Page 9 of Honeycombs & Homecomings

“Weren’t you supposed to be getting married this week?” She couldn’t help it. She had to give him some gruff.

He stared at her, eyes wide. “How’d you know that?”

“TheHarvest Ranch Timesdid an article on you last week; you’d be surprised how much they can dig up.”

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I guess.”

Well, he’d certainly gotten uncomfortable fast. She decided to throw him a bone. “They said you opened a new restaurant. In fact, Mrs. Dudley came in my shop last week and swore up and down that she inspired your famous oyster recipe with a dish she made you when you were nine.”

He groaned. “That still a thing?” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets.

“You know how things are around here. You’re a celebrity, Cash. And no one will let you forget. Think about Brenda Lee Mitford, she writes a few books based in Harvest Ranch that just happen to have a labradoodle named Pumpkin in them and now half the town owns labradoodles.”

“Huh.”

She laughed. “It drives poor Allie crazy. She has a Labrador Retriever mutt mix and no one will let up about it. They think she meant to get a labradoodle, but got taken in a scam or something.” A line formed behind him.

He shook his head.

“What?”

“I think I saw maybe five labradoodles just walking in here.”

“Yep, they’re everywhere.” She rested a hand on the counter, lifted a foot and rolled it. She was so tired, and there was still another hour to go tonight. And there were now four people in line. “I mean, you’re no Pumpkin, but you get my point.”

“Cute.”

“Your blond locks got nothing on Pumpkin’s curls.” She lifted her eyebrows up and down a few times for dramatic effect, as she reached for her ankle. She should’ve worn her tennis shoes and not these flats, but she’d been in such a rush and had forgotten.

He rested his forearm on the counter and leaned over to look. “You okay there, Jo-Jo?”

“Don’t call me that,” she whispered. It made her heart ache to hear the nickname.

“What?”

She glanced up at him, at his thick furrowed brow. “I’m fine. Just tired. Listen, I’d love to chat, but . . .” she pointed behind him.

He glanced over his shoulder at the line of now six people. Why, oh, why had the short reprieve come when Cash was walking by?

“Dang, girl. Someone sure is popular.” He stood tall and grabbed his wallet. “I guess I better buy some honey then.”

She forced a tight smile. She couldn’t say seeing him had been a complete disappointment, but the events of the day were coming back to her, and she suddenly felt exhausted. “Sure, yeah. You should try some.” She grabbed a jar of one of her favorite honeys, the Hot Habanero Raw. “Here, a chef such as yourself should appreciate this. And it’s on the house.” She just wanted him gone, and as soon as possible.

“Habanero? You’re sure you’re not trying to get even for . . .”

She grinned despite herself. “That was over a decade ago. It’s water under the bridge.”

“I insist on paying for it,” he said, and then to make sure she couldn’t argue, he added, “and I’ll try that Hickory Smoked, the Orange Blossom, and the Mango, please.” She knew this method; he’d used it on her many a time in high school.

She dropped her chin, but went and grabbed the other three. She grabbed a paper sack, and newspaper, and carefully rolled each jar before placing them inside the bag. While their jars were strong, she learned early on that when you charged fifteen dollars for a pint of honey, you’d better make sure it traveled safely.

She rang up the honey.

“That’s $62.58.” She glanced up, brows raised.

He let out a low whistle. “This must be some honey.”

“It is.”

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