Honey Buns: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Cat Johnson

  Martyr? Control freak?

  Wow, tell me how you really feel, bro.

  I might have been insulted if Josh wasn’t being so insane. He had to be working as much as me. Starting now, I was going to begin tracking his hours just to prove that to him.

  In the meantime, I had a crazed partner to deal with.

  I rolled my eyes, reluctantly giving in. “Fine. I’ll leave tonight at five—which is earlier than even Mina usually leaves. Would that make you happy?”

  “It’s a start but it’s not enough.”

  I sighed again. “Why not?”

  “Because even though it’s Friday, I know you’ll be in here bright and early tomorrow morning.”

  I waited for him to make his next demand, figuring he’d decree that I stay out of the office all of this weekend.

  That was fine. I could work from my apartment Saturday and Sunday. Actually, I had a kick-ass computer there. And the dual, large screen monitors in my home office didn’t get nearly enough use.

  “I want you to go away for the weekend,” Josh said.

  My brows slammed down over my eyes. “Away? What? Why?”

  “Because I know you and how your mind works and you’ll just work from home if you stay in the city.”

  I compressed my lips, not denying he was right but certainly not admitting it either.

  “Where the hell would I go?” I asked.

  He lifted a shoulder. “Anywhere there’s no computer for you to work on. Preferably somewhere with no Wi-Fi. Hell, no cell service either.”

  I let out a laugh. “So, uh, the South Pole? Or maybe out to sea on a raft?” I made the ridiculous suggestions to demonstrate exactly how ludicrous Josh’s idea was.

  “I was thinking more like Watch Hill or Montauk maybe.”

  I smiled as Josh suggested the two destinations where he’d be most content—Rhode Island and Long Island. He loved pretty much anywhere with the word island in it and water surrounding it. Put that all driving distance from New York City, conveniently located for a quick getaway, and Josh was a really happy boy.

  “You’re the boat guy, Josh. Not me.” I had to stock up on Dramamine when Josh invited me away with him on one of his seafaring excursions, otherwise it wasn’t pretty.

  “Then you come up with someplace,” he challenged. “But make no mistake, you’re going somewhere this weekend.”

  I folded my arms. “Oh, am I? And you’re going to make me how?”

  “I already had IT turn off your access to the cloud servers.”

  My eyes widened until I realized he had to be bluffing. I sniffed. “You wouldn’t do that.”

  He mirrored my stance and crossed his own arms. “Oh, no? Try logging in.”

  His smug expression reinforced by the satisfied smirk had me starting to panic. Either Josh was incredibly good at bluffing or he was telling the truth.

  I spun my chair to face the computer, set hands to keys and . . . mother fucker!

  Access denied.

  I read the message and turned back to face him, feeling shell shocked. Helpless. Lost.

  He smiled. “So, where will you be going?”

  I drew in a breath, tempted to tell him I’d meet him in Hell after I’d wrung his neck and sent him there. But then an idea struck . . .

  “Mudville,” I announced.

  His brows lowered. “Where?”

  I grinned. He could take away my access to the corporate servers. He could force me to take the weekend off. But he couldn’t tell me where to go and I’d made my choice.

  “Mudville, New York” I repeated.

  “What the hell is in Mudville?” he asked.

  “I honestly have no clue,” I admitted with a chuckle.

  Except for the Van de Berg family house on the river my newfound cousin had written about, I knew nothing about the town.

  I was going to have to get online and do some searching—if Josh hadn’t turned off my internet access as well.

  Was there even a hotel in Mudville?

  For better or worse, I supposed I was going to find out.

  TWO

  Bethany

  The service entrance of the hotel was locked. I pounded on the thick windowless door and waited.

  Luckily it was a nice warm sunny day. Early April could be iffy in upstate New York. It could just as easily snow as be suntanning weather. I’d lucked out for my drive today.

  But I guess I’d used up all my good luck. The back door was locked and no one had answered when I knocked.

