Honey Buns: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Cat Johnson

  I’d seen my new property, missed seeing Bethany and found two temptations I shouldn’t want. What a day. Exhilarating, disappointing and confusing all at the same time.

  Maybe I should hit up the bar for a beer too on my way out of town.

  I had no trouble finding the Muddy River Inn with a pretty generic search online.

  As I’d come to expect, everything was located pretty close to everything else as well. It wasn’t walking distance but it was only about a two-mile drive before I was pulling into the parking lot.

  I tried to steer between the giant holes in the dirt lot and avoid splashing mud on my Land Rover. This town was certainly aptly named.

  I eyed the building.

  From the outside it looked like an absolutely, perfect in its horridness, quintessential dive bar. It so happened that I had a thing for dive bars.

  I locked the vehicle and strode inside, excited to get a look at the interior.

  Inside was a surprise. The carpets were worn, the upholstery on the bar stools torn, but the area on the side was filled with a mix-matched collection of quirky vintage furnishings.

  The bench seat from a vintage car. An old wooden chest with feet made into a cocktail table. Orange chairs sat around a bright blue enamel-topped table. And of course, there were the usual dive bar staples—a juke box, a dart board and a pool table.

  I saw a waitress walk by with a tray of food and the aroma had me salivating. I strained to see what she carried. Burgers and a big salad it looked like.

  It was close enough to lunch time that I could definitely eat. And really, I should check out the local food scene if I was going to own a diner in the area. It was research.

  What had Bethany said the bar was famous for? French fries? No. I remembered. It was the hot wings.

  There was an empty bar stool so I took it and glanced up at the signs on the wall. A pint draft cost two-fifty. I stifled a shocked laugh.

  When was the last time I’d drank a pint? Probably back in my college days.

  The bartender came over immediately—something else I liked about this place. No fighting the Saturday crowd to get the server’s attention. In fact, I liked this place a lot.

  “I’ll have a Shocktop on draft, please. And is it possible to get something to eat at the bar?”

  “Sure is.” He slid a plastic covered single page menu toward me and spun toward the beer taps on the back wall.

  I glanced down at the offerings and saw there was a whole list just for wings.

  The bartender returned with my pint.

  “You ready to order?” the bartender asked, tipping his chin at the menu.

  “Yeah, the wings were highly recommended. I’m just not sure which ones to order.”

  “Parmesan garlic butter.” The young guy next to me delivered that advice before taking a gulp from his own pint.

  The bartender nodded in agreement. “That’s our most popular flavor. Next is the extra spicy and then the teriyaki.”

  “Parmesan it is.” I pushed the menu back across the bar, before turning to glance at the guy next to me. “Thanks for the recommendation.”

  “No problem.” He grinned wide, making his young face look even younger.

  I hoped this wasn’t one of those bars where everyone was college-aged and made me feel old. I glanced around and saw one older guy sitting in the back corner with a woman about the same age and immediately felt better.

  “You from out of town?” the guy next to me asked.

  “I am.” Twisting on the stool I said, “Brandon Webster.”

  “Boone Morgan,” he replied.

  “I take it you are from around here,” I said.

  “Yes, sir. Born and raised. I’m the third generation to work the Morgan farm here in Mudville.”

  I had a feeling that was the case for a lot of the families around here.

  “A third-generation family farm.” I bobbed my head. “I’m impressed. I don’t meet many farmers where I’m from.”

  “And where’s that?” he asked.

  “I work in Manhattan but I call Williamsburg home.”

  “Yeah.” Boone shook his head, grinning. “It’s all just the city to me. Most folks who come through here are from Philly, the city or Long Island.”

  “You get a lot of out of towners around here?” I asked.

  “Mostly during hunting and fishing season. More than my brother Stone would like, I can tell you that.” He chuckled. “But don’t worry. I’m not like my older brother. I like out of towners.”

  “And we all know why.” A new man sidled up to the bar on the other side of Boone and reached for the beer bottle sitting in front of him.

  Boone leaned back and hooked a thumb at the man. “This is my brother Cashel. Cash this is Brandon. He’s from the city.”

  Cash glanced around his brother and smiled. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold that against you.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate that.” I laughed.

  I was beginning to see that being an out-of-towner who’d bought a local business might present some challenges. I could probably combat that if I could get a local to run it—if anyone replied to my ad for a manager.

  “So, how many more siblings do you have?” I asked Boone.

  He grinned. “Just the two brothers.”

  “But don’t get us started on the cousins.” Cash snorted.

  “True that.” Boone nodded. “I lost count of those.”

  The comment reminded me of my own lack of cousins. At least until recently when I’d acquired a couple. Which brought my mind back to the Van de Berg homestead. “You two know anything about the big blue house for sale on Second Street?”

  “The old Van de Berg place?” Cash asked. “What would you like to know?”

  Good question. I scrambled. “Uh, I don’t know. I guess why it hasn’t sold yet? Is there something wrong with it? I mean, it looks in good enough shape. Right on the river like that, I’m surprised no one has turned it into a B&B.”

  The price was certainly low enough to be enticing. Of course, I was an apartment dweller. What the hell did I know about houses?

