Honey Buns: An Opposites Attract Romance

by Cat Johnson

  “I think I’m going to dive into Rose’s love letters,” I told Red.

  “Aw, now see, I’m jealous.”

  She always said that, every time I mentioned the letters. Yet she kept telling me no when I offered to give them to her.

  I let out a huff. “You’re ridiculous. Go snuggle with that man of yours and you’ll forget all about how jealous you are that all I have are a dead woman’s love letters keeping me company.”

  “All right. I guess so. Though I plan on doing more than snuggling,” she hinted.

  “In the store?” I asked.

  “Oh yeah. It’s extra fun. And that table where I have the sweaters displayed—”

  “Stop. Oh em gee. Red, I really don’t want to think your naked butt was once on top of a sweater I bought.”

  “We move the sweaters first, silly.”

  I envisioned my best friend and Cashel Morgan doing the nasty on the second floor of her store amid the mannequins and cringed. I had to look Cash and his parents in the eye every time I saw them and I didn’t need that image in my head as I did.

  “Nope. Still too much information.” I shook my head. She giggled and I’d had enough. “Goodbye, Red. Talk to you later.”

  “Okay. Later.” Before the call disconnected, I heard her squeal and Cash’s deep voice say something I didn’t want to analyze too hard.

  Sighing, I plugged my phone into the charger, preparing for the inevitability that the electric would go out during my long night alone.

  I could go home but just like Red, as the river rose higher with every hour the rain continued to fall. I felt like I needed to be here at my shop.

  This place was my life and my livelihood. If my being here could save the equipment from being ruined I sure as heck was going to stay here. No matter how uncomfortable I might be.

  I had coffee and tea. All the sweets I could eat. The Victorian loveseat that sat in front of the coffee table by the window. And I had Rose’s letters.

  It wouldn’t be such a bad night. If the water stayed below flood level, I’d be more than happy. And we’d all have something to talk about for years to come . . . The great flood that didn’t happen.

  Fine with me.

  I grabbed the bundle of letters and also the battery-operated lantern I’d purchased at the hardware store earlier, just in case we lost power. With the lantern switched off but close and ready should I need it, I settled onto the sofa and pulled out the first letter.

  This had been the only one I’d read. The one that had wrecked me and had me putting the rest away, unread.

  Feeling brave, I unfolded the pages and skimmed over Rose’s words again, written in beautiful cursive.

  Bold and smooth, these words were penned by a young woman at the start of her adult life. It was stronger, surer than the shaky penmanship in some of her journals from near the end of her very long life.

  I felt a kinship to this woman even though she’d died twenty years ago. I’d been only ten years old at the time. Since I hadn’t grown up in Mudville, I’d never met her. But reading the journals that Harper had discovered in Agnes’s attic last year made it feel as if I knew her. And reading just this one letter brought me even closer to her.

  Why the words reduced me to tears I couldn’t be sure.

  Maybe it was reading how, at not even eighteen years old, she was so in love with the boy she’d been writing to, while I had yet to find that kind of love myself at thirty.

  Or perhaps it was because I knew she’d died single with no children. That could only mean one thing—either she never got to marry this boy, or she did and he died before they got a chance to have a family.

  Both scenarios were horrible to consider. Especially given these were written during World War I. It was one reason I’d avoided these letters.

  I stared at the stack, almost afraid of what I’d find inside. It was kind of like watching the movie Titanic while knowing from history how badly it all was going to end.

  But I owed it to Rose to read them, didn’t I? To make sure her story wasn’t forgotten.

  Of course, maybe it was just an invasion of her privacy and no one was meant to ever see these besides Rose and the young soldier she loved.

  I didn’t know. I was confused and about to chicken out and occupy myself on Pinterest when a knock on the door had me jumping.

  Heart pounding, I pushed off the settee and bravely faced the outline of the dark figure I could see standing on the other side of the door.

  The person took a step closer and the indoor lights illuminated the chiseled jawline and what looked like two days’ growth of beard covering his strong chin.

  I remembered the feel of that stubble against my skin and realized I didn’t have to be afraid of the man at my door—just of my own reaction to him, and possibly my own stupid suspicions for messing it all up with him.

  I knocked myself out of my own head and reached to turn the key I’d left in the lock.

  Pulling the door open, I stepped back to allow him inside and out of the downpour.

  He did come in, but not much farther than the space required to get the door closed against the driving rain and wind.

  “Hey. I saw your lights on and wanted to make sure you were okay,” Brandon said.

  Here he was, being nice again and confusing me.

  “I’m fine. Thank you. What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “I was at the diner.” Brandon tipped his head toward the building across the street.

  For the first time in years, its windows glowed against the dark night. Though I hated to admit it, that illumination was comforting. It added life to Main Street. Life that had been missing when those windows were dark.

  I hated the diner coming to life as much as I loved it as my self-preservation kicked along with my fears over the survival of Honey Buns.

  But Brandon had made an effort, both by buying the sump pump and by having Russ inquire about purchasing my goods and I’d never acknowledged that.

  Maybe it was time I did. “Um, thanks for the sump pump. And I wanted to thank you for offering to buy the diner’s baked goods from me.”