  It looked like I was going to have to go around to the front just to get inside and open the kitchen door so I could make my delivery.

  I pounded again, harder and longer. It was worth one more try.

  Finally, after the muffled sound of words spewed in a foreign language, the door whipped open and I was subjected to the glare of a man wearing the standard chef’s coat and pants.

  Why was it that chefs could be so scary? Was it their access to knives? This one was no exception, though he was new. Or at least new to me.

  “Hi. I’m Bethany Van Dyke from Honey Buns in Mudville. I’m here to deliver the pastries for the event—”

  “Over there.” With barely a glance in my direction, he waved an arm toward a long steel table before he disappeared into the walk-in fridge.

  I detected some sort of accent though it was hard to define since he delivered the two short words while walking away from me.

  I’d been in enough kitchens that I knew better than to question him further.

  I certainly wasn’t going to ask him for help unloading. I didn’t have a death wish. And I wasn’t going to risk losing this sweet gig.

  The Otesaga Hotel didn’t call me often but when they did, the order they placed brought in enough money to pay my overhead at the bakery for the month.

  This delivery wasn’t so large that I couldn’t handle it on my own anyway.

  I turned, about to head out to the car for the first load, when I remembered I’d need to prop the door open so I could get back inside. I didn’t trust the chef to go out of his way to open the door for me twice in one afternoon.

  I’d just wadded up some cocktail napkins to wedge in the lock when the door between the kitchen and the front of the house swung open.

  “Bethany! Hey.” Laurel—young, pretty, sweet and smart—stepped toward me with a smile.

  “Hi, Laurel.” I smiled back at the black-and-white clad bartender as she moved in to give me a hug.

  “Oh em gee, I love your hair.”

  I reached up and touched one blue shoulder-length strand and cringed. “You really like it? I’m not so sure about the color.”

  I’d been dying my light brown hair various shades since high school. Once I’d dyed it dark brown, which came out almost black, and I'd looked like Snow White for a few months. Once, a bad home color job had me sporting orange hair. That was only outdone when one summer’s bleached blonde look turned green from pool chlorine.

  This week, Ruby had talked me into putting in some blue along with my blonde highlights.

  “I love it. It’s perfect,” Laurel said.

  “It’s not too . . . radical?” I asked.

  Laurel shook her short blonde hair and laughed. “No. A few strands of blue hair are not what I’d call radical. Most of my friends have had pink or purple or blue hair at one time or another. Sometimes all the colors of the rainbow at once.”

  “Okay. I’ll take your word for it.” I had to. Besides the Mudville locals who came into my bake shop, I didn’t see a whole lot of people.

  “So what are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Dropping off an order.”

  “Come out to the bar before you leave. I want you to try something. I need your opinion.”

  I’d tried some of Laurel’s somethings in past so I knew they were all alcohol based.

  I cringed, tempted but trying to be practical. The hotel was a solid forty-minute drive from Mudville. “I don’t know if I sh
ould. I have to drive home.”

  “Oh, come on. Just one. I just made a batch of spring violet and lavender simple syrup. I wanna see what you think. I’ll make it a light one, I promise. And you can stay and have something to eat.”

  “Violet and lavender? That sounds amazing.” And tempting. Decision made, I said, “Okay. I’ll stay.”

  “Good. I just gotta grab some fruit, but I’ll see you in a few.” With a wave, she disappeared into a different walk-in than the chef had and I turned toward the exit to head for my car.

  She didn’t have to twist my arm too hard to convince me to stay. Laurel had a flair for combining flavors. She was one of the few people I knew who I could talk food with.

  My friends liked to eat, but cook? Not so much.

  At that thought I was once again hit with the nagging guilt that I’d pretty much snuck out of town to come here alone.

  Yes, this was technically a work-related trip. I was literally here just to deliver a special order. But a few months ago I would have asked Red and Harper if they wanted to come with me. We would have made a girls’ night out of it.

  Things were different now.

