The other stands ramrod straight—sleek, polished, and wearing designer clothes that probably cost more than my truck and insurance combined. Everything about her screams, “I’m important and I know it,” from her perfect brunette bob to her immaculate manicure. Those sharp red talons of hers look so sharp they could double as a can opener.
“You stole my technique and you know it!” the woman with auburn curls shouts as her Southern accent gets thicker with each word. “That lattice pattern is my signature!”
“Please,” the polished woman scoffs, looking down her perfect nose. “As if I would need to steal anything from your little bakery. My pumpkin spice cheesecake has won this competition five years running.”
Killion gives a quiet chuckle before leaning close to my ear and whispering, “I think I can take ’em. I am armed, you know.”
“You are hilarious,” I say, giving his ribs a tweak. “No need to escalate to firearms over a simple pastry dispute. Watch and learn.” I clear my throat as I take a step forward. “Excuse me, ladies,” I sing with a wave and the two women stop arguing abruptly when they notice our little group approaching.
Their expressions transform in an instant with perfect pageant smiles stretching across faces that just seconds ago were twisted with rage.
Clearly, I’ve missed my calling because I’ve managed to turn both of their frowns upside down in record time—which is an improvement even if neither of them means it.
Killion gives me the subtlest of nods.I’ll save the bullets for later,he says internally with a wink my way.
Now that sounds like a hot date.
The two women take a moment to glare at one another for the briefest of moments. And something tells me, deep in my bones, that beneath those picture-perfect smiles lies something far more dangerous than a rivalry over pumpkin spice recipes.
HATTIE
Those picture-perfect smiles stretch even wider as the auburn-haired woman extends her hand.
“Meredith Thorne, owner of The Whisked Away Bakery,” she says in a syrupy Southern drawl that could sweeten coffee from three tables away. Her vintage cat-eye glasses slide down her nose, and she pushes them back up with her finger. “My sweet little bakery is competing here today, and I’m pleased as punch to make your acquaintance.”
The sleek brunette beside her gives a tight smile that doesn’t extend to her sharp hazel eyes. “Vivian Maple. Spice It Up Café.” She delivers her introduction as if she’s bestowing a gift upon us mere mortals. And come to think of it, she might be—seeing that those to-die-for waffles we wolfed down were from her booth.
“Oh, we just loved your pumpkin spice waffles,” I say to Vivian while clutching my chest. “Sorry if I seem overenthusiastic, but I can’t help it. Bakers are like rock stars to me. I happen to have a sweet tooth that knows no end, and I’m forever looking for my next addiction.”
“I see you have good taste.” Vivian bubbles with a laugh and her dark locks gleam even on this dreary fall day.
Look at that hair.Meredith glowers at the woman.Must be nice to afford weekly blowouts while some of us are struggling to keep our businesses afloat because SHE steals all the customers with her overpriced trendy concoctions.Her thoughts blast through my head like a bullhorn, all while her face maintains that sugary-sweet smile.
“Well, butter my biscuit!” Peggy, never one to miss an opportunity to connect with a fellow Southerner, latches onto Meredith immediately. “Another Southern Belle in this Yankee stronghold! I’m Peggy Ebersol, and this here’s Clarabelle Harper, Hattie Holiday, and Hattie’s hunk, Killion.”
“Nice to meet you all,” Vivian says, although her gaze lingers on Killion a moment too long.Especially that tall wall of muscles. I predict I’ll need a helping hand in a moment or two—and then some.
I sigh at the thought. I try not to hold anyone’s mental musing against them. Most women have thoughts like that about Killion, and I can’t say I blame them. I’m still having them myself.
Meredith takes a moment to inspect Peggy. “Why, you sound like you’re from Georgia,” she says as her smile warms genuinely for the first time.
“Born and raised in Savannah, honey! Where’re you from?”
“Little town outside of Charleston that nobody’s ever heard of.” Meredith laughs. “But I’ve been up north long enough that folks tell me my accent’s fadin’.”
“About as faded as my great-grandmother’s quilt.” Peggy cackles. “Which is to say, not at all!”
A scream cuts through our introductions, coming from somewhere near the apple bobbing station. Killion sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that speaks volumes about how often his day gets interrupted by a call to duty.
“I’d better make sure everything’s okay,” he says, giving my hand a quick squeeze. “Meet you back here in ten?”
He politely excuses himself, and as he strides away, Vivian raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Law enforcement?”
“Homicide detective with the Eagle County Sheriff’s Department,” I explain.
Oh, this day just gets better,Vivian muses to herself.I just love a man who happens to own a pair of handcuffs—and more importantly, knows how to use them.
I hike a brow at the thought.