  “Offering?” His brows drew low. “I hope that doesn’t mean you declined.”

  I shook my head. “I haven’t done anything yet. Russ called right in the middle of the sandbag brigade today.”

  His gaze held sincerity as it met mine. “Well, I hope when everything calms down you will consider, and accept.”

  I nodded, then decided I needed to change the subject to something that didn’t make my chest feel tight. “So, I figured you’d be nice and dry in your hotel room by now.”

  My plan to lighten the subject matter was a failure when my mind immediately went back to another night and that suite at the hotel.

  “I didn’t book a room. The back office at the diner has a sofa long enough I can sleep on it if I have to. I wanted to stay close and keep an eye on the water situation.”

  Just like I was doing.

  The similarities between us were startling. Especially considering how completely opposite we were in every other way.

  I glanced at the antique Victorian settee that was as uncomfortable as it was beautiful. “I can’t say the same about my sofa.”

  He treated me to a small smile. I’d forgotten the power his smiles had over me. I yanked my gaze away.

  “So, I was gonna fire up the fryer across the street and make myself some french fries.”

  “Really?” I asked, surprised the diner was so close to opening that they had purchased food already.

  Brandon nodded. “Yup. I don’t have any of the gourmet stuff we talked about. No truffle oil or aioli. But I’ve got the standards. Ketchup. Malt vinegar. Nacho cheese. I think I even have some grated parmesan . . . If you’re interested.”

  He let the offer dangle.

  I drew in a breath as I waffled.

  I didn’t know if it was my love of fries or my lust for this man, or even my fear of being here
alone with Rose’s letters, but finally I said, “Okay.”

  “Good.” He looked happy with my decision as he glanced around. “You have a raincoat or an umbrella? It’s not far but you’d be amazed how wet you can get just running across the street.” He ran his hand over his wet head.

  Even soaked he was gorgeous.

  All that realization did was make my mind spin worse than before. My emotions were in a turmoil. From him. From my business concerns. From this damn flood. How was I ever going to get through this night?

  The answer might be one fry at a time. It couldn’t hurt.

  I finally answered his question. “Uh, yeah, actually, umbrellas I’ve got.” Thanks to the Victorian umbrella stand I just couldn’t resist buying and then filling up.

  I reached past him to the stand in the corner behind the door.

  “Here.” I handed him one and grabbed one for myself. Then reached for my jacket hanging on the wrought iron coat rack—another vintage find.

  I was about to grab the key so I could lock up behind us when I spotted the letters on the coffee table. I might not be inspired to read them, but I also couldn’t let them get ruined if—God forbid—the water rose high enough to flood the bakery and I didn’t get here in time to save them.

  Reaching down, I grabbed the stack and shoved them deep in the pocket of my jacket so they wouldn’t get wet during my sprint across Main Street.

  They were super old. I should be treating them much more gently. I vowed that once this night was over, I would get a proper box to protect them.

  One thing at a time. Right now, I had to get through tonight. With Brandon and the rising Muddy River both causing me stress, that was going to be easier said than done.

  EIGHTEEN

  Brandon

  “Sorry. I’m still figuring out the locks.” I glanced back as Bethany stood beneath the umbrella getting pelted by the storm as I wrestled with the key in the diner’s front door.

  She smiled, an actual genuine smile. “We all struggle with the old locks around here. Trust me. It took Harper a month to figure out Agnes’s front doors.”

  I barely knew Harper and I had yet to meet this Agnes person. And even though I had no idea in which house she lived where the locks were also difficult, I nodded anyway.

  It took two hands but finally the key turned and the door opened. I’d conquered the vintage lock and could regained my man card and my dignity.

  Thank God for that. Things were hard enough between us. I didn’t need the embarrassment of not being able to get into my own damn diner on top of it.

  Inside, I had to do a little dance to not step in the bowl of milk on the floor. “Watch your step.”

  She stopped behind me after closing the door and looked down at the bowl. “What’s that?”

  “A bowl of milk for the cat.”

  “The cat?” She frowned.

  I sighed. “I know. I’m probably breaking all sorts of health codes, but there was this cat hiding from the rain under the dumpster in the parking lot. I don’t know if it’s a stray or what but I couldn’t leave it there in this storm. So I opened the door and it came right in.” I lifted a shoulder. “I figured I’d better feed it something so I put out some milk. He . . . or she, I don’t know which, looks pretty young.”

  Bethany was still staring down at the bowl. Finally she lifted her gaze to me and I saw the confusion there.

  “I don’t have any cat food. You think he likes french fries?” I asked, laughing and looking toward the cardboard box in the corner behind the counter where a dishtowel inside provided a bed for the cat. “He sure seems to like the box the frozen french fries came in.” I cringed. “I hope I didn’t just kidnap someone’s cat. I mean, I’ll let him . . . or her . . . out if it wants out.”

  Bethany followed my gaze and took a step closer to look inside at my sleeping furry guest. She glanced from the cat to me. “I’ve seen this cat around town a lot, scavenging for food. I think it might be a stray. Um, for food, since you don’t have cat food, the milk is good for now. Meat would be better than french fries probably, if you’ve got any hamburgers around.”

