge their reactions.

Everett tips his head to the side. “I’m on paternity leave. I can certainly make it work.”

Noah looks far off with his gaze fixed on some hypnotic point out the window. “And if you guys go, I’m in, too, if you don’t mind.”

“I wouldn’t go without you,” I tell him.

He nods, still looking pensively out the window. “Good. I’ve got some business in Vegas that I’ve been meaning to take care of.”

Everett and I exchange a look.

Something in Noah’s tone makes me wonder what kind of “business” he’s talking about, but with two newborns in my arms, I’ve reached my mystery-solving quota for the day.

“Then it’s settled,” I say with a shrug. “In one month’s time, we’ll be heading to Las Vegas.”

“Vegas, baby! Here we come!” Carlotta shrieks, startling both babies awake. “Sorry, Double Dipper Yippers. I’m just excited about all the trouble—I mean, fun —we’re going to have.”

“I’ll be there for sure,” Keelie says. “And somehow I doubt Sin City has seen anything quite like the Honey Hollow crew,” she says with a laugh.

“Vegas won’t know what hit it,” Everett agrees, kissing the top of my head.

I look down at my twin boys, already sensing that whatever awaits us in Las Vegas will be just the beginning of our family’s next great adventure.

After all, I’ve never been one to dodge trouble—or a good mystery—especially when it comes with neon lights and slot machines.

Some mothers bring home teddy bears from the hospital. I’m bringing home twin boys and a one-way ticket to Vegas-sized chaos.

Look out, Las Vegas. Honey Hollow is about to invade.

Here’s hoping we don’t leave a trail of bodies in our wake.

But something tells me the odds are not in our favor.

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