Page 2 of Like Bees to Honey
“I did.” Camellia took a deep breath, steadying herself. “You can buy your own pair, if you like. Thirty dollars, at the Honey Hill Boutique. We might have your size. Good day.” With a tight smile she brushed past Harald and his all-too-distracting presence. She had a schedule to keep. Leif’s cookies weren’t going to make themselves. She ticked flour and cream off her list and headed toward the meat department.
“Camellia, nice to see you.” Van Kettner stood behind the butcher counter. “I’m betting your gardens are loving all the rain.”
“They’ve perked right up—all green and happy,” she agreed. “Which means the bees are happy.”
“That’s what matters.” Van smiled. “Happy hives, happy lives?”
Camellia laughed. She appreciated Van’s glass-half-full outlook and ready smile. As far as she was concerned, the more smiles, the better.
He chuckled in response before asking, “What can I get for you?”
“Let’s see...” She slid her list to him. “I’m thinking about Sunday dinner.”
“What’s on the menu?” Harald Knudson’s question startled her so, she jumped back—making Harald chuckle. “Didn’t see me?”
“No.” Camellia was acutely aware of how close he was standing. So close, the familiar scent of his aftershave tickled her nose. She frowned and took one solid step away from him—too pointed to be missed. “You go ahead, Mr. Knudson.” She huddled at one end of the counter, giving him plenty of room to peruse the contents of the display case. “I’m not quite ready.”
“Oh, I’m in no hurry.” Harald chuckled. “Ladies first.”
Camellia swallowed her frustration. When she was undecided on meals, she always asked Van. He was quite a chef and he never failed to offer up a useful idea or two. But she’d rather wait than have Harald standing too close, chiming in. “If you’re sure.”
“You take all the time you need, Camellia.” Harald’s tone was soft—and unnerving.
She took a deep breath. Harald Knudson loved to tease—he always had. Even now, he had a certain boyish quality to him.
Unlike Van Kettner. Really, there was no comparing the two but Camellia found herself doing it anyway. They were about the same age, both Honey natives, and both were exceedingly handsome, but that was where the similarities ended.
Harald needed to be the center of conversation, he always had. He was charismatic, those blue eyes lively and his crooked smile hinting at the mischief inside. He was all flash and temper, impatience and attitude—with an eye for the ladies.How many ex-wives does he have now?
Van was the exact opposite. He put people at ease; they talked to him and he listened. He was soft-spoken and thoughtful and generous with his time. He was a fine upstanding gentleman with a strong whisker-free jaw and thick salt-and-pepper hair. He’d lost his wife years ago and never remarried.
Van was the epitome of a good man and her friend. Harald was not.And none of this is a surprise.
She placed her list on the counter and asked Van, “What’s fresh? I’m thinking a Sunday roast. Pork or beef?”
“Nothing beats a pork roast.” Harald sounded off. “If I remember right, you have a fine honey-glazed pork loin recipe? Along with those real thin sliced potatoes you stack up and cook for hours—with that hint of onions?”
“French onion potato bake?” Camellia couldn’t believe he remembered that.
“That.” He nodded, patting his stomach. “Oh, and that salad with the nuts and cranberries, too? Mmm-mmm. Nothing compares to your cooking. Nothing.” He winked.
Camellia didn’t respond. Both the pork and potatoes were time-consuming—something she’d only make for a special occasion. Had she made them both for him? She swallowed, refusing to let a single memory of Harald Knudson at her table rise to the surface. Still, good manners had her saying, “Thank you.” Instead of risking a glance at Harald, she focused entirely on Van. “What do you think, Van?”
Van wasn’t looking at her or her list, he was looking at Harald. It was some look, too. Almost...angry. Surely not. Van was just about as easygoing a fellow as there was. Usually. Not currently. Camellia glanced back and forth between the two men.
“I guess he’s still figuring things out?” The ring of condescension in Harald’s voice had her bristling on Van’s behalf. “Camellia, I was planning on coming to the farm later—”
“I don’t advise that, Harald,” Camellia cut in. He might be handsome and charming and smell good but she wouldn’t let any of that draw her in—not this time. “Tansy or Mags might feel the need to shoot you for trespassing.”
Van’s chuckle was unmistakable.
“Even when we’re family?” Harald smiled down at her as he crossed his arms over his broad, muscular chest. “Tansy and Dane are all but married.”
Camellia shrugged. “I was once told that, until the ‘I do’s’ were exchanged, it doesn’t count. And it certainly isn’t permanent.” She wasn’t talking about Dane and Tansy. In her heart, she knew her niece and Harald’s son would make it. They loved each other with the sort of devotion and enthusiasm that would stand the test of time. No, she was repeating what Harald had said to her when he’d broken offtheirrelationship... A relationship she’d foolishly invested her everything in. She turned from Harald, hoping he’d take the hint and move on. “Now. About my Sunday dinner. What do you think, Van? Pork or beef?”
“I’d say running into you this afternoon was meant to be.” Haralddidn’ttake the hint. He placed his hand on the countertop, angling his body so she had no choice but to look at him. “I needed to see you but I’d rather not get shot. At least not until I get a chance to clear the air between us.” Harald sounded sincere.
“Consider it cleared.” Camellia sighed, eyebrows raised. Whatever he was up to, Camellia wanted no part of it. “Now, excuse me. I have to get—”
