Chapter 3 Lottie #2
“Only a few dozen,” Gina replies with a wink and a honk. “But who’s counting?”
“A woman after my own heart,” Carlotta honks right back. “I’m currently engaged to the mayor, but that doesn’t mean a girl can’t window shop, right?”
“Carlotta!” I wrinkle my nose at her. “Must everyone know about your testosterone obsession?”
“What? The girl married into chocolate royalty! We’re talking generational wealth here. If she gives me a few tips, I might just trade up financially.” She turns to Gina. “Does your hubby have a rich uncle?”
“Ignore her,” I tell Gina as I try my best to hold Carlotta back before she pounces on the poor woman, literally.
“Speaking of the family,” Gina says, “let me introduce you to everyone.” She waves toward the chocolate booth area where a blonde and a sandy-haired gentleman look as if they’re locking horns. “Bunny! Duncan! Come meet my oldest friends!”
A petite blonde with long honey-colored hair loosely pulled into a messy bun breaks away from what appears to be an intense conversation with a tall, imposing man.
She’s wearing flowing organic fabrics in earth tones that scream wellness guru meets expensive yoga retreat, and even from a distance, there’s something serene yet sharp about her movements.
The tall man beside her radiates the kind of commanding presence that comes with inherited wealth and the absolute certainty that he’s right about everything.
His sandy brown hair clings to his scalp, and his gray-blue eyes survey the crowd with a calculating expression as if he were tallying up potential profit margins.
They both approach, and the tension between them follows as an unwelcome third party—the kind that makes small talk impossible and family dinners feel like hostage situations.
“This is Bunny, my sister-in-law,” Gina says as the woman reaches us.
“She runs the most amazing wellness retreat, plus she’s a best-selling author many times over.
Her new book, Sweet Poison: How Sugar Is Destroying Your Soul, went completely viral on social media.
She’s got like half a million followers hanging on her every detox tip. ”
Bunny’s smile tightens slightly, as if being introduced by her accomplishments makes her uncomfortable. I can tell she’s very humble.
“It’s really about helping people find their authentic selves through mindful living,” she says, her voice carrying that particular blend of earnestness and authority that only a wellness guru can provide.
She forces a smile that doesn’t quite register in her warm brown eyes.
“Lovely to meet you. Any friends of Gina’s are friends of ours. ”
The tall man arrives a beat later, and his presence seems to suck some of the joy out of the immediate vicinity. “This is Duncan, my brother-in-law,” Gina continues. “The chocolate king himself.”
“Charmed,” he says, though his tone suggests he’s anything but.
“Duncan was just explaining to me the importance of family loyalty,” Bunny says, her voice carrying an edge sharp enough to cut down every tree in the woods surrounding the lake.
“And Bunny was demonstrating her usual resistance to sound business advice,” Duncan replies smoothly.
The tension between them could start a kitchen fire.
“Well, isn’t this cozy?” says a new voice, and we turn to see a curvy woman with gorgeous auburn curls approaching with a professional camera around her neck.
She’s beautiful in that effortless way that makes other women want to check their lipstick, but there’s something guarded in her bright blue eyes.
I recognize Muffin instantly because she’s been the secretary down at Honey Hollow Covenant Church for years.
“And this is Muffin,” Gina says brightly. “Duncan’s wife and our resident photographer. She’s working on that hunky calendar project everyone’s talking about.”
“Calendar?” I ask, pleasantly surprised. “I don’t remember the church ever putting one out, but that’s a great idea,” I tell her.
Her face turns the same inflamed color as her curly locks.
“It’s not for the church,” she says before clearing her throat a notch.
“It’s The Hunks of Honey Hollow calendar,” Muffin clarifies, though she doesn’t look at her husband when she speaks.
“It’s for a local charity that supports the women’s shelter in Burlington. ”
“Hot dog, now we’re talking!” Carlotta practically bounces right out of her randy shoes.
“Now that’s a charity I can stand behind.
Where are you getting all the hunks? Just let me know if you need help rounding them up.
I’ve got an eye for these things—it’s like a sixth sense, but for attractive men in compromising positions. ”
Lainey laughs. “That’s pretty much Carlotta’s specialty.”
“True as gospel,” I attest.
“I’m just getting the project started,” Muffin says, tucking an auburn curl behind her ear. “The plan is to recruit locally. You know, showcase our hometown talent. I figure there’s plenty of material right here in Honey Hollow.”