  Harper had been seriously dating Stone since Thanksgiving. Red had started dating Cash just before Valentine’s Day. And I, the only single one left among us, was starting to lose my mind.

  Not from my singleness. Rather from their extreme couple-ness over the past few months.

  But if I didn’t at least go out on a date with someone—anyone—and soon, I feared I’d be venturing into spinster territory. Then, I’d have to go to Bingo night at the church. Join Lainey’s Saturday morning card tournament at the Muddy River Inn. Become part of the Mudville gossip network with Mary Brimley and Alice Mudd and attend all the town meetings like it was my job.

  Christ on a cracker, was that my future? It wasn’t a comforting thought.

  Maybe I’d stay for a few of Laurel’s concoctions. I suddenly felt like I might need more than just one.

  As I loaded my arms with pastry boxes, I figured I could grab a tasty cocktail and maybe spring for a gourmet appetizer as my dinner while I was here.

  Two more trips to the car and I had all the boxes stacked on the table. I got a grunt from the chef when I told him I was done, and then I made my way out front to see Laurel.

  It was early still. There was only one man seated at the end of the bar, so involved in his phone I couldn’t even see his face.

  I planted my butt on the stool in front of where Laurel sliced what I thought was a lime until I looked closer. That’s when I noticed the round object was slightly fuzzy.

  “Kiwi?” I asked, intrigued. “What’s that going in?”

  “Kiwi martini,” she answered with a grin.

  “Interesting.”

  “Not as interesting as what I’m about to make you.” Looking excited, she put the cutting board and knife beneath the bar and grabbed a mixing cup.

  “Remember, not too strong. I have to drive home eventually.”

  “Or, I could make you one very small strong one.” She held up two fingers close together.

  I let out a laugh. “Okay. I wouldn’t dare mess with your recipe.”

  “Good. I can’t wait for you to try it.” She packed the shaker with ice, then poured vodka and a splash of orange juice inside.

  I noticed the vodka far outweighed the juice. This was going to be strong so it had better be small.

  She poured in a generous amount of what I assumed was her homemade simple syrup. The liquid had a violet-colored tinge to it that just screamed Spring. She shook the concoction then strained out the ice as she poured the drink into a stemmed martini glass.

  A single violet bloom floated on top as garnish when she slid the glass toward me. “There.”

  “It’s beautiful. It would make a great drink special for Easter—”

  “Easter brunch,” she nodded, saying it almost the same time I did. She laughed. “Great minds . . . Now try it.”

  I eyed the amount in the glass and vowed to only drink half.

  The first sip told me I was a liar. There was no way I wasn’t draining this to the last drop.

  I drew in another long sip of the cold liquid and closed my eyes, only opening them so I could look at Laurel.

  “Wow. This drink is the bee’s knees.”

  “You really like it?” she asked.

  “Yes. It’s amazing.”

  “Wait. You just gave me an idea.” She skidded away to the kitchen as I watched and wondered what I’d said. Not that I minded being left alone since I had my tasty drink to keep me company.

  I picked up the glass and glanced around, taking another look at the guy at the other end of the bar.

  He was handsome, judging by his profile now that he’d finally stopped hunching over his cell.

  Light brown, almost blondish hair cropped short fit right in with the uptight navy blue sports jacket that looked expensive, like it had been fitted to his body.

  My gaze traveled up from what I bet were very pricey leather shoes, past the khaki pants and to his white button-down shirt. It had exactly two buttons undone, leaving it open at the neck.

  If he’d been trying to look casual, he’d failed.

  What he really looked like, was pretentious. As if he’d just pulled his yacht into a slip and come here to compare how big his was next to everyone else’s.

  Heck. That scenario was very possible. There were fancy boat clubs all around Otsego Lake.

  Too bad for him, the only other person in the bar was me, and I wasn’t impressed with size. At least, not with the size of his boat or wallet.

  Though the size of other parts—

  With that naughty thought, I glanced up to see if he’d really been as gorgeous as I first thought and found his eyes on me.

