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Other books by Summer Donnelly
Harper’s Mill books
Hummingbird Dreams, Harper’s Mill 1 by Summer Donnelly
http://amzn.to/2gOfl4c
Fae and Frost, a Christmas Romance Harper’s Mill 2 by Summer Donnelly
https://www.amazon.com/dp/B00GW60QUA
Dandelion Dreams, Harper’s Mill 3 by Summer Donnelly (coming January 2017)
Stand-alone titles: Midnight Honey by Summer Donnelly
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Hummingbird Dreams
A Second Chance at Love
By Summer Donnelly
“Crying is all right in its way while it lasts. But you have to stop sooner or later, and then you still have to decide what to do.” ~ C.S. Lewis
This book is lovingly dedicated to the dreamers, the lovers and the hard decision makers – may they find happiness on their chosen paths.
~ S. Donnelly, High Point, NC
June, 2016
© Summer Donnelly, 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement
The sunlight speaks. And its voice is a bird:
It glitters half-guessed half seen half-heard
Above the flower bed. Over the lawn …
A flashing dip and it is gone.
And all it lends to the eye is this —
A sunbeam giving the air a kiss.
~ The Hummingbird Poem by Harry Kemp
Chapter One
July
Harper’s Mill, NJ
The “plus” symbol watched her with the emotional sentimentality of a brick. It was as unapologetic as it was consistent with its siblings which lay scattered about the brightly lit bathroom.
She was pregnant.
Maybe one test could have a false positive. Even two. Two could be false positive, right? But five positive tests were a sure fire indicator she was pregnant. Hummingbird wings of panic beat at her chest and her head spun. What was she going to do?
“What are you going to do, Honor?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know,” Honor wailed, reaching for the ceramic toilet bowl. Emma sighed and held Honor’s long brown hair away from her face as she emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet bowl.
“I don’t know, Emma,” Honor repeated. She accepted the glass of water Emma handed her. She sipped, wiped at her tears, and reached for a towel. “I need to face the truth and tell my mom, I guess. Maybe. What do you think?”
“That would be a start,” Emma said wryly. “How late are you?”
Honor shrugged. “A few weeks, I guess.”
“Can you get a letter to Spencer?” she asked, referring to Honor’s ex-boyfriend Simon Spencer. “I mean he is the father, right?”
“Of course he’s the father!” Honor said. “But what am I going to do, Em? He broke up with me, like, the very next day and started dating Mandy again.”
“He needs to know,” Emma said. “Family line is super important to the Spencers. It’s everything.”
Honor nodded, numbly. “I don’t know. I mean, maybe. I could probably talk to his mom and get his address in Great Lakes, but I’m not sure how quickly he’ll get the letter. I’ve heard all kinds of things about people reading mail and the recruiter warned me not to send any intimate pictures to him. As if.
“Who would even do that? But what if someone else reads my letter? What if someone else knows I’m pregnant before he does?” He voice caught and brought with it a fresh wave of sobs.
Emma nodded and hugged Honor tightly. “We’ll get through this,” she promised. “Best friends don’t abandon each other. No matter what.”
“Pinky swear?” Honor asked, standing up.
“Pinky swear.”
Emma sighed, her brow creasing as she thought about Honor’s options. “Now, are you keeping, giving up for adoption, or aborting? Time is of the essence for the last one.”
“I don’t know,” Honor said weakly and began crying again. She felt very young and stupid. Useless and unsure of herself and ill-prepared to deal with a baby.
Emma glanced around the room, clearly at a loss for what to do. “Tea,” Emma finally announced. “I will go make you some hot tea. Mom says a cup of tea and a nap will cure what ails you. So –you. Go get comfy on your bed and we’ll talk in a few minutes.”
Honor nodded, grateful for Emma’s take charge attitude. Now, if only Emma could tell her mom and Steve, tell Spencer, and give birth, Honor thought with a wry smile, she’d be all set.
She lay down on her bed, laid her hand on her flat stomach, and thought about Spencer. Their love – the almost mystical magical connection she thought they had shared.
Missing him was an empty ache in her chest and she fought the urge to open the windows and bake cookies until he came home. Calling to him. Telling him her troubles. Begging him to come back to her. To explain why he had broken her heart after she had given herself to him.
Did it work like that? She wasn’t sure and didn’t feel comfortable asking his mom.
A warm breeze blew in from her bedroom window and she absorbed the fresh clean air into her lungs, pores, and very being. She loved her adopted hometown’s 1950s throwback serenity.
Only one of her friends had cable TV and there were more resident cows than people. Harper’s Mill was a small, forgotten railroad town nestled in the Kittatinny Valley section of the Great Appalachian Valley and was both loved and protected by her tight knit residents.
There were Old Families in Harper’s Mill. Families here since the founding.
Emma’s family, the Evanses, was known for calming teas and herbal remedies. Everyone knew the Lights were no good – in each generation, all first born sons had wound up in jail. The Parkers couldn’t lie. The Spencers could bake.
Had she really been here almost a year?
