Wicked Whoopie Pies by Addison Moore (english novels to improve english TXT) 📕

“Thank you both,” I say as Lyla Nell unlatches and Everett takes her as I button myself back up. “I wouldn’t trade what we have for the world. Now let’s get next door and dive into those sweet treats before they’re all gone. I’m starved.”

Carlotta gives her stomach a pat. “I’ve worked up an appetite myself. Taking on two men will do that to ya, ain’t that right, Lot?”

“Oh hush,” I tell her as we make our way in that direction. “I’m bringing a muzzle for you next time—and a leash so I can tie you to the post in the back.”

“And they say I’m the heartless one.” She winks my way. “At least you know where you get it from. I’ve got an entire collection of leashes and muzzles I can share with you when we get back at the house,” she says, taking off in a hurry.

Noah moans, “We’d better make tracks before God smites this place in order to cleanse it of everything that just came from her mouth.”

Everett wraps an arm around me. “Don’t worry, Lemon. We have something special.”

I nod even though I’m uncertain if he means him and me, or him, Noah, and me.

Noah, Everett, and I really do have something special, though. Noah and I dated first, but then things went south—a soon-to-be ex-wife played into the equation, Noah and I got married and then that was dissolved, then Everett and I got married so he could keep his trust fund and our union was never dissolved.

When Noah and I broke up the first time, Everett and I gave it a chance, and when Everett saw that I wasn’t completely over Noah, he suggested Noah and I take another crack at it—Noah returned the favor, but at the same time I decided I wanted to give Everett and me another shot, so here we are. Whew.

Everett and I are married, and I am loving every matrimonial minute of it. But for some reason, my love for Noah never diminished. My grandma Nell’s ghost returned a few months back, and she let me know that Noah and Everett would always be a part of my life because I’ve got two soulmates.

I brush the thought out of my mind as we make our way to the conjoined building next door, Carlson Hall, a palatial venue that has played host for everything from wedding receptions to funerals.

Along the back wall of the room, a row of tables is set out with my sweet treats and refreshments to go along with them. I spot my trusty right-hand gal at the bakery, Lily Swanson, working hard to make sure the platters stay full. I thought we’d showcase my whoopie pies this afternoon. I’ve made them in a few different flavors—strawberry, pistachio, lemon, vanilla, and chocolate—but by the looks of things, it’s the chocolate whoopie pies that are leading the charge this afternoon.

We migrate in that direction, and soon Noah, Everett, and I each shove one of those tasty treats into our pie hole. The whoopie pies are essentially two small round cakes with a layer of cream frosting in between. The three of us went for the chocolate—no surprise there.

“Lemon.” Everett closes his eyes as his jaw redefines itself, and that same serious look he gets when he’s in the throes of ecstasy crosses his face. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

Lily snorts. “Essex must really like ’em, Lot. I’ve seen that man’s jaw clench that way before when—”

“I know when.” I shoot her a look that says stop if you’d like to see your next paycheck.

Everett prefers to go by his middle name because he’s always thought his formal moniker, Essex, was too stuffy. But the myriad of women he’s bedded in the past—and there are legions of them—well, they’ve sort of taken to calling him by his proper name as a sort of badge of honor for the simple fact they’ve danced in the sheets with him. I knew him as Everett long before we danced in the sheets ourselves and, well, old habits die hard.

Lyla Nell snoozes blissfully as she snuggles against Everett’s chest, and I’m about to comment on how peaceful she looks despite the throngs of people in the room when I notice Everett giving a dark look to someone.

I follow his stare, only to find Jimmy Canelli at the other end of Everett’s silent wrath. Jimmy Canelli happens to run a crime family out in Leeds, a small seedy town just south of us. And, let’s just say there’s a dicey history between us.

“Hey,” I whisper to him. “Don’t even go there. Now that Jimmy thinks he’s my father, he’s called off the hit on you. Everything is taken care of. I promise.”

A few months back, Noah, Everett, and I stole the body of Jimmy’s niece from the morgue. Believe me, it sounds worse than it was. Essentially, Florenza Canelli’s ghost blackmailed me into it. Noah feels as if it was his fault because I relied on his assurance to do it, but I was ultimately to blame because I gave the green light.

And ironically, it was Everett who took the fall for it. He was pretty vocal that it was a very bad idea, but went along with it because he loves me. Not only did he lose his seat at the courthouse, he was brought to trial because of it. But thanks to some fancy legal footwork, the sleepwalking defense, which was true in a sense, and a jury full of doubt, that’s all behind us now. Once Everett finishes his paternity leave, he’ll be back at the courthouse next month with a stack of shiny new cases waiting for him and his trusty gavel.

Before Everett can say a word, a tiny black and white critter scampers past me, hops onto the dessert table, and tramples right through six platters of my fresh baked, cream-filled whoopie pies.

“What in the heck?” Lily cries as she