Page 66 of Twice Baked Risky Whiskey Cakes

She would.

“She confessed,” I shout to Noah and Everett. “Her real name is Maggie Murray! She admitted to setting Eliza up. And she admitted she killed Sebastian Gallagher!”

“Come on in, everyone,” Carlotta shouts, treading water beside a furious, soggy Glinda. Both are lit up like a couple of toxic limes. “The water is fine! I’ve always wanted to be green. Brings out the sexy minx in my eyes!”

More like the mischief.

Noah wades in with handcuffs at the ready, looking less than thrilled about getting his clothes wet or green.

Sebby floats above us all, his ghostly form beginning to shimmer even brighter.

“It looks as if it’s my time to go, Lolita,” he says, drifting upward against his own volition. “May the luck of the Irish be with you and your little buns in the oven!” He gives a little twirl. “Tell Lyla Nell that Sebby will miss pulling her pigtails, but I’ll be watching over her always.” With that, he disappears in a vat of green glittering stars.

Everett reaches me, wrapping his arms around me with careful tenderness. “Lemon, are you okay? Are the twins all right?”

The babies choose that moment to kick with Olympic-level force.

“They’re fine,” I say, leaning into his embrace. “But I have a sneaking suspicion they want donuts.”

“Of course, they do,” he sighs, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “They are your children—ourchildren.”

We share a quiet laugh that turns into a heated kiss.

We pull back in time to see Noah leading a green-tinted Glinda back to shore in handcuffs.

I can’t help but think that justice, like revenge, is sometimes best served with a splash of color—and today’s special is definitely emerald green.

Everett lands a kiss to my cheek. “How about we leave the detective work to the detective from here on out and focus on our family instead?”

“I’m in,” I say, raising a hand.

“Rumor has it, we’re going to have twins.”

“If only the twins had heard that rumor,” I tease, and they both give a swift kick. “But whether or not they make an appearance anytime soon, we’ve got a birthday party to throw for a certain little girl. Lyla Nell is turning two.”

“I seem to remember my wife is about to have a birthday herself.” His lips curve with the thought. “Don’t worry, Lemon. I’ll make sure both of your special days are perfect.”

And I have no doubt he will.

He seals the sentiment with a perfect kiss to prove his point.

LOTTIE

The living room looks like a pink bomb detonated with the precision of a glitter-obsessed perfectionist—that would be Keelie.

She’s the one who helped me decorate this morning. It’s the afternoon of Lyla Nell’s second birthday—and well, technically, my birthday, too, but I’m more than happy to let my big day take a back seat.

We’ve invited a few friends and family and already gorged on all the Mangias pizza and Chinese buffet from the Wicked Wok. In fact, we’ve moved past the cake and are already halfway through with the gifts at this point.

Streamers dangle from the ceiling in perfect spirals, balloons cluster in every corner in various shades of bubblegum and cotton candy, and a mountain of glittery wrapping paper grows by the second. The air smells like buttercream frosting, coffee, and that unmistakable scent of new toys fresh out of their packages—a mix of plastic and possibility.

Cast aside on the dining room table sits a decimated three-tier cake with a Barbie doll standing proudly in the middle, and her lower half once encased in a frosting skirt that now resembles a disaster zone after Lyla Nell and her band of toddleraccomplices attacked it with tiny forks and sticky fingers. It was a deliriously beautiful sight.

Crumbs litter the table like pink confetti, and the frosting has somehow made its way onto the ceiling fan. Don’t ask me how. When toddlers are involved, physics takes a vacation.

“Come on, Little Yippy. Hurry up!” Carlotta urges Lyla Nell from her perch on the arm of the sofa. “I’m growing old here. By the time you open all these presents, I’ll need a walker and one of those pill organizers with the days of the week on it.”

“You already have one of those pill organizers,” I’m quick to point out.

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