Page 8 of Honeycombs & Homecomings

Screw it. He squared his shoulders and marched into the fray.

Chapter 3

Jo sat on the tall stool behind her booth, taking a quick breather before the lines picked up again. They did little special deals at the festival that they never did in their shop, like three packs of honey and you get to pick the three flavors you want all with a little discount, and samples of the face creams to try before you buy, and they also sold cute little carved spoons that had a beehive at the tip of the hilt. She’d found a wood carver a couple towns over and had gotten them at a steal of a deal.

She’d thought about making candies from the honey, and had even been attempting different recipes of her own, but she’d nixed the idea the closer and closer they’d gotten to the festival, especially with all the stuff happening with their house. Her sister, like her mother, Clara, didn’t handle stress well, and she didn’t think suggesting changes to their business would go down so well right now.

After today, she was barely handling stress herself. She’d reconciled herself to the loss of the house a while ago, but selling her dad’s desk, and risking her grandmother’s ring had done a number on her.

A couple walked past, staring at the jars of honey on display, and Jo tensed. She just needed two minutes. Two minutes to rest her feet. The couple kept on walking and she sighed in relief. She closed her eyes and extended her feet out in front of her and twisted them around.

“Jo-Jo,” a man spoke to her, his tone rich and smooth like honey.

She froze, her heart thudding in her chest like the herd of ponies on the Appalachian trail. She didn’t open her eyes, only sucked in a breath. Only one person had ever called her Jo-Jo.

The table gave way a little as someone leaned their weight into it. “Take your time, I can wait,” he said.

The thudding of her heart skidded to a stop. She dropped her feet and opened her eyes, turning her gaze on the town runaway.

Cash Evans.

His hip was against her counter, his muscular arms crossed over his chest and the light from the hot dog stand across the way, lit his honey hued locks like a halo. He looked good. Fantastic, in fact.

Blast him.

She forced her expression into one of apathy. It should’ve been easy. It’d been fourteen years since she’d last seen him. She stood. “I’m Allie, actually, but nice try.”

He grinned, a grin that lit his face enhancing the halo-like glow from the hot dog stand. “No, you’re not, you’re Jo-Jo.”

She batted her lashes and played dumb with the second person in her life who’d ever been able to tell her from her sister. Apparently, a decade and a half couldn’t change that. “Can I help you?”

He faced her, and she fought the urge to take a step back. “How are you?” he asked.

She tilted her head. “I’m sorry, do I know you?” The southern accent slipped—just a little, though.

“Ha ha,” he said with exaggerated slowness.

She placed her hands on her hips and raised her brows, as if to say, well?

“Okay, I deserve that.”

“I’d say so,” she said.

He knew. No use pretending anymore.

He frowned, and she almost hated herself for it, but it felt too much like a victory. Cash, the boy who never frowned, who found levity in everything even when his home life had been a disaster, frowned. “So that’s what that looks like.”

His lip quirked up at the side. “What what looks like?”

“You, frowning.” She had seen him frown before—it just wasn’t a common occurrence. Or at least it hadn’t been. Who knew anymore? Not her, that was for sure.

He smiled broad this time. “What can I say, I’m just a happy guy.”

“Right.” All the things she’d wanted to say to him back then flooded her mind, but it’d been a long time and he wasn’t the same kid she known all those years ago. So, she swallowed the quick remark that had come to her that would’ve shamed her mama red in the face.

“How are you, Cash?”

“Not bad.”

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