Chapter 23
The aftermath of Uncle Jimmy’s announcement about his plans for municipal revenge is still sinking in when I spot Cooper making his way back across the festival grounds.
I lean in and squint—the man is soaking wet and carrying what appears to be my beloved Buttercup like some sort of aquatic treasure hunter who just discovered the holy grail of personal protection equipment.
The lake has settled into evening tranquility, its surface reflecting twinkle lights and the occasional leftover fireworks from people who apparently bought more explosives than they could detonate in one evening.
The air smells like summer, barbecue, and dicey decisions that involve a lot of beer, while music drifts through the speakers.
Most of the crowd has cleared out, leaving behind that soft, romantic quiet that makes you understand why people write poetry about nights like this.
“Please tell me you didn’t jump back in that lake for my gun,” I call out as Cooper approaches, though the evidence suggests that’s exactly what happened and my heart is doing things that have nothing to do with the evening’s earlier adrenaline rush.
“I had a fishing net in my car,” Cooper says, water dripping everywhere in a way that should be illegal given how good he still looks. “Took me ten minutes. But here she is.”
He holds up Buttercup as if he just pulled off a grand romantic gesture—one that’ll definitely get talked about in certain circles where retrieving your girlfriend’s firearm from the bottom of a lake counts as true love. It sure does in mine.
“You fished my Glock out of Honey Lake,” I say, taking her back and checking her over like a long-lost child. “That’s either incredibly romantic or deeply concerning.”
“Probably both,” he says with a grin. “When the woman you love loses her weapon while apprehending a homicidal hippie, you do what needs to be done.”
“You love me?” I inch back as I take him in.
Another firework flashes and lights up his handsome features that make me want to tackle him regardless of his answer.
“You didn’t know that?” He hikes a brow, amused as he pulls me close. He’s fighting a grin and so am I.
“I didn’t. But guess what? I love you, too.”
“You do?” His eyes widen a notch, letting me know I’ve managed to trip him almost as badly as he just tripped me. In the very best way, of course.
Watson barks his approval of these sappy sentiments, then begins investigating Cooper’s wet clothes like it’s very important research into the scent profile of lake water and heroic masculinity.
“It must be true love,” I say, tucking Buttercup back into her holster, and it’s as if the world has been restored to proper order. “Most guys bring flowers. You bring firearms retrieved from aquatic crime scenes.”
“I’m not most guys,” Cooper points out, pulling me even closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body despite the fact that he’s dripping wet. “And you are definitely not most women.”
Before I can respond with something appropriately sarcastic and flirtatious, a burst of laughter and music draws our attention toward the pavilion area where the remnants of a very successful social experiment are playing out under the stars.
“Is the Sparks and Stripes Speed Dating event still going on?” I ask, spotting couples dancing to music.
“It is and it looks like it’s a success,” Cooper says, and we crane our necks to get a better look at the romantic musical chairs that apparently concluded with a little dancing rather than the exchange of business cards and awkward small talk.
And there’s Loretta, spinning under the lights with a cowboy who looks age-appropriate and financially stable—a plot twist no one saw coming.
Now there’s a shocker.
“Well, I’ll be darned.” Cooper shakes his head, watching his sister laugh as her partner dips her under the twinkle lights. “She actually found someone in her age range with functioning adult skills.”
“And a cowboy hat,” I point out. “That’s very all-American. Your family’s going to love the optics.”
Watson approves, then immediately gets distracted by Nona Jo and Flip Flapjack dancing like teenagers at prom.
She’s managed to maintain her beehive despite the chaos, and Flip looks as if he’s discovered the secret to happiness involves dancing with Italian grandmothers who could intimidate professional wrestlers—and still have the energy to bake the world’s best anise cookies.
“Think they’ll make it through a whole song without your grandmother starting a fight?” Cooper asks, watching as Nona Jo executes a surprisingly graceful spin that makes her sparkly dress flash just enough to ensure everyone here knows that she’s still the main event.
“That depends on whether Flip steps on her feet,” I reply. “Nona Jo takes her dancing very seriously. She once broke up with a guy because he couldn’t keep time.” Actually, I think she shot him in the foot, but I’m keeping that bullet-shaped tidbit to myself.
“Remind me never to ask her to dance,” Cooper says solemnly.
“Wise move,” I tell him.
