Honey Buns: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Cat Johnson

  Before my brain caught on to what was happening, my body had turned toward the stranger. Then, I was talking. “Please, I’d be happy to share. You’ll save me from having to sleep it off in my car before I drive home.”

  He considered my offer for barely a second before saying, “I don’t mind if I do.” He stood and my eyes widened. He was really coming over. Then he was sitting on the stool next to me.

  “I'm Brandon,” he said.

  “Uh . . .” Apparently, I was mute. Struck dumb by his gorgeousness.

  “Allow me to introduce you to Bethany Van Dyke. Culinary expert and the county’s best pastry chef.” Luckily Laurel still had the ability to speak, though that introduction was complete baloney.

  “Do you work here at the hotel?” he asked me, casually reaching out and grabbing one of my two martinis.

  He didn’t hesitate drinking right out of my glass, which felt pretty intimate considering we were complete strangers.

  His expression showed his appreciation of the cocktail as he licked his lips to get all the sugar.

  I watched his tongue and imagined some naughty things worthy of my friend Harper’s romance novels before I remembered he’d asked me a question.

  “Uh, no. I don’t work here. My shop’s in a small town not too far from here.”

  “Any chance it’s Mudville?” he asked after a snort.

  “Yes, actually. It is.”

  His eyes widened and all humor disappeared. “Oh. Really. Well, that’s great. I wish you every success.”

  Wondering at his strange behavior, I nodded. “Thanks.”

  As distracting as he was, my brain never really shut down when it came to work. An idea hit me and I spun toward Laurel.

  “Lavender shortbread cookies with vanilla orange icing,” I blurted.

  “Yes!” she squealed. “Can you use local butter and eggs so we can put it with the farm-to-table offerings?”

  “Of course.”

  “Perfect. I’m going to tell the manager. Those need to be on the brunch menu.”

  I realized we were being rude and turned back toward Brandon. “Sorry about the business talk.”

  “No. Don’t be. It’s kind of fascinating watching your mind work.” He might have said he was fascinated with my mind, but his eyes were on my lips as he said it.

  I felt my face grow warm.

  “You should see her eat,” Laurel chimed in, which didn’t help the fire in my cheeks.

  “Really?” His brows rose as his gaze moved from Laurel to me.

  “Laurel, jeez,” I hissed. I rushed to explain her odd comment. “She just means I spend most of my meal trying to identify the flavors and guessing the ingredients.”

  “I’d love to see that. Have dinner with me.”

  “Uh, me?”

  He smiled broader. “Yes, you.”

  It should be illegal for a man this handsome to walk around in public. He was too intoxicating for us common folks to handle.

  “Uh, okay. I guess. When?” Jeez, Louise, could I be more awkward?

  “How about now? Unless you have plans,” he said.

  Oh my God. Was I about to be on a date?

  I feared I might be and glanced down to see what I was wearing since I couldn’t remember.

  Good thing it was early for the dinner crowd. I probably shouldn’t be eating at the Otesaga on a Saturday evening, even in the bar rather than the dining room, dressed in my Honey Buns—We’ll Leave You Sticky T-shirt.

  At least I was in khakis instead of jeans.

  I realized I still needed to answer him. I could lie and say I had plans.

  But no. Why not have dinner with this man? This was what all those Hallmark romantic comedies were about. The unexpected meet-cute. If I said no, I’d be one of those annoying heroines I sometimes had to yell at on the TV screen.

  “Um, no. No plans . . . Okay. I'd love to have dinner with you.”

  “Great.” He smiled.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Laurel grinning wide.

  Good thing she was here to witness this miracle, otherwise I might have trouble believing it was really happening.

  I still wasn’t certain it wasn’t all a hallucination. Who knew what Laurel’s handcrafted concoctions might have fermented into?

  THREE

  Brandon

  The last thing I’d expected to find in upstate New York was Bethany.

  Although, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised to find a first-class bar inside the Otesaga and a fascinating woman to go with it.

