CHAPTER 1
Lila
If someone had warned me a raccoon with a penchant for sweets and booze would be my downfall this Valentine’s Day, I might have reconsidered my decision to drain my savings to openThe Boozy Bakeryentirely.
Then again, I do have a track record for bad decisions.
One of which was to open a rival bakery in the same small town as my cousin Audrey. The one who owns the established, highly successful bakery calledThe Sweet Tooth, just a block and a half away.
“Why couldn’t you have broken intoherbakery?” I grumble. I don’t hate her by any means, but she’d recover easily from a disaster like this. Me? It might very well be my doom.
I grip the strap of my purse with both hands, trying like hell not to cry at the tragic sight before me. Hopefully it looks worse than it really is. Maybe I just need to rub the sleep out of my eyes one more time, and reality will adjust into something more manageable.
“Shit.”
When I open my eyes, I’m certain it looks worse than I first thought. So much fucking worse.
A raccoon with a very fat belly sits passed out against the back of my display case, a sea of cake crumbs, sprinkles, and cherries scattered around him. A half-eaten cherries jubilee cupcake is clenched in its tiny hand, draped between its outstretched legs. There’s whipped cream and heart-shaped sprinkles all over its mouth, paws, and tail.
Poor guy got the double whammy with the sugar crash and the alcohol. Those cupcakes were a particularly strong batch, reserved for the book club ladies.
I let out a defeated sigh at the trail of mashed cake leading to the back. Pawprints in the smeared frosting warn me that I probably won’t like what I find in the kitchen any better.
If this were any day other than Valentine’s Day, I might find this funny. How many people can say that a raccoon broke into their bakery and stuffed his little face so full of boozy sweet treats that he literally passed out?
Iwantto find the humor in this shitty situation, but the dread twisting my stomach causes my laugh to come out as a strangled sob.
This is bad.
Very bad.
The kind of bad that could be the end of my business as I know it.
Any chance I have of securing Grandma Val’s coveted lavender lemon cupcake recipe is going up in flames before my eyes. Without a successful Valentine’s Day, not only will my cousin be awarded the highly coveted family recipe, but my business won’t survive through spring.
I’ve sunk every last dime I have into this place. I live upstairs in an apartment so outdated it’s practically a time warp. I sleep on a fucking military grade cot, for fuck’s sake. If Valentine’s Day is a flop for my bakery, it might very well be game over.I’ll be homeless and unemployed—and too big a disgrace to the Hamilton name to stay in Daisy Hills.
I’m afraid to follow the cake trail into the kitchen and discover just how many of my preordered desserts have been destroyed. Some I can remake. But others with ingredients that require soaking for twenty-four hours will have to be scratched entirely.
But before I can tackle that issue, I have to deal with Roxi here.
I consider calling the local animal shelter or possibly the veterinarian clinic, but it’s far too early for anyone to be available. If I wait a couple of hours, my little buddy might wake up. It’s anyone’s guess if the little guy or gal would wake up lethargic and hung over or in some crazed sugar rage.
Calling the local police is out—the chief happens to be married to my cousin. If I called them, Audrey would know all about my disaster before the town even woke up. She’d no doubt get right to work, callingmycustomers before I get the mess cleaned up.
She’s not mean or vindictive. It would be so much easier if she was. Audrey is one of the sweetest, most endearing people I’ve ever known. Which is why I have no doubt she’d want to ensure everyone in this small town she loves so much has the Valentine’s Day treats they need to make their day special. She’d swoop in and save their day, inadvertently ruining mine.
So, I can’t call the police.
In fact, there’s only one person Icancall if I hope to keep this incident on the downlow.
“Sorry, Roxi, but you need to go.”
My gaze snags on the note beside the doorway to the kitchen that includes the property manager’s information, and I tiptoe closer to it. Not that a bomb exploding would wake up my little drunk friend.
I dial the number and wait as it rings.
I’m sent straight to voicemail—not surprising since it’s five thirty in the morning. Only a crazy few of us are up and operational at this early hour. My best friend Marley won’t be in for three hours yet. I take a deep breath, waiting for the beep so I can leave a message I pray will be heard before dawn. Only, the recording delivers another blow.