  “Well, being river front wasn’t such a selling point ten years ago when the Muddy River flooded the town. But besides that, it’s only been on the market for a few months. Things for sale around here usually tend to sit for years.”

  Boone nodded in agreement with his brother. “Look at the diner. That sat empty for nearly a decade before some rich city guy—” His eyes widened and he glanced sideways at me. “Wait . . . You never did tell me what you were doing here in town.”

  Why did I feel like I’d suddenly been caught doing something wrong? I hadn’t lied about buying the diner. The subject hadn’t come up.

  I smiled and confessed, “I came to visit my new diner.”

  “Mother fucker,” Cash mumbled beneath his breath. Then smacked his brother in the arm. “I thought you said the new owner was from Philly.”

  “Don’t blame me. That’s what Lainey had told me.”

  Why it mattered to them, I didn’t know. But it seemed in the best interest to keep the peace and offer full disclosure.

  “My attorney is from Philly. Dee was sending the paperwork to him there,” I explained.

  “Can’t find a lawyer in New York?” Cash asked.

  “I graduated college with him. I trust him, so I give him my business, even if he is in Philadelphia.”

  Boone nodded. “I understand that. Trust is worth traveling for.”

  As long as I had one brother on my side, and my secret—unintentional or not—was now out, I decided to get some more info out of the Morgans.

  “I’m looking for someone to open the diner. A manager to run it for me, or even better, someone who wants to rent the building and run the whole operation for themselves. You know anyone local?”

  “I guess I always figured if there was anyone around here who wanted to run it, they would have done it long ago,” Cash said, which didn’t bode well for
me finding someone.

  “Maybe Bethany knows someone. She’s involved in a lot of organizations where cooks hang out.”

  The sound of her name had my head whipping around. “You know Bethany?”

  Boone nodded. “Sure. Everybody in town knows Bethany.”

  “I think the better question is, how do you know Bethany?” Cash asked me, brows raised as he looked more than interested in my answer.

  Damn. Why was he acting so possessive? Was she involved with Cash or Boone or the other Morgan brother?

  After the time we’d spent together I wouldn’t have thought she had a boyfriend back home. Of course, our one night together had been a month ago and we hadn’t spoken since.

  A lot could happen in a month.

  Shit. Had I missed my shot?

  I could feel Cash’s stare still on me as both brothers waited for an answer.

  For some reason I chose to keep our night to myself. Instead, I said, “Uh, I actually heard a lot about her famous baked goods from Dee, but I didn’t get a chance to sample any. Seems she’s closed today.”

  “Honey Buns is closed?” Boone frowned. “I wonder what’s wrong. Is she okay?”

  Cash shook his head. “Red told me she’s sick as a dog. She was over at Bethany’s place this morning to check on her and convince her to stay home for the day.”

  Boone pivoted to face his brother. “Oh, wow. Yeah, she must be near death if she actually closed the shop and took a day off. Maybe I’ll get Mom to make her some soup and drive it over.”

  And now I was jealous as I wondered how close Boone and Bethany really were. More than that, in spite of all I had—and all I had accomplished in life—I was envious.

  Envious of a small-town farmer. Just because he could drop in on the woman I wanted when I didn’t have the freedom to pay her a visit. He could drive over and bring her soup when she was sick, while I didn’t even know where she lived.

  But maybe I could change all that. I was going to become part of this town. I’d already started the process. I might as well keep the ball rolling.

  I leaned forward. “So what do you know about the old hotel for sale?”

  TEN

  Bethany

  The buzzing of my cell on the coffee table pulled me out of my half asleep-half awake state.

  It didn’t bode well that my eyes were crusted closed. However, as I rubbed them and finally coaxed my lids open, I realized I no longer had a headache.

  My nose was clear, I didn’t have the urge to cough and my head no longer hurt. That was it. The moment I looked half-way decent I was going to the store and stocking up on Nyquil.

  I might have slept all day, as evidenced by the sun low on the horizon, but I finally felt human again.

  My body might be feeling better but my mind was still a little woozy—the long-term effects from my blue shot of medicine.

  I finally remembered what had woken me and reached for my phone. I saw a message from Boone on the screen.

  BOONE: Mom made you chicken soup. Can I come drop it off?

  Oh my gosh. That family. They were amazing. I nearly wept at the offer, not just because it was so sweet and considerate, and so nice to have someone taking care of me when I was sick, but because I realized I was starving.

  I hadn’t had anything for breakfast except for the tea Red made me, which really didn’t count as sustenance. And now it was dinner time.

  I motivated my slow-moving brain to type in a reply.

  BETHANY: OMG yes! Please. Thank you. Thank your mom too.

  Boone sent back a smiley face emoji which had me smiling too. Then he sent a second reply.

  BOONE: Be there in 5.

  Five? As in minutes?

  I was no longer smiling when I imagined what I looked like.

  Scrambling, I managed to get on a bra, sweatshirt and yoga pants. I splashed some water on my face and was just finishing brushing my teeth when I heard the doorbell.

  Damn punctual man.

