Trouble's Brewing (Stirring Up Trouble Trilogy 2)

While they discussed dessert and the merits of pie with ice cream versus pie with whipped topping, I ran through possible scenarios for sneaking in some potion brewing. I could get up at two or three in the morning and sneak into the kitchen. Of course, there was no guarantee that Mom and Milo’s parents would stay asleep. Getting caught would be disastrous. Getting caught would be far worse than waiting until Monday to get started. If Milo weren’t here, I could sneak over to my Dad’s apartment and work on the substitution there. Goodness knew my father wasn’t using the place. But I wanted Milo’s visit, and I was too embarrassed for him to know how low I was on self-control. He’d lose respect for me. Maybe I could break into the house across the street. It was for sale and nobody lived there. Nobody would think to look for me over there. Except maybe the police. I was contemplating committing a crime to further my addiction. I slumped in my chair, disgusted with myself. Get a grip, Zoe!

“Chocolate cake or pumpkin pie?” Sheree asked.

“Pie, please,” I answered. Stupid chocolate allergy.

Dad and Sheree disappeared to the kitchen.

Jake snagged a piece of stuffing from my plate.

“It’s okay now,” I said. “I ate enough.”

“I wasn’t trying to help,” he said. “I just wanted it.”

Sheree returned with three large bowls, overflowing with giant slices of pie and ice cream or whipped topping. She passed one to each of us, and then Dad showed up with two more bowls.

“Whoa!” Milo said. “This slice of pie is as big as a whole pie. How’d you do it?”

“She made the pies in deep dish pizza pans,” Jake told him.

“I can’t eat all this,” I admitted, my fears of insulting Sheree returning.

“No pressure,” Dad said. “Sheree can’t eat it all either, but I dared her to try a teenage-boy-sized slice.”

“Oh good.”

“Wait,” Milo said, pulling his phone out of the pocket of his khakis. “Take a picture of me with this.”

He handed the phone to Jake, and Jake complied.

“Ooh,” Sheree said. “Get my camera, John, and we’ll get one of all three of them.”

Dad went for the camera, and Jake looked up at his mother. “Um, Mom. I already started.”

“That’s okay,” she said. “It won’t matter. I think it will be a cute shot.”

Moments later, Milo and I slid closer to Jake and we each held our pie bowls tilted to fully expose the massive servings. “Oh, this is going to be adorable,” Sheree said.

The brief reprieve over, I turned my focus back to finding room in my stomach for the pie. Anya would have passed on the pie and turned it into a setup for a compliment to her physique. I wasn’t nearly as good at that sort of scheming. I took a tentative bite, and the pie tasted incredible.

“Eat what you can, Zoe,” Dad said. “I don’t think I’m going to have any room left for beer with my football game.”

“You would choose stinky beer over this pie?” I asked.

“Obviously not,” Dad said, and he shoveled another heaping forkful of dessert into his mouth.

The dishes didn’t take long. Sheree had been washing them as she went, and she’d even started the dishwasher as Dad carried the turkey to the dining room.

In the media room, Dad turned on the SEC game, Sheree climbed into the recliner, and me, Milo, and Jake took the couch. Milo made a point of sitting in the middle. “No cuddling,” he demanded. “It’s awkward.”

Dad laughed, but Jake didn’t look too happy.

“Fine,” I said, leaning against Milo’s side. “I’ll cuddle you instead.”

“Hey!” Jake said.

Straightening up, I moved to the edge of the couch. “Fine,” I teased. “You two can cuddle.”

“I’d rather they didn’t,” Dad said, partly kidding, and partly revealing that he was not as open-minded as he pretended to be.

He didn’t need to worry. Jake and Milo had put as much distance between them as possible, which meant that Milo was invading my space.

“For crying out loud,” I grumbled, jumping up and throwing myself into the seat between the two boys. I reached out and held each of their hands. “Now shut up. I’m trying to watch the Bulldogs play.”

“It’s the Gamecocks and the Gators,” Dad corrected.

“Whatever,” I said.

As far as I remembered, my family didn’t like either team. We were one hundred percent Vols fans, and both teams were rivals. “Who are we rooting for?”

“South Carolina,” Sheree answered. “Florida needs another loss.”