  When I’d discovered during my online search that there were zero hotels in Mudville, and none in the neighboring towns I’d risk staying in—go on, call me a snob—I started to be really concerned about what I’d gotten myself into by committing to spend the weekend relaxing in Mudville.

  Josh was going to hold me to my promise so there was no backing out. Thank goodness civilization was less than an hour outside of the small town.

  The historic lakefront hotel had good ratings. Believe me, I checked.

  It got extra points in my book for its golf course and close proximity to the Baseball Hall of Fame. And rooms were pricey enough to make me think I wouldn’t have to travel with my own sheets or do a bedbug check to be safe.

  I had to admit, the view of the grounds and the lake from our table was breathtaking. But it was the woman in front of me who held all my attention as she closed her eyes and rolled the bit of dessert around in her mouth.

  I’d heard of food porn. For the first time, watching Bethany eat, I understood the term.

  Finally, her big brown eyes opened and she caught me watching her.

  Her cheeks colored with a faint blush as she said, “Sorry.”

  I snorted out a laugh. “For what?”

  Truth be told, I’d been semi-hard the whole damn meal just from watching her eat.

  “For ignoring you while I try to figure out what that flavor is in the dessert,” she explained.

  “And? Did you figure it out?” I asked, both amused and fascinated by this woman’s penchant for food.

  “I can’t be sure but I think the plums were soaked in bourbon.”

  “Bourbon?” I lifted a brow, eying her dessert with a good bit of envy.

  I’d asked for the peach cobbler, which now seemed incredibly unadventurous in comparison.

  Bethany nodded. “I taste cinnamon and nutmeg too. The spices go nicely with the vanilla sauce on the plate.”

  I couldn’t help my smile. “The bartender was right. You are amazing.”

  "You've got a little . . ." There was a bit of that vanilla sauce on the corner of her mouth. I reached across the table and used my thumb to wipe it away.

  “Thanks." The color in her cheeks deepened as she lifted her napkin and wiped her mouth. "I guess it's obvious that food is my life.”

  “Of course. You’re a chef.” It made complete sense that food was her life. Just as my work was mine.

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m a baker, not a real chef. I never went to culinary school or anything.”

  “Don’t belittle it,” I said with mock sternness. “Dessert happens to be my favorite part of the meal. Dessert chefs are the bee’s knees in my book.”

  She’d used that expression at the bar and I found I rather liked it.

  The sight of her blush at my using her words made me smile.

  “Dessert is my favorite too. I won’t tell you how many times I skip dinner because I’ve been tasting new desserts all day.”

  “New dessert taster. That sounds like a job I’d like to apply for. But only if I don’t get the position of new cocktail taster here because that job is pretty amazing too.” I hooked a thumb at the bar where she and I had first met.

  She smiled, taking her from pretty to enchanting.

  Had it been just a couple of hours ago that we’d met?

  It seemed like I’d known this woman for so much longer than that.

  Long enough I was beginning to won
der if her hair—dyed in colorful stripes of blonde, brown and blue—felt as soft as it looked. If those long eyelashes were hers or artificially enhanced. And if that little bit of purple lace peeking out of the low-cut neckline of her T-shirt indicated that her entire bra was lace or just the edge.

  She was definitely intriguing.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Laurel, who’d served our meal, appeared next to table.

  “Speaking of cocktail tasters . . . another drink?” I asked Bethany, eying her mostly empty glass. There was no doubt in my mind I wasn't ready for this night to end yet.

  She’d finished the mimosa she’d carried to the table and had kept sipping the martini all through dinner. But she had handed over her second martini glass to me at the bar.

  I’d taken it gladly. I might have money now but I still couldn’t stand seeing a good cocktail go to waste. Especially one that tasted so amazing.

  “No, thank you.” She shook her head at my offer of more drinks.