  I shook my head. “No. Not yet. We’re going to buy the meat from Stone—or one of the other local beef farms—so we don’t have any on hand yet. But I’ll buy Muddy some cat food tomorrow. If the stores are open that is.”

  “Muddy?” she asked.

  I glanced up and saw her brows raised. “It was a spur of the moment choice. No good?”

  Truth was, I was getting tired of calling the poor cat he or she or it. Muddy seemed an appropriate name given where we were and the deluge outside turning the diner’s small patch of lawn and dirt parking lot into a muddy mess.

  “I think Muddy is perfect.” She seemed to knock herself out of a trance as she set her umbrella in the corner and stripped off her jacket. “So, I believe I was promised french fries.”

  What was this? Had we reached a truce?

  Her light-hearted comment and tone gave me hope there could be peace—or hopefully more—between us.

  That thought had me smiling as I shucked my own jacket. “Step into my kitchen. And maybe help me find out how to turn on the lights behind the counter while you’re here. I managed to find the other switches but this one is hiding.”

  She laughed. It was an amazing sound. One I didn’t realize I’d missed since I’d heard it last.

  With one flip of a switch I hadn’t noticed but Bethany had, light flooded the area over the cooktop.

  Of course she’d find the switch hidden beneath the shelf in seconds when I’d searched for longer than I wanted to admit and had failed to find it.

  Somehow, I didn’t mind that so much as she grinned at me and said, “And let there be light.”

  I returned her smile. “Thank you.”

  “Anytime. Need help turning on the fryer too?” she asked with, if I weren’t mistaken, a bit of a cocky attitude.

  I quirked up a brow. “No, thank you. Fryers I have experience with.”

  “Really? How?” She looked as shocked as she sounded.

  “I worked as a fry cook for a summer when I was a teenager.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Hmm, what?” I asked, glancing up from the bag of frozen fries I was in the middle of tearing into.

  “I just assumed you . . . you know, wouldn’t have to work growing up.”

  “Because you figure I was born with money?” I asked.

  She responded with a shrug. “Yeah. You weren’t?”

  “My parents are comfortable, but not rich by any means. They both work, still to this day. I got a partial scholarship to NYU, which is the only way I could afford it without taking out massive loans. And I worked every summer. Though I will admit fry cook was not my favorite job. I didn’t enjoy smelling like grease for an entire summer. It put a bit of a kink in my social life.”

  She nodded. “I can imagine.”

  I had turned on the fryer to heat before I’d walked over the Bethany’s, so the oil was already getting good and hot. I put a couple of handfuls of fries into the basket, lowered it into the fryer, and was transported back nearly twenty years by the sound of frozen potatoes hitting boiling oil.

  Silence had descended between us. It felt like we were well on our way to getting back to where we’d been that night during dinner when conversation had flowed easily—back before she’d suddenly started hating me—but were weren’t quite there yet.

  To fill the dead air, I tipped my chin toward the shelf behind her and said, “You want to flip on the radio over there? I haven’t heard a flood update in a bit.”

  “Sure.”

  The announcer’s voice filled the air, echoing off the tiled walls of the diner’s kitchen. “. . . projected to overflow its banks by eleven p.m. based on the current rate of rainfall. Residents in the village of Mudville and in the greater Mudville area should expect rising flood waters of up to a foot, along with electrical outages. The sheriff’s department reminds everyone
not to drive into standing water or touch any downed power lines . . .”

  Bethany’s eyes widened. “Up to a foot. What do we do?”

  Stone had shown me what to do if the sump pumps didn’t kick on automatically. We’d sandbagged as best we could. There was really nothing else we could do to prepare.

  I reached out and squeezed her shoulder.

  “It’ll be okay.” I glanced at my watch. “We’ve got a couple of hours yet. We’ll refuel on hot fries and coffee—I’ve got a pot on already. And then, we wait.”

  Wait and hope. It felt like a lifetime since I’d step foot in a church but praying might not hurt either.

  At least I wouldn’t be alone. I glanced at Bethany. “Thanks for keeping me company.”

  “Thank you for keeping me company.” Her sweet smile was as bright as a thousand suns illuminating the dark rainy night. It lifted my spirits and my hope.

  I returned her smile. “Anytime.” And I meant that completely.

  NINETEEN

  Bethany

  I’d never been so wet or so tired in my life.

  The rain fell and the river rose. Brandon and I had barely an hour to enjoy our french fries before the first of the water began to encroach upon where we’d taken refuge.

  First the side streets flooded, then the yard behind the diner. Finally the water had crept right up to the sandbags against the back door of the building.

  It continued to rise, flooding the lower side of Main Street, which included Red’s store as well as the diner, not to mention the still vacant Mudville House.

  The sump pumps had trouble keeping up with the rising water. It got high enough Brandon called Stone and a brigade of Morgans descended upon the diner, helping us move everything that was in danger up higher.

  Things that couldn’t be moved to the overcrowded top shelves were loaded into trucks and moved across the street to where the landlord of my building had offered the vacant second floor as storage for anyone who needed it.