Page 28 of A Whisker in the Night

Chapter 17

Spring has exploded all over the Country Cottage Inn as if a pastel bomb detonated, and I just might have been the one who lit the fuse.

What can I say? When you’re thoroughly knocked up and the nesting instinct kicks in, you don’t fight it. You lean into it—hard. Hence the army of ceramic bunnies in Easter bonnets stationed all over the front desk, silently judging everyone who walks in.

These bunnies are creepy, Bizzy. The one in the pink hat is glaring at me,Fish growls from her perch on the counter while whipping her tail back and forth in annoyance.

You think everyone is glaring at you,Sherlock says with a soft woof. His own tail is wagging like mad as yet another guest leans down to take his picture.

Fish, Sherlock, and Jellybean have spent all morning posing for pictures like the camera-ready furry cuties they are. It’s a pretty regular occurrence that the guests want to sneak a selfie with my magnificent yet slightly mischievous menagerie.

I don’t think the bunnies are creepy,Jellybean meows as a little girl gives her a scratch under her chin.They remind me of the chocolate bunnies they sell back at the farm.

“Ooh, chocolate bunnies.” I moan at the thought of diving into a silky smooth milk chocolate bunny right now. I’ve already inhaled a plate of Emmie’s pastel peanut butter and chocolate eggs. I’ve certainly had enough chocolate for the day—logically, that is. But judging by the way my stomach is clawing at me, I haven’t met my illogical quota for the day. And I think both the baby and I know that is certainly going to happen.

I’m scrolling through my phone at the reception counter, half-heartedly googling Matilda Westoff in an effort to track down her whereabouts, when the front door chimes.

I look up just as trouble waltzes in—and not just one dose, buttwo—both dressed looking like a couple of pastel Easter eggs themselves.

Mom and Georgie head this way, and I can’t help but note that Georgie looks more than a little irate.

Mom is rocking a lavender blazer with shoulder pads that look frighteningly aerodynamic, paired with a bright pink polo whose popped collar practically screams 1986. Georgie has on one of her go-to kaftans, and this one actually has pastel eggs dotted on a fuchsia background. Both women look adorable enough to place in anyone’s Easter basket if you ask me.

Georgie wags a finger at me. “Who do you think you are?” she starts in and it’s only then I spot the odd-looking red helmet in her hand, but before I can ask about it, I suppose there are more pressing issues at hand.

“Who do I think I am?” I ask, holding back a laugh. “Bizzy Baker Wilder?” I say, already bracing myself for whatever direction this might be headed in. I’m betting it’s not a good one.

“Try again,” she huffs and that gray pouf sitting on her head gives a mean wobble. “You’re the woman who sneaks off to five-star restaurants without inviting her partners in crime. I thought we had a deal—but it turns out you had ameal. You’rea treasonous sneak who left two old broads in the dust and isn’t even sorry about it.”

“Oh,that.” I wince with an apology already creeping up my throat. “I am sorry. I should’ve known there would be serious consequences for unauthorized fine dining.”

The baby kicks, either agreeing with Georgie or protesting my neglect to order an extra side of truffle fries yesterday.

“Never mind that.” Mom waves off my culinary transgression like it’s a minor offense. “We were just coming to pick up something from Georgie’s refrigerator and I thought we’d stop in and say hello. We’re on our way to the Spring Fling Side Dish Swing. It’s a competition we heard about and just had to enter. There’s a thousand-dollar prize at stake.”

“Ooh, you had me at side dishes,” I say. “I love them.”

That you do,Fish purrs my way.And appetizers, and main dishes, and dessert, too,she teases.

It’s true. I love all of the above these days and I’ve never been so eager to have them all on a loop.

I lean in, genuinely intrigued. “What culinary masterpieces are you submitting?” My stomach growls just thinking about an entire bevy of scrumptious side dishes all lined up and ready to land on my plate—though that could just be the baby demanding their second breakfast.

Georgie leans in. “I’ve perfected my signature shake and shimmy, wiggle and a giggle Jell-O surprise casserole,” she announces, practically glowing with pride. “Seven layers, which include lime Jell-O, cottage cheese, crushed potato chips, and mini marshmallows for garnish.”

“Oh wow.” I try not to wince.

The baby does a somersault of protest, and honestly, same.

“And I’m entering my famous creamy dreamy broccoli salad,” Mom beams. “I can’t stop eating it.”

My appetite suddenly flatlines, and the baby gives a sharp kick, as if warning me to steer clean. It’s nice to know we’re on the same page so early on in our relationship. I pat my belly, silently promising we’ll avoid both entries at all costs.

Jellybean twitches her whiskers.Is it just me, or does that Jell-O thing sound like some sort of a daredevil dish?

Sherlock lifts his chin.I once ate a moth because I thought it was a flying raisin.

Fish nods.That sounds about right.

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