  “Okay.” I pulled my credit card out of my breast pocket where I’d shoved it when I’d paid for my vodka and tonic at the bar. I handed it to the server. “Put everything on that, please.”

  “Yes, sir.” The girl grinned before spinning away.

  Laurel seemed to be enjoying our date as much as we were. I could only guess, based on the ease and familiarity between them, that she and Bethany were friends.

  It was an odd experience for me to have someone so familiar with my date waiting on me.

  Hell, who was I kidding? It was odd just being on a date at all.

  And speaking of my date, Bethany was currently pushing her chair back, as if to stand. “Let me give you money toward dinner. My bag is in my car so I just have to run out—”

  Appalled, I frowned. “No. You will not give me money. I invited you.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. Besides, I’m putting it on the corporate credit card. Work is paying for this.”

  She finally put her pretty behind back in the chair where it belonged. Although, I had a couple of other ideas of where I’d like her pretty behind to be. All of them involved body parts of my own.

  “Are you sure?” She cringed.

  “Never been more sure.” Since Josh had forced this trip on me, I was sure as hell putting it on the company card. “And if you’d like to go back to the bar and have another drink after this, that’s on me too.”

  “Thank you for dinner. And for the offer, but I can’t have any more to drink. I have to drive home after this.”

  “You should get a room. That way you can have a couple more of those amazing concoctions your friend makes.” I tipped my head at her glass and leaned in closer. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll even invent a new one just for us. We could name it, hmm let's see . . . the Cat's Meow.”

  She laughed. “It’s a nice idea but I can’t afford to even look at the rooms here, forget about actually stay in one during peak season.”

  Was this peak season? And what exactly constituted what was peak season in upstate New York? I really wasn’t sure.

  My ethnocentricity was showing.

  Meanwhile, here I’d been thinking how reasonably priced the room was. But I suppose I was thinking like a city dweller, used to Manhattan pricing, as opposed to Bethany, an upstate small-town baker.

  “If you’d like to take a peek, I’ll only charge you a nominal fee to look at my room. Well, actually, my suite.”

  “You have a suite?” Her eyes widened.

  “Yes. But don’t judge me. I’d only booked a lake view room and they upgraded me when I checked in.”

  “Wow.” She breathed the word with a sense of wonder.

  I laughed. “Is that a yes?”

  She glanced at me, then back at the bar, still not answering.

  I realized how forward I’d been. She could be assuming all sorts of things. Things I had imagined myself, but that didn’t mean I was planning to attack her the minute I had her alone.

  Yes, she was hot as fuck. And yes, I might have imagined leaning in and tasting that bourbon plum from her lips. But I didn’t want her thinking I assumed she was coming back to my room for sex just because I’d bought her dinner.

  “Just a tour. I promise. I never have sex on the first date.” I’d been joking, trying to lighten the tension and put her at ease. What I accomplished was the opposite.

  Her eyes flew wide and she actually leaned back, away from me.

  “Oh my God. I’m so sorry. I was trying to make a joke. I’m obviously not funny and should never attempt that again. I just wanted you to know I really am sincere. You can come see the suite, admire the view and then go on your way. I wasn’t insinuating anything.”

  Images of headlines and the hashtag #metoo flashed before my eyes and my joke seemed even more monumentally bad.

  What I would enjoy from her and what I expected from her were two very different things. I should have known better than to joke about something so sensitive.

  Jesus, you’d think I hadn’t sat through that agonizing sexual harassment all-hands meeting Josh had planned just last month.

  Had I completely ruined the evening? I couldn’t read her thoughts but damn, I sure tried, looking for clues and finding only mixed messages.

  I couldn’t tell what she thought of me. It was extremely disconcerting.

  This was why I preferred data to dates. There was no need to guess with data. It was all there, laid out for me in black and white.

  But my date—she was a mystery.

  Her teeth latched onto her bottom lip as she avoided eye contact. Finally, her gaze met mine and a furrow formed in her forehead.

  “Was this a date?” she asked.