“How noble,” Duncan says, and the word drips with condescension. “My wife has such creative hobbies.”
The word hobbies lands like a slap, and I can see Muffin’s jaw tighten.
“Photography is hardly a hobby when you’re making a living at it,” Bunny interjects, and I get the feeling this isn’t the first time she’s defended Muffin.
“A living?” Duncan laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “Let’s not exaggerate.”
My lips press tight because we all know nobody actually has to make a living in this family anyway.
“My goodness, you all have such passion for your work,” Gina says with a laugh that sounds forced around the edges. “That’s what I love about creative families, especially my new family.”
She points across the crowd toward the group of well-dressed men. “That’s my husband, Fairbanks, over there networking with investors.”
I follow her gesture and freeze. Among the investors stands a familiar figure in an expensive suit—Luke Lazzari, mobster extraordinaire, loan shark, and general all-around bad life choice.
The last time I encountered Luke, he was deep in criminal enterprises that had nothing in common with Easter bunnies or anything remotely innocent.
He’s the head of the infamous Lazzari crime family down in Leeds, that routinely wars with the Canellis, even though oddly enough, Luke and Jimmy Canelli, the head of the Canelli branch, are sort of besties.
“Oh my word, is that Luke Lazzari?” I ask, hoping I’m wrong.
“You know Luke?” Gina looks surprised. “He’s been a family friend for years. You know, business connections.”
Before I can process the implications of mob connections to a chocolate empire, Carlotta spots Luke and perks up like someone just announced an open bar.
Have I mentioned he’s her ex? Pretty much every man over a certain age is either Carlotta’s ex or next.
“Lucky Luke!” she crows, heading toward him like a moth to a very dangerous flame. “How’s my favorite Italian stallion doing? Still breaking hearts and kneecaps?”
She trots over to Luke, who greets her with a kiss on both cheeks and a smile that assures everyone in a ten-mile vicinity their decades-old relationship involves steamy stories I probably don’t want to hear.
“Carlotta seems to know everyone,” Muffin sniffs.
“That’s because she’s dated half the people here,” I mutter, watching her sniff Luke’s neck then migrate down his chest—and that’s my cue to pivot on my heels. There’s only so much my poor eyes can take.
Duncan checks his expensive watch. “I should go make the rounds. Festival publicity waits for no one.”
“How dedicated,” Bunny says dryly.
“How practical,” Duncan counters before glancing my way. “You might try it sometime.”
He walks away, leaving behind the kind of awkward silence that makes people wish for a meteor strike.
I should try it sometime? Was that a dig at my bakery? Or at least the booth my bakery is running. Well, I’m selling just fine, not that he asked. Besides, everyone knows that those chocolate bunnies of his are practically selling themselves.
“Family dynamics,” Gina says with another forced laugh. “You know how it is.”
Actually, I don’t, because most families don’t conduct passive-aggressive warfare at public events, but I nod anyway.
“Well,” Bunny says, “I should get back to my booth. People are asking about my spring cleanse program. It involves giving up chocolate for thirty days, which in this family is basically treason.”
And just like that, I know I’m not interested.
She heads back toward her wellness display, and Muffin excuses herself to photograph some of the festival activities, leaving Gina, Lainey, and me standing near the ring toss.
“They seem... close,” I say, choosing my words as if I had to diffuse a bomb with them.
“Oh, they’re fine.” Gina waves it off dismissively. “Just typical sibling stuff. You know how it is with family businesses.”
In a blink, my sweet mama, Miranda Lemon, appears at my side, looking slightly frazzled with her creamy blonde curls bouncing in step with her.
“Don’t mind us,” she gives a cheery shout as she pushes my adorable brood in the stroller, going Mach 5.
“There are games to be played and an Easter bunny just waiting to take pictures with these little darlings!”
I know firsthand that the Easter bunny in question would be Wiley Fox, Noah’s wily father and my mother’s current main squeeze.
Truthfully, I’m terrified of Wiley. Any man that enthusiastic about dressing up in fuzzy polyester should be monitored by professionals.
Well, for that and the fact that he stole millions from Everett’s mother and lived to tell about it.
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, trying to sound grateful, although I’m mentally adding up all the ways this day could go sideways, because let’s face it, everyone in Honey Hollow has long since figured out that me plus a public event usually equals trouble, and most likely a visit from the coroner’s office.