The music softens and couples draw closer as the night settles into something warm and dangerously romantic.
“Dance with me?” Cooper asks, offering his hand as if the fact we’re still dripping wet is irrelevant.
“We’re dripping on the grass,” I point out, but I’m taking it because there’s something irresistible about a man who’s willing to fish your gun out of a lake and then asks you to dance like it’s the most natural progression in the world. It really should be.
“Turns out, we’re waterproof,” Cooper says, pulling me into his arms. This man knows exactly how to hold a woman, and I’m glad I’m that woman.
We sway together to the music, and despite the fact we’re damp enough to qualify as human sprinkler systems, everything feels perfect in that way that only happens when you’re dancing with someone who makes you forget about dead bodies and family drama and the moral complexities of your double life as a cookie pusher-slash-assassin.
Watson circles us like a very enthusiastic backup dancer.
“I love our dog, too,” Cooper murmurs into my ear, his breath warm against my skin in a way that makes me temporarily forget we’re in public.
“He loves the attention,” I say, watching Watson ham it up.
In the distance, Aunt Cat and Carlotta appear to be holding court with what appears to be the entire cleanup crew—and possibly planning something that will require legal counsel later.
“Those two are something else,” Cooper says.
“They’re an acquired taste,” I agree. “Like cheap wine or really stinky cheese. You have to develop a palate for the chaos.”
“I think I’m acquiring it,” Cooper says, spinning me under his arm before pulling me back against his chest with a smooth move that suggests he’s been practicing or is naturally gifted at the art of romantic dance floor navigation.
The song comes to an end, the crowd thins, and the entire night seems to exhale.
Loretta takes off with her newfound cowboy, while Nona Jo gives Flip what appears to be her phone number written on a napkin.
I’m sure he still has a rotary phone he could put to good use.
Cooper and I settle onto a bench by the water as Watson wedges himself between us as if he’s enforcing cuddle policy. The lake laps gently against the shore, and the last of the festival lights creates patterns on the water that look like liquid stars.
Cooper wraps his arm around me. “Do you think this town will stay quiet for a while?”
I lean into him, feeling a contentment that comes from solving murders, saving relationships, and successfully avoiding assassinating anyone despite significant family pressure to do otherwise.
“Are you kidding?” I say, watching the last of the fireworks reflect off the water while Watson nods off with his head on my feet.
“This is Honey Hollow. I give it two weeks before someone else turns up dead and I’m back to investigating a murder while trying to maintain my cover as a sweet baker who definitely doesn’t carry firearms to family picnics. ”
Did I just say cover?
Cooper belts out a laugh that echoes right over the lake—and there’s something in his eyes that makes me wonder exactly how much he’s figured out about my side hustle.
Some Fourth of July celebrations end with quiet reflection. Ours ends with wet clothes, a rescued weapon, and the strong suspicion this is the calm before the next disaster.
In Honey Hollow, peace and quiet never last—they just take a short break.
***Be sure to CLICK HERE and pick up DEATH DISH (Pain in the Assassin 6) Coming up next!
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Born into the mob. Terrible at killing. And now someone’s cooking up trouble.
My uncle gave me two options: dance at his strip club—or hunt down his enemies.
I chose murder. And this time, it’s on the menu.
This summer cook-off is SEASONED TO KILL!
Humor with a side of homicide.
Italian cook-offs aren’t supposed to be this deadly. Includes RECIPE!
Look, I never planned to spend my summer investigating a murder instead of judging marinara. But when a food critic drops dead at Honey Hollow’s Italian cook-off, what’s a reluctant hitwoman to do?
I’m Effie Canelli, and my to-do list just got complicated—help run our bakery, avoid a certain assignment from my Uncle Jimmy (the family’s resident crime lord), and oh yeah—figure out who committed murder before my hot detective boyfriend Cooper arrests the wrong person.
Cooper is officially investigating, but between rival chefs with deadly grudges, my meddling family turning every situation into a three-ring circus, a blackmail scheme that could destroy Uncle Jimmy’s empire, and a growing list of suspects who all wanted the victim permanently off the menu, I’m knee-deep in marinara and murder.
So grab your pasta fork and join me in Honey Hollow, where the competition is cutthroat, the family drama is even deadlier, and someone is serving up more than just Italian cuisine this summer.
Trust me—this cook-off murder spree will leave you hungry for justice!