I fell asleep at some point, and I woke up to find that I wasn’t the only one. Sheree snoozed in the recliner. Dad snored, softly at least, in the armchair. I had used Milo as a pillow, leaving Jake alone at the other end of the couch. Hopefully, he had fallen asleep before me. I didn’t want him to read anything into the situation. I disentangled myself from Milo, trying not to wake him. A glance at the television told me the Florida-South Carolina game had ended. Nebraska was playing somebody. I was tempted to snuggle up against Jake and go back to sleep. But I didn’t think Milo, Sheree, or Dad wanted to see us sleeping that way. Well pooh. I crossed my arms and leaned back against the sofa.

Soon my father’s snores escalated to their usual volume and irregular rhythm.

Milo groaned in his sleep. Jake whimpered and turned his head into the couch cushion.

I turned to find Sheree looking at me through sleep-heavy eyes. “I told him to see a sleep doctor,” she said. “He won’t listen.”

Dad hit one of his big snores, and Jake and Milo joined the land of the no longer sleeping.

“Wow,” Milo said.

“How can a human make that noise?” Jake asked.

Neither one of them said anything about my sleeping position, so I hoped I was in the clear.

“No reason to let John sleep,” Sheree said. “Wake him up to drive you home. I’m sure your mother is growing impatient. It’s after ten.”

Once we got to my house, Jake and Milo helped carry in the heavy bags of limestone. Milo made a show of keeping it just out of my reach.

“What did you want this for again?” Jake asked. “Mom wasn’t making much sense.”

I wished I could tell him the truth. I wanted him to understand me like Milo did. But that was not a possibility. So I said, “The garden.”

Jake didn’t ask for specifics. I didn’t expect him to. I didn’t care much about what my mother did in the garden either. How many lies had I told Jake in the short time we’d been dating? I had long ago lost count.

“Where should we put this?” Milo asked as we went inside. “Maybe in the garage?”

“Oh,” Mom said, seeing what they carried. “Let’s put it in the shed out back. I’ll get the key.”

I made a face at her to express my opinion about her lack of trust.

“Right,” Milo said. “Where the gardening stuff goes.”

I walked out the back door with them to watch them stack the bags inside the shed. Mom shut the door, closed the lock, and put the key in her pocket.

I glanced at the wooden shed. The joke was on her because there was an axe in the garage that would free that limestone in a couple of well-placed whacks. The idea made me smile.

Milo went up to say goodnight to his parents, and I walked Jake back to the front door.

Jake pulled me into a hug. “Should I risk kissing you in here where your mother might see or out there where your dad will?”

“Here,” I said.

Jake’s kiss was soft and sweet with vanilla and nutmeg lingering on his lips.

“I think you’re turning into pie,” I informed him.

“Will you still kiss me if I do?”

I nodded.

“Then I’ll survive.” He pressed his lips to my cheek, and then pulled away and opened the door. “Will I see you tomorrow?” he asked.

“Definitely.” I had no idea what our plans were for tomorrow, but I

would make sure they included Jake.

I watched him lope across the lawn to my dad’s car, and then shut the door.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear any of that,” Mom said, crossing to the sofa.

“You heard that?”

She raised her hand to her head and said, “Even if the cruel, cruel world turns me into a bakery item, I’ll be fine as long as I have you. My smoochy, smoochy goo goo.”

I laughed in spite of myself. “You are horribly misquoting.”

She shrugged. “That was the gist of it though.”

“Then I’m glad I missed it,” Milo announced as he came down the stairs. “The replay had to be way better anyway.”

Heat rushed into my cheeks and burned my ears. “It wasn’t like that, Milo.”

He and my mother had collapsed with laughter. They sat, side-by-side on the sofa, guffawing like idiots from a bad Cartoon Network show. I glared, and they’d stop laughing momentarily before looking at me and cracking up again.

“Milo’s my friend!” I protested. “You can’t steal him and use him to make fun of me.”

My mother thought this was hysterical, and she laughed harder and slapped her knee with her hand.

“Oh, Annie, you have to see this,” Milo said, pulling out his phone.

My mother’s eyes widened as she saw the size of the desserts Sheree had served. “Well!” Her eyes lit with mischief, and all I could do was wait for the punch line. “They do say you are what you eat.”

“That’s not even funny,” I protested as Milo succumbed to hysteria. “You had a sweet setup, and you blew it.”

“Sweet setup,” Milo said.