Page 2 of All's Fair in Love and Blackmail

“Hey.” My big sister’s voice is tinged with stress when she speaks, and I startle back to attention. “I think you should come home and talk to her. She’s starting a batch of eclairs.”

“Eclairs?”I say, glancing in my rearview mirror at the back seat full of baked goods. Then I turn my head to get a few more whiffs of the fresh Colorado air coming through the open window. “I haven’t even gotten rid of all the cupcakes yet.Youtalk to her.”

“I’m not competent at consoling people,” Aurora says, sounding uncomfortable now.

It’s true; she’s not. Aurora is a typical older sister in some ways, fearless and bold, protective, strong-willed enough to drive my parents crazy—but emotions aren’t her strong suit.

She could take over the world if she wanted, but don’t ask her to talk about her feelings.

“Just hurry,” she says. “I don’t think she’s ever tried eclairs before.” Her voice lowers to a muffled whisper as she adds, “And she has her crazy eyes.”

That sounds about right.

“I don’t know what to do with all these, Ror,” I say, glancing once again at the dozens of cupcakes in the back seat.

“Did you take some to Mom and Dad?”

I snort. “Yeah, of course. But only six; they leave early in the morning.”

“Good call,” Aurora says, her words musing. “Dad’s supposed to be watching his sugar intake anyway. What about Poppy?”

“I gave her a dozen.” And she took them with a smile, because even though she’s not technically a Marigold sibling, she’s Cyrus’s best friend and has been for years. Anyone who puts up with our grumpy big brother deserves to be treated like family.

Aurora sighs. “Take the rest to Cy’s place, I guess. He’ll eat them. Or you could take them down to the station. Bert will eat a bunch. He’ll take some home to Maureen too, and he can give the rest to the officers.”

I’m not sure what it says about us that we know the police chief and his wife by name.

But it’s not like this is a big city. It’s Lucky, Colorado. Most of the people here have been around forever, and most of them have seen us through multiple iterations of ourselves—including Bert. He was the one who brought Aurora and I down to the station when we got caught egging the house of a stupid teenage boy that broke Juliet’s little teenage heart years ago.

Jules was a stress baker back then, too, but it’s gotten worse as we’ve gotten older. A few times a year she goes through a mid-twenties crisis, and the kitchen of the house the three of us rent together explodes with vanilla and sugar and flour.

It’s probably good that Cyrus has his own place. All that mess would drive him insane.

It drives me insane too, but I’m less irritable than Cyrus. Luckily even though Juliet stress bakes, Aurora stresscleans,tidying methodically and almost compulsively when she’s got too much on her mind or on her plate.

I usually just go for a long run when my emotions are tangled and fit to burst. I run until I can’t feel my legs, until my lungs are ripped and raw.

“All right,” I say as I pull a legal-but-questionably-executed U-turn. “I’ll take these to Cy’s, and then I’ll be back. Try to hold her off on the eclairs.”

“I’ll try,” Aurora says. Her voice is skeptical and distracted, which makes me think she’s watching Juliet whirl around the kitchen like a tornado of chaos, her blonde hair piled on top of her head, flour on her cheeks, a manic look in her eyes as she stirs and folds and whatever else bakers do.

I don’t know. I could burn water.

“Also,” Aurora adds, “did you take my sandals? The black ones?”

I glance briefly at the strappy black shoes on my feet. “No,” I lie.

“India!”

“Try to stop her, please,” I say before she can get started on her rant. “I don’t know anyone who will want a million eclairs after I’ve already dumped a bunch of cupcakes on them.”

At thirty-one years old,my brother, Cyrus, is easily the most responsible of the four of us.

He has a real job, a good one, with a salary he won’t disclose and benefits and all that jazz. Since he works doing research at the University of Colorado in Boulder, he could even send his kids there for cheap if he wanted.

If he ever had kids, that is. He has to find someone who will put up with him first. We’re all hoping he and Poppy will wake up one day and realize they’re in love—they’ve been best friends forever—but so far it hasn’t happened, and our mom thinks that if it hasn’t happened by now it probably won’t.

I don’t know. I still think it could work.

---