  My brows rose at what was a very good question. Was it? Did she want it to be? I know I did.

  “Um, yes? Or no.” At a loss, I feared I was digging my own hole deeper. Finally, I asked, “What do you want it to be?”

  I could have used an exit poll right about now.

  She bit her lip again, drawing my focus down and making me think of kissing her.

  “Um, I don’t know.” She lifted her shoulders, looking adorably uncertain.

  On her it was a good look. I, on the other hand, liked to know where I stood at all times. This was not destined to be one of those times.

  Little Brandon in my pants didn’t know whether to be excited or not, so he decided to err on the side of horny and twitched to life.

  In his defense, I’d had him locked away without any real action for much too long.

  What this night was, was still up in the air. Where she and I would end up, just as much so, but this possible date seemed a good enough place to start.

  From here, I’d just have to figure it out. Figure her out.

  I found myself really looking forward to it.

  FOUR

  Bethany

  “So, tell me about Mudville." Brandon leaned back in his chair as we waited for Laurel to bring him the credit card slip to sign.

  He was making small talk. I could tell. Trying to recover from how badly I’d reacted to his joke about my going back to his room.

  Or rather his suite.

  Holy moly, I was so out of my element here with this guy.

  “You don’t really want to hear about Mudville,” I said, letting him off the hook.

  “Actually, I really do.”

  “Okay.” I lifted my brows, doubting him. But he looked and sounded sincere enough, so I gave in.

  Mudville was one of those towns that I could talk about for an hour and still not cover all the oddities about it. But since I barely knew this man, I should just say Mudville was lovely and move on to another subject before I bored him to death.

  Of course, I did the opposite of that.

  “Well, the village proper is pretty much a two-mile strip on Main Street and nothing else. So we have Red’s Resale shop, and Ruby’s hair salon. There’s a small grocery store, and gas station, and my bakery. The town office and th
e library are both inside the community house. There’s the school, of course.”

  “All on Main Street?” he asked.

  “Yup.” I nodded. “Then if you go slightly out of town there’s the Morgan family farm market.”

  He cocked one brow high. “And what is there to do for fun in Mudville?”

  “There’s the Muddy River Inn. That’s where everyone drinks. It’s across the river, not in the village, since for a bunch of years, way back when, Mudville used to be a completely dry town. And actually, it’s still zoned that any place serving alcohol has to also serve food. So anyway, the Muddy River Inn has a pool table and they hold card tournaments and a biker night. Oh, and once a year they have the big squirrel hunt.”

  He looked at me as if he wasn’t sure if I was pulling his leg or not. I wasn’t certain what had him so shocked. That Mudville had been a dry town or that it hosted an annual squirrel hunt. Probably a combination of both.

  I waited. Finally, he seemed to wrap his mind around what I’d told him and nodded. “It sounds very . . . interesting.”

  “You can say what you’re thinking. No need to beat around the bush. Let me see. What adjective comes to mind? Um . . . Quirky. Crazy.” I tapped my chin and thought harder for more.

  I really needed to start using that word of the day calendar more regularly. Red had gotten both of us one for Christmas so we could understand Harper when she talked fancy to us.

  “All of the above.” He smiled.

  “You don’t even know the half of it.” I laughed.

  I’d left out Main Street’s most famous resident, the Mudville Hogs’ mascot Petunia the pig. And Mudville’s most notorious resident, Rose Van de Berg, whose journals had turned the town on its ear last summer by exposing everyone’s secrets.

  Not to mention the runaway calf from the stock auction that had gotten Red death threats when she tried to save it. Plus a whole bunch more stuff I chose not to bore him with.

  “So you’re the only food establishment in town?” he asked bringing the conversation back to a more relevant—and my favorite—topic. Food.

  “The Muddy River Inn serves food. They’ve got the best hot wings in the county. But as far as what’s on Main Street, yes. My bakery is pretty much it for food since the diner and Mudville House are closed.”