Page 42 of Honeycombs & Homecomings

“So, what do we have planned for the rest of the day?” Ryan asked. It was nearing three already.

Jo didn’t want to do anything. She just wanted Cash all to herself, but she couldn’t say that. She cleared her throat. Then cleared it again.

Cash spoke up, his hand tightening on her back in a comforting manner. “I’m making dinner for you at six, and I’m going to need some time to prep before then, so we were thinking we’d split up for the afternoon. You can go to the festival and check out the activities for today or do whatever. That work for you?”

“Sounds great,” Ryan said. “Can’t wait to see if your cooking stands up to Allie’s honey.”

“It does,” she jumped in. “You’d be hard pressed to meet anyone who cooks better.”

Cash turned to her and pressed a kiss against her head.

She loved how easy this suddenly felt.

“A little break sounds perfect, actually,” Cynthia said. “I could use a nap. Ryan and I were so excited about the possibilities for this company, we were up most of the night talking.”

Jo grinned. This was going to work. It was all going to work perfectly. Just like Cash had said.

***

After a quick run up to Harold’s Harvest Market, to gather ingredients he hadn’t thought he’d needed yesterday, and a slightly longer run to his parent’s house, Cash pulled together a spicy honey glazed chicken wing dinner—he’d pilfered a jar of Jo’s Jalapeno Raw Honey off a shelf downstairs, then made fried veggies, and biscuits with a couple other jars of honey that had sounded delicious to go along. As he worked, Jo set up her apartment for dinner. She had the place looking spotless in less than fifteen minutes, then got to work setting the table.

He’d brought her a bouquet of sunflowers, that she’d cut down and placed in a round vase in the middle of the table on top a checkered tablecloth. Cash noticed how easily the two worked around one another. Often that kind of rhythm in a kitchen took time to achieve, especially in a kitchen so small, but here with her, it was as if they’d been sharing this kitchen their entire lives.

Focusing on his meal might have been difficult, having her so close a distraction that he’d never allow in his kitchen’s back in Santa Ana, but his excitement of the meal and his desire to see what she thought of it was enough to keep him focused where he should be—mostly. Every once in a while, he’d shoot a glance in her direction, appreciating the view.

She’d always been graceful, but she had a confidence now she’d lacked as a teen, and it suited her.

It was only moments after he’d placed the chicken in the pan that the tantalizing smells of chicken and her spicy honey wafted around the room.

“Mmm,” Jo said, abandoning her placement of silverware to come over and see what he was doing. “What is that?”

Cash shewed her away. “No peeking.”

She shook her head and marched away. “All right, all right. Fine.”

If only she’d known what that yummy sound had done to him. He couldn’t wait for her to try it.

Fifteen minutes later, a knock sounded at the basement door. He moved the food from the burners and ran down the stairs before Jo had time to react.

He pushed open the back door and found his mom standing there with a small Dutch oven hanging from a wood handle she’d wrapped in an orange oven mitt decorated in daisies.

“Take it quick, dear,” his mom said, as she handed the oven over. “Your father’s sitting in the middle of the parking lot waiting for me.”

Cash lifted the oven away from her, leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you.”

When he’d gone home earlier, he’d quickly made up a peach cobbler in his dad’s Dutch oven. The moment he’d told his mom what he was doing, she’d volunteered to keep an eye on it and bring it over when it was done. He’d planned on asking for help from his dad, but one mention of Jo and his mom was all over it.

“You’re welcome,” his mom said, “and say hello to Jo for me.” She turned and marched off, but she hadn’t turned fast enough and Cash had caught a big old smile on her face before she got her back fully to him.

“Will do,” he called after her.

She waved over her head as she climbed in the car. His dad saluted him and drove off.

Jo met him halfway down the stairs on his way up. “What’s that?” She sniffed. “What . . . oh . . . oh, man. Is that peach cobbler?”

He raised his brows up and down quickly a few times. “It sure is.”

She laughed. “Man, you’re going all out, aren’t you?”

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