Page 8 of The Little Black Book

Chapter3

Life is Good

Zoey

“I’ve got a fresh batch ofDeath by Chocolatecoming out in ten.”

“Thanks, Zeke,” I call over my shoulder before turning back to my customer. “If you can wait, they’ll be nice and fresh. Otherwise, you might like these over here.”

I walk the length of the glass case and point to a stack of chocolate donuts with chocolate glaze. They’re not quite as “deadly” as the ones she wanted with chocolate crème, chocolate frosting, and chocolate sprinkles, but they’re still delicious. She agrees to the substitute, and I give her a discount that has her smiling.

“Thanks for choosingGlaZZed,” I call out as she leaves.

I walk around the counter to clean the glass, which is smudged with fingerprints from customers who come in and point at which donuts they want. I’m just finishing up when Zeke emerges from the kitchen with a tray of chocolatey heaven.

“She didn’t want to wait?” he asks, his gaze roving across the empty shop.

“Morning, bitches.”

The familiar voice cuts me off before I can answer Zeke’s question, and I spin to see Ava striding forward. She comes in at this time every day for her morning coffee and sweet treat, and Zeke’s already putting one of his freshly-made pastries on a small paper plate for her.

“Morning,” I call out as I round the counter to pour her a cup of coffee.

Zeke sets the plate on the counter, then disappears back into the kitchen. Ava picks the donut up and groans suggestively as she takes a big bite.

“It’s still warm,” she sighs after chewing and swallowing.

“Zeke just brought them out,” I say, adding cream and sugar to the paper cup of coffee before handing it over.

“Oh, God,” Ava says, her eyes widening as she sets the donut down and grips her throat while making strangled noises. “Poi…son…”

“Shut up,” I say on a laugh, and she drops the act with a smirk.

“Seriously, though,” she says, taking a sip of her hot brew, “you know your brother hates me. I wouldn’t put it past him to poison my favoritest thing in life.”

She points at the donut, then closes one eye, studying it as if she could see the poison baked inside.

“Zeke does not hate you,” I say. “He’s just…reserved. He acts that way toward everyone.”

“Not with you,” she says.

“No, shit,” I say on a laugh. “We’re twins. We’ve been together since the moment of conception. We shared awomb.”

She shrugs and picks up the donut, then licks her lips. “There are worse ways to die. Besides, it is calledDeath by Chocolate.No false advertising atGlaZZed.”

I shake my head as she takes a bite too big to chew. “You know, he might be nicer to you if you didn’t constantly beg him to take the stick out of his ass.”

“I can’t be held accountable for things I say when I’m drunk,” she says around the fried dough in her mouth. “Besides, when he picked us up from our last Strip Pub Crawl, I told himthank you.”

“Wow. Impressive,” I deadpan, shaking my head as I start a fresh pot of coffee.

Zeke always offers to be our designated driver because he loves me and wants me to be safe. When Ava, Sophie, and I run a Strip Pub Crawl––hitting bars in every casino on the strip, not going to actual strip clubs or stripping, ourselves, thank you very much––Zeke insists on picking us up. We’re usually shitfaced, and he doesn’t trust Sin City’s rideshare drivers to be on the up and up.

He’s the yin to my yang, quiet and reserved while I’m more outspoken and rambunctious. We’ve always been close, even in those pre-teen years when siblings tend to hate each other. We always planned to openGlaZZedtogether, and Zeke went to a pastry school to perfect his technique while I got a business management degree. We opened our doors almost a decade ago, and we’ve been successful since the very beginning.

I feel truly blessed to have Zeke as my business partner, as well as my twin. I just wish he and Ava got along better. But while I’m outspoken and rambunctious, she’s wild and crazy and says exactly what pops into her head at any given moment…which, unfortunately, often happens at Zeke’s expense when he’s driving our drunk asses home.

“So, I guess I’m Sam’s wing-woman now.Wehave a date on Friday,” I say, purposefully changing the subject.

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