Page 47 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

Which might actually be a good thing because I’m so far behind on everything that ‘behind’ has become my permanent state of mind.

“At least I ordered Lyla Nell’s birthday gifts online last night,” I mutter to myself, taking a bite of a donut. The custard oozes out the other side, landing on my ever-shrinking lap. Perfect. Just perfect.

A spray of blue and pink stars lights up the area in front of me, and within seconds the cutest little white fox appears with his tiny nose and extra-long pink ears.

“So nice to see you, Lolita,” Sebby says, hopping down to the table and taking up a custard-filled donut for himself. “It’s come to my attention, that this St. Patrick’s Day celebration of yours is going to be one nonstop green extravaganza. The Emerald Isle brought to life right here in little old Honey Hollow!”

“You bet it is,” I say, licking the custard from the bottom of my donut before it makes a break for it. Just the thought of all the excitement that will bring has me already exhausted.

“And did I mention”—he pauses a moment to wolf down the glazed, custard-filled wonder before snatching up another—“that the foxy ladies will be out in force? My kind of foxy ladies, of course. Those enchanting woods just beyond town are positively teeming with vixens ready for a spring fling.Something about the full moon coinciding with your human celebration makes for quite the supernatural soirée.”

“I’m glad someone here is having the luck of the Irish,” I respond, addingbuy wrapping paperto my to-do list. How did I forget to order that last night? Do they ship wrapping paper? Oh, forget it. I’ll dig out some gift bags that I saved from Christmas. Lyla Nell won’t care if Santa’s face is plastered on half of her gifts. ShelovesSanta.

Come to think of it, that might lead her to believe that he supplies her birthday gifts, too. Although let’s face it, those gifts I ordered were lukewarm at best. It might be prudent to let Santa take the heat.

A thought comes to me. “Sebby, how exactly are you and those foxy mamas... You know what? On second thought, I don’t think I want to know.”

“Wise choice,” Sebby agrees. “Spectral liaisons are a complex topic that would make your human brain short-circuit faster than plugging a toaster into a bathtub.”

Some of those things that happened in my bedroom last night were complex enough to short-circuit even the most promiscuous human brain.

Everett Baxter really does have an entire litany of night moves that could make even an aerialist question their expertise in human flexibility.

“Thanks for that lovely image regarding the bathtub,” I say, crossing offpink streamersand addingsanityto the bottom of my list.

At least Lyla Nell is napping at Glam Glam’s right now, giving me a precious hour of peace to plan both our birthdays. Not that my birthday requires a single thing. I’m content letting everyone forget all about it and shining the spotlight right on my sweet baby girl.

My mother jumped at the chance to have uninterrupted Glam Glam time, which I’m pretty sure is code for ‘let’s see how much sugar I can feed my granddaughter before sending her home.’

But beggars can’t be choosers, and right now, I’m begging for just enough time to figure out how to organize a birthday party while nine months pregnant with the world’s most active twins and hunting a killer on the side.

Just another whirlwind day in Honey Hollow.

Speaking of whirlwinds, I spot one just about to enter my shop.

LOTTIE

The bell above the door chimes, and Venus Finnegan glides in looking as put-together as I am pulled-apart.

Her blonde hair is swept into a perfect updo, her spring dress unwrinkled despite the March wind—with pink and white daisies printed over it. It’s almost as adorable as she is.

“Lottie,” she sings with a wave. “Just the baker I was hoping to see,” she says, approaching my table with the grace of someone whose center of gravity hasn’t been hijacked by two tiny humans.

“Venus, what brings you by? Here for more of my addictive sweet treats?” I say it with a wink because we both know her sweet treats might just be twice as addictive.

Sebby swipes a custard-filled donut from my plate. “I love your donuts.”

“Right on the money,” Venus trills again. “I’m here picking up a few dessert platters. I ordered and paid for them online. I’m taking them to my sister-in-law’s. My baked goods are still strictly verboten. Plus, she loved your cookies at Fondu’s birthday party and she’s hosting a small get-together tonight. It’ssort of a do-over without the exploding cake and traumatized pony.”

I give a mournful laugh at the thought. “Well, your niece had quite the memorable party.” I leave out the fact that I’ve had nightmares about that unicorn horn flying through the air like a mythological missile.

“Memorable is one word for it.” Venus rolls her eyes.

“I’ll say,” Sebby agrees.

“Try being related to the mastermind behind it all.” Venus gives a mournful chuckle. “I’m locked in for a lifetime of memorable moments. Anyway, the platters are for the do-over party. Only family this time around. Fondu’s other grandparents missed the main event due to the fact they were ‘trapped’ on their yacht in the Bahamas.” She saystrappedin air quotes.

“The struggle is real,” I say with a little a laugh.

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