Page 8 of Like Bees to Honey
Dane’s eyes went round and he crossed his arms over his chest, flushing just enough to tell Camellia he knew more than he was letting on. “No reason, I guess.”
“Anyway. Harald was stalking you and...?” Any sign of Mags’s patience was long gone.
“And he asked me to dinner. Or lunch. Or coffee.” Camellia shrugged. “My choice.” She didn’t mention the business card or the rather sweet note he’d written on the back or how utterly sincere he’d seemed.
“Huh.” Dane leaned against the kitchen counter.
“Huh?” Leif repeated. “Don’t worry, Miss Magnolia, I told my dad no.”
Mags’s smile was blinding. “I knew I could count on you, Leif.”
“But Mr. Kettner seriously wanted to punch Dad. He had that vein thing.” Leif pointed at his forehead. “Like you get, when you get mad, Dane. It bulges out.”
Tansy smiled sweetly. “Only when you’rereallyangry.”
Dane pressed a hand to his forehead. “So, Van wasreallyangry?” The corner of his mouth cocked up.
Camellia stood. “And that was that.” She went around the table. “Now, I’ve got cookies to bake.”
“That’s it?” Tansy asked.
“That’s it.” Camellia was not going to mention her conversation with Van, her unexplainable reaction, or how out of sorts she’d felt since they left Kettner’s Family Grocery.
“Well.” Leif shrugged. “Everyone was watching.Everyone.Like the whole store. And Dad was holding her hand.”
“That explains the vein,” Dane murmured.
Now that Leif was happily recounting every detail of the exchange, and keeping everyone at the table enthralled, Camellia sidled up to Dane.
“If you’ve got something to say,” Camellia whispered, “say it.”
Dane blew out a slow breath. “Idon’t have anything to say.”
She frowned.
“It’s not my place to say anything.” He stared down at her, considering, his blue eyes searching. “What are you thinking? About Dad? A date?” Dane was studying her.
She shrugged. “I haven’t given it much thought.” She pulled her recipe book from the shelf. “Too much to do at the moment.”
“Right. Cookies.” Dane grinned. “Save one for me?”
“I’ll think about it.” She smiled back. “Come on, Leif. Let’s get to baking.”
She was elbow deep in flour when the doorbell rang. She glanced around the kitchen. “Of course,noweveryone’s disappeared.” She winked at Leif and hurried to the door, wiping her hands on her brightly polka-dot apron and reaching up to tuck in a strawberry blonde curl that’d slipped free from her bun before opening the front door.
“Camellia.” Van Kettner stood, taking up most of the doorway, smiling, with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.
“Van?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” he murmured, his cheeks flushing.
Had he changed since this morning? His jeans were pressed, he wore a brown button-down shirt—with the sleeves rolled down—and his boots had a high polish to them. The shirt was different, that much she knew.
“I won’t keep you, I know you have cookies to make.” He offered her the flowers.
Camellia took the flowers. “They’re lovely.” She glanced at the blooms, then up at him. “Pink camellias?”
His brown eyes settled on her face. “I’m good at talking, Camellia. Most of the time.” He cleared his throat. “But when there’s something weighing on me, it takes time for me to get the words right.”
