Peach Cobbler Confessions by Addison Moore Page 0,2

sweet treats. I just have to know his name at least, before he disappears for good. A part of me wonders if he has anything to do with this heavy feeling of dread that I can’t seem to shake tonight.

I lean toward Carlotta. “I’ll be right back,” I whisper as I quickly trot over to the dessert table where the heady scent of vanilla and sugar infiltrates my senses.

There are very few scents that can give me an instant high, and those just so happen to be two of them. But even with all that culinary positivity coursing through me, I still can’t shake the feeling that something wicked is among us. An overall odd feeling, though, I know.

The blonde I saw slapping the bald man earlier steps between me and my peach cobblers just as the poor man himself steps over.

She holds one of my cobblers out to him, and I’m not sure why, but I have a feeling he’ll be wearing it in less than ten seconds. This isn’t a stretch. The entire trajectory of his night is going in this direction.

“Why thank you,” I say, taking it from her and indulging in a bite.

The woman makes a face my way as the man belts out a laugh. She has wide-set baby blue eyes, a broad nose, and full lips. She’s just as pretty as she is angry.

“Ah, come on, Sammy,” the stalky man chides her. “Go ahead and hand me one, too. Passing out desserts is a much better way to make a living than what you’ve got going on.” The stalky man is actually pretty tall, with what my father used to call laughing eyes. He looks as if he’s mocking the poor girl without even trying, and now I regret wasting any time feeling sorry for him. But it does beg the question, what does Sammy do for a living?

I gobble down my cobbler in haste, contemplating just that.

“Up next.” The presenter up on stage leans into the microphone. “Judge Essex Everett Baxter.”

“Thank you for the cobbler,” I say to the woman as I whoop my way all the back to my seat.

Everett takes the stage in that black suit that matches his hair and the women in the room lose their minds as if a deity just strode in among us. In all fairness, they sort of reacted this very same way when Noah was accepting his award, too.

Everett scans the crowd briefly before his eyes land onto mine and his lips curl in response.

“I want to thank everyone in the public service department who is responsible for giving these awards, and to the public servants who are receiving them as well. Thank you for all you do. And last, but never least, thank you to my beautiful daughter and my beautiful wife. I love you both more than words could ever convey. You are everything to me.”

Everly—Evie Baxter, the daughter I share with Everett, jumps to her feet.

“That’s my dad!” she shouts with pride. “He’s the best in the West! The East Coast, too!” she sings and the crowd breaks out in laughter.

Evie is fifteen but looks every bit of twenty-one. She’s taller than me by a few inches and has the same shock of dark hair as her father—although hers is nearly down to her waist. She also shares his sparkling blue eyes and wry sense of humor.

Evie’s biological mother is Cressida Bentley, one of Everett’s old socialite girlfriends who decided to keep Evie a deep, dark secret up until a few months ago. Cressida has since been, more or less, out of the picture. She’s deranged as can be and stalked both Everett and me last spring. So when Evie asked if I would be her mother, I couldn’t, wouldn’t say no. And just like that, I became a mother to a teenager with more hormones and sass than I had at that age. Well, maybe my hormones could give her a run for her teenage money. With Noah and Everett around, who could blame me?

“Aww!” Lainey’s coo sounds more like the moan of an injured animal. “Who knew Everett could be such a softie?” I’m just about to join her cooing efforts when a woman in a tight red dress, ruched on both sides, strides up to Everett and lands a kiss to his cheek.

I gasp at the sight. Her crimson locks are pulled back into a sleek bun and she sheds a blood red smile right in my direction