Page 114 of Tasting Fire
“C’mon, Nicks,” he said to the dog and waved good-bye to his dad. “I’ll bring her back in a bit.”
Nicksie stayed by his side as they wove through the vendors and people. Steele Ridge was experiencing a gorgeous March, and folks were eager to be out in the fresh air. They swarmed around booths filled with hand-made soaps, wildflowers, and… honey.
The poem said something about honey.
Cash tapped Nicksie on the head as he changed directions toward Mrs. Tasky’s table. She had a talent for stacking honey jars in elaborate architectural structures, kinda like Cash and his friends had once done with beer cans. As with his dad’s booth, Cash had to stand in line behind several customers before he made it up to the woman who’d been raising bees since before it had become trendy to do so.
“Cash Kingston. Aren’t you a sight for myopic eyes?”
He leaned over, careful not to disturb her honey Taj Mahal, and kissed her cheek. Her curly blond hair brushed his face, and he asked, “Business good?”
“Allergy season hits folks hard. A teaspoon of local honey’ll cure what ails them. Can I wrap you up a jar?”
“Please,” he said. “What do you recommend?”
“Oh, the Tulip poplar is light and sweet.”
“That sounds good.”
“Then again, the Sourwood is earthy and buttery.”
“Then I’ll take that one.”
“But the Galberry is mild and fruity.”
Yeah, something was afoot here at the honey spot. “Which one am I supposed to buy, Mrs. Tasky?”
Her laughter was as pure and sweet as the honey between them. “You always were a clever boy.” She reached behind her and picked up a small paper bag tied with purple ribbon. “This one’s for you. No charge.”
He reached for his wallet. “I can’t let you—”
She put a hand on his forearm. “Already been paid for. You enjoy now.”
This was getting stranger and stranger. Cash looked down at Nicksie. “How would you feel about a breakfast biscuit?” His own breakfast was long gone.
She barked her enthusiasm for the idea, and they dodged their way out to one of the food carts that always set up at the market. Today’s special was a buffalo chicken biscuit.
Cash said to Nicksie, “If this messes with your stomach, don’t rat me out.”
She sat back on her haunches and lifted her muzzle in a my-lips-are-sealed expression.
Yeah, he needed a dog of his own.
A few minutes later, he and Nicksie settled down with their foil-wrapped snacks. She was a polite eater, taking the top part of the biscuit first and moving her way down layer by layer. Cash just bit in and savored the flavors of butter, wing sauce, and blue cheese.
The last of her biscuit gone, Nicksie licked his cheek and let out a quiet spicy-scented burp.
“Get that all out now.” He patted his thigh and she settled down with her head on his lap.
Although he’d been itching to open the sack from Mrs. Royce, he wiped his fingers before reaching for it. Inside was a jar of Sourwood labeled on the front with a picture of Emmy and him after homecoming their senior year. Him with sweaty hair and a big grin. Because they’d won the game and he was in love with the pretty dark-haired girl he had his arm around. Her with a shy smile as she looked up at him. Because…
Because shehadloved him, too.
The back label featured another poem:
Friday night lights
Lose or win
Players make the plays right
Tomorrow at ten
Looked like the game continued on, but now Cash knew exactly who was behind it.
Emmy McKay was taking him on a stroll down Memory Lane.