  I ran my fingers through my hair to try and get rid of the bed head my day long snooze had left me with. That was all I had time for. It was going to have to be good enough.

  Boone might be like a brother to me, but the fact remained he was not my brother and I didn’t want to look like absolute hell in front of him.

  Only Red got to see me at my worst, and only because she’d muscled her way inside this morning in spite of my telling her I’d be fine on my own.

  I unlocked the door and pulled it wide to find Boone looking as happy as usually.

  The guy had one setting—exuberant.

  That word—from last week on my Word of the Day calendar—fit the youngest Morgan brother perfectly.

  “Hey,” I greeted.

  “Hey. Here you go. Hot from the stove still.”

  I groaned and took the bag he thrust toward me. “Bless you. And your mother too. Come on in,” I said as I took my booty toward the kitchen. “If you want to risk my germs, that is.”

  He closed the door and stepped farther inside. “I think you have what my little cousin had last week. I didn’t catch that even after babysitting him, so I think I’ll be good.”

  “Okay. Suit yourself.” I was in the midst of wrestling with the lid on the plastic container, spinning it while trying to find a place my fingers could get a good grip to pry it off, when I found Boone behind me.

  “Here. I got that.” He popped the lid off with ease, making me realize I was possibly weak with hunger. Or I was just a klutz.

  “Thanks.”

  “No problem.” He grinned and that dimple that won him so many girls was on display front and center. “So, I’ve got some interesting news.”

  “You do?” I asked.

  Truth was, I was more interested in the steamy container of soup as I bent right over the counter and scooped my first big spoonful into my mouth.

  I couldn’t help groaning as the hot, flavor-filled broth filled my mouth. I dug in the spoon for another scoop, deeper this time, and emerged with a piece of chicken and what looked like rice.

  No, it was orzo. Perfect choice for soup. It would hold up better than white rice.

  I could have kissed Mrs. Morgan, had she been here and had I been well. I slurped off the spoon and my stomach got a taste of the first solid food since last night.

  “You’ll never guess who I met today.”

  Crud. I’d nearly forgotten Boone was still here and in the middle of some story.

  Had it been Mary Brimley speaking, I would have ignored her and given my complete concentration to the soup I seem to have fallen in love with.

  But this was Boone. He wasn’t a gossip. At least not by Mudville standards. He also usually had some pretty interesting news from all the time he spent at the bar.

  I turned to him. His grin had me intrigued enough to lay down my spoon on the counter and ask, “Who?”

  “The new owner of the diner.”

  “What?” My squealed question sent me into a fit of coughing.

  Okay, so I was not quite symptom-free yet. I turned to cough in the other direction and not spray my germs all over my unlucky guest.

  “Want me to put on the kettle? Sounds like you could use some tea.”

  I nodded, still unable to speak. Finally I got my rebellious lungs calmed down, Boone got the kettle filled and on the burner and I was more than ready for him to continue with his story.

  “Who is it?” I asked.

  “A guy from New York City.”

  That didn’t give me a whole lot of information. I had a million questions. So many I didn’t know where to start. I stood, overwhelmed and under the weather, speechless as my mind spun.

  “Eat some more soup. You look like you’re about to fall over.”

  Okay, so I hadn’t gotten any makeup on my face and I did look a little pale. All right, a lot pale. But I wasn’t about to collapse from the cold as much as from the news.

  The diner guy was in town. That had to mean he was getting ready to
open.

  “Tell me more.”

  He pointed at the soup. “You eat and I’ll talk.”

  “Okay.” I could work with that.

  “So I was at the bar with Cash and this city slicker sits down next to me, orders a beer and asks Carter which are the most popular wings. So we of course both told him the Parmesan Garlic Butter—”

  Boone’s level of detail, though comprehensive, was dragging this story out when what I really needed was quick, cold hard facts.

  “Is he opening up soon?” I asked.

  He cocked a brow high. I’d seen Stone do that to Harper and knew what it meant. The alpha male was miffed I’d interrupted him. Too bad. This was my livelihood we were talking about here.

  “He asked if we knew anyone who wanted to run the diner.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked.

  Boone lifted one shoulder. “I’d assume it means he doesn’t want to run it himself and until he finds someone who wants to take it on, it’ll remain closed.”

  I blew out a breath . . . and started coughing again.

  Boone moved to stand in front of the kettle, as if his watching it would make it boil faster. But at least I had time to process what I’d learned as he switched his focus to making me tea.

  “Oh. There’s more.”

  I spun to Boone. “What more?”

  “He was asking about Mudville House.”

  My eyes popped wide as I remembered Dee, just this morning, telling me she was on a walk-thru with a potential buyer. “Is he buying that too?”

  “I really don’t know, but I can tell you this, from the way he looked and the way he talked—not to mention the damn top of the line Land Rover he parked in the lot—this guy can afford it.”

  If he found someone to run both places, my competition in town would double.

  “Oh, one more thing.”

  Not sure if I could handle more, I glanced at Boone.

  “He was asking about Rose’s old house.”

  Jeez. He definitely had money to spend and for some reason he was looking to do it in Mudville.