Page 1 of Honey for the Bear

Chapter 1

Hannah

Themorningsunstreamsthrough the trees, dappling the ground beneath the canopy of leaves as I set up my honey stand at the Maplewood Grove farmers market.The air smells of fresh bread and ripe fruit, a tantalizing mix that somehow blends perfectly with the sweet, floral scent of my honey.I hum to myself as I arrange the jars in neat rows, each one glinting golden in the sunlight.

This is my favorite part of the week—chatting with neighbors, selling my honey, and soaking up the buzz of the market.It’s loud but friendly, the kind of chaos that feels alive.

“Hannah, you’re glowing as usual!”I glance up to see Mrs.Harper, a spry woman in her seventies with a knack for flattery and knitting sweaters that no one wants to wear.She’s clutching her usual reusable bag, which sags slightly under the weight of whatever produce she’s already snagged.

“Good morning, Mrs.Harper,” I reply cheerfully, sliding a jar of wildflower honey toward her.“And you’re looking radiant yourself.What’s the secret this week?”

She cackles, plucking the jar from the table with gnarled but steady hands.“A spoonful of your honey in my tea every morning.Keeps me young!”

“Then I’m expecting you to live to at least a hundred,” I tease, handing her a small cloth bag to carry the jar.

As Mrs.Harper ambles off, I take a moment to scan the crowd, soaking in the energy of the market.Vendors call out their specials, children dart between tables clutching fresh pastries, and the air hums with the murmur of conversation.

And then I seehim.

Cameron Barrett.

He’s striding through the market as if the world doesn’t exist, his tall, broad frame cutting through the crowd like a ship through water.He’s wearing his usual flannel shirt, rolled up to the elbows to reveal tanned, muscular forearms, and his jeans look like they’ve seen better days.His dark hair is slightly messy, and his stormy gray eyes are fixed straight ahead, as though he’s trying to avoid looking at anyone.

My stomach does a ridiculous little flip, and I curse myself for it.This isn’t new.Cameron comes to the market every week, always stopping by my stand to buy a jar of honey.Yet every time I see him, I feel like a schoolgirl with a crush, my heart racing and my cheeks flushing.

“Get it together, Hannah,” I mutter under my breath, forcing myself to rearrange a row of honey jars that don’t actually need rearranging.

When Cameron reaches my stand, he pauses, his eyes darting briefly to mine before shifting to the display of honey.

“Morning, Cameron,” I say brightly, trying to ignore the way my voice feels a little too high-pitched.

“Morning,” he mutters, his voice low and gravelly, like the rumble of thunder before a storm.

He doesn’t say anything else, just picks up a jar of honey and examines it like he hasn’t been buying the exact same jar every week for the past three months.

“You know,” I say, leaning slightly against the wooden counter, “if you’re trying to set a world record for the most honey jars purchased by one person, you’re well on your way.”

His lips twitch, the barest hint of a smile ghosting across his face, but he doesn’t look up.

“What can I say?I like honey,” he says gruffly, pulling out his wallet.

“Clearly,” I reply, handing him a bag before he can ask for one.“Although I’m starting to wonder if you’re secretly feeding an entire colony of bears.”

That gets a reaction.Cameron’s eyes snap up to meet mine, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them before he quickly looks away again.For a moment, I think I might have said something wrong, but then he shakes his head slightly and mutters, “Something like that.”

I laugh, the sound a little too loud in the quiet tension that suddenly hangs between us.“Well, as long as you’re keeping the bears happy.”

Cameron doesn’t respond, just hands me a crumpled bill and takes the bag from my outstretched hand.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice quieter now.

“Anytime,” I reply, watching as he turns and walks away, his broad shoulders disappearing into the crowd.

I release the breath I didn’t realize I was holding, my chest feeling strangely tight.

Why does he always do this to me?

I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.Cameron Barrett is a mystery I’ll never solve, and honestly, I probably shouldn’t even try.He’s gruff, distant, and so guarded that he might as well have a “No Trespassing” sign hanging around his neck.

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