  Crud! Had he caught my head-to-fancy leather shoe full body visual sweep of him?

  He lifted his beer bottle to me in a toast and I feared he had.

  I raised my glass in response, before taking a sip. What else could I do?

  Besides, the vodka had gone right to my head and I was starting to feel bold.

  Why not flirt a bit with a stranger? It wasn’t like I’d ever see him again.

  Unfortunately, this was about the extent of my flirting skills. At a loss, I turned back to face the bar.

  Thankfully, Laurel returned to break up the awkward silence and keep me from guzzling the remainder of the cocktail already making me tipsy.

  “What have you got there?” I asked as she unloaded two hands full of stuff.

  “Honey and a scented sugar I just made.”

  I watched as she poured the sugar onto a cocktail napkin. “What are you—oh, you’re gonna rim the glass. That’s brilliant.”

  Laurel nodded and glowed with the compliment as she set up what she needed.

  Soon, I had in front of me a second martini glass. This one’s rim was coated in honey and sugar and filled with the chilled vodka, orange, violet and lavender drink.

  I raised the beautiful creation to my lips and let the sugar dissolve on my tongue. I tried to discern the flavors I could taste over that of the honey, before I allowed the cold liquid to slide into my mouth.

  “Mmm.” I sampled another taste of just the sugar that rimmed the drink that was like heaven in a long-stemmed glass. “Vanilla and orange?”

  “Yes! I’ve been steeping the sugar with a vanilla bean and orange peel for days.” Laurel grinned wide. She loved when I could guess the flavors she’d used.

  “Well, that’s really the bee’s knees now.”

  “That’s what we can name it. Wait. If I remember correctly, the Bee’s Knees is a prohibition era cocktail.” Laurel whipped out her cell phone and tapped on the screen. “Yup. It was made with honey and fresh lemon juice. And gin, of course. Every cocktail during that time was gin. But we could list a modern, updated version on the menu.”

  I nodded. “With the honey rim and floral simple syrup, it’s the perfect
name. And the change to vodka modernizes it. You’re a genius.”

  She blushed. “No. You’re the genius. What I would give to have access to a super taster like you every day. Are you sure you don’t want to get a job here?”

  “So you can get me drunk tasting your drinks every day?” I laughed. “And I’m not sure I qualify as a super taster.”

  I was just more attuned to noticing nuances of flavor than other people. Food was my life. And if I didn’t watch myself, I had an ever-expanding butt to prove it.

  “You’re close enough to a super taster for me,” Laurel said. “Hey, since we’re talking brunch menus, I was thinking these flavors might also work for a mimosa.”

  My eyes widened. “Yes.”

  “Let’s try it now.” She spun to reach into the refrigerated cabinet behind her. She pulled out a bottle of champagne and was popping the cork before I could say mimosa.

  Before I knew it, I had a champagne flute lined up next to my two martini glasses. So much for her pouring me only one small one. But I wasn’t going to miss out on Laurel’s newest experiment.

  I took a sip of the champagne and orange juice scented with her hand-crafted additions and groaned. “This is even better than the vodka drink.”

  She sipped at her own glass and nodded. “I think it is. And probably more suited for the brunch menu.”

  “Yes.” I took another sip. “That’s the bomb diggity. It’s fresh-squeezed orange juice, isn’t it?”

  “Of course. They can charge more for it that way,” Laurel whispered the last part before shooting a glance toward her only other customer.

  Make that her only paying customer since, at her invitation, I was currently a freeloader. Er, maybe guinea-pig-new-recipe-taste-tester sounded better? Maybe not.

  “You doing okay down there?” she asked the guy since she was on the clock, in spite of all the drinking and experimenting we were doing.

  He smiled and dang, I swear my lady parts smiled back.

  “I thought I was doing okay, until I saw all the fun you two are having down there. Now I’m not so sure.” His voice was warm and deep and made me want to hear it close against my ear.

  Of course, that could be the vodka, violets and lavender talking.