Honor was barely sixteen when she took the counter job at Spencer’s Bakery in center of town. Her mom had only recently moved them to the village of Harper’s Mill after meeting her current loser boyfriend. Honor was lonely and trying to save enough money so she could leave after she turned eighteen. No more moving every six months. No more picking her mother up when some guy decked her.
Honor vowed to provide her own stability in life.
Since her only experience baking was confined to small prepackaged ingredients and a light bulb operated oven, she had been grateful to get the job at Spencer’s.
At first, she ran the register, greeting customers and selling cookies. But one sleepy spring afternoon, Ruthanne Spencer taught her to bake.
The basics were easy. Honor was soon baking the best sellers - chocolate cake, red velvet cake, and rich, fudgy brownies.
But after one of her experiments where she mixed dark chocolate into the scone mixture producing a decadent treat that sold out in the first hour, Honor was moved on to more complex recipes. Traditional pecan p
ie soon turned into a salted caramel-chocolate pecan pie. She added Irish cream liqueur to cheesecake and produced new tastes and both new and repeat customers. Giddiness invaded her stomach at the thought of having found her gift.
“Let’s start you with hummingbird cupcakes,” Ruthanne said, showing Honor how to gently fold in her ingredients. The air was thick with the sweetness of sugar and redolent with the tropical scents of banana, pineapple, cinnamon, pecans, and vanilla extract.
“You make your own vanilla?”
“The best ingredients make the best dishes,” Ruthanne said with a smile. “Every good baker should have her own garden.”
“But some ingredients are only available for a limited time.” Honor indicated a small bowl of violet petals ready to be folded into their next project.
“Their rarity makes their taste all the more poignant,” Ruthanne said sagely. “My customers know when violets are blooming so they make sure they order in advance.”
Hummingbird cake gave way to Ruthanne’s more mysterious epicurean delights. Recipes never written down but handed down orally from mother to daughter. For a brief moment, standing in Ruthanne’s kitchen, she finally felt like she belonged somewhere in the world.
Lemon and lavender buttermilk cake that tasted like pure sunshine.
Sun flare Floribunda cake, a classic white cake, was made with just a hint of rose water from Ruthanne’s own roses. Honor learned to gently fold the yellow rose petals into the vanilla buttercream for a one of a kind taste experience that brought tears to her eyes when she tried a slice.
And it was at Spencer’s Bakery that she had met the owner’s son, Simon.
Oh, sure, in a town with only a few dozen high school age students, she had known of Simon Spencer, but they ran in completely different circles. Spence was a longtime resident. A lifer. He was on the county soccer league, rode a dirt bike, and was usually seen at the regular weekend parties at the old Paulinskill Viaduct known universally by Harper High students as the “Trestles”.
Honor was – well, she wasn’t quite a nerd, but close. She had been in town less than a year and was still navigating the treacherous waters of high school. Popular enough to never be picked last for teams in gym class, she still would never be confused for the jocks. Bright enough to get passing grades, she had no over-reaching passion except maybe for completing her Bon Jovi cassette collection. And she had never, ever been invited to the Trestles.
She had one bright spot in her life and that was her best friend Emma. Emma was definitely the sister she had always wished for.
And then there was Spence. Seventeen and perfect, Honor had fallen for her boss’s son. Hard.
***
Spence was the high school trifecta – handsome, athletic, and smart. Called only by his last name since middle school, he was the embodiment of “cool” in their small corner of New Jersey.
“Hey, Honor,” Spence called, catching up with her as she walked to the cafeteria.
“Hey, Simon,” Honor said, feeling her cheeks heath with a dreaded blush.
“You can call me Spence. Most everyone does,” he said with a grin. “Except my Mom, but I’m working on her.”
“Okay. Hey, Spence.” She nodded. “You have third period lunch?”
“No, not til fourth. I was just wondering if you’d like to go out with me. Maybe see a movie this weekend.”
Holy crap! Was he for real? Honor looked around, a little suspicious of his intent. “Is this a joke?” she finally asked.
“No. You don’t like movies? We can go up to the Poconos. Hike to the top of the Delaware Mountains? Or hike through the waterfalls?”
“Um. No. Movies sound good. Just, you know, I need to ask my mom.” She wrote her phone number down on the book cover of the text book he carried. “Can you call me tonight? After dinner?”
Spence nodded and waved before heading off in the other direction for his class.
She found Emma and her friends at their usual table and Emma’s eyes were glowing that wild blue shade which meant she had seen a vision.
She stood up as Honor approached and grabbed her arm. “Honor and I are going to eat outside on the picnic area,” she said behind her back. She looked up at Honor and said, “Tell me everything!”
***
Ruthanne traced the number on the cover of her son’s math book with trepidation. She recognized it, of course. But didn’t like it.
The girl had talent in the kitchen and, if pressed, Ruthanne admitted she kind of liked the girl. Just not as a daughter-in-law. Not yet. She wasn’t ready to lose her son just yet.
For a moment, she felt a pang of guilt, remembering how difficult Simon’s mother had been about sharing her own son, but Ruthanne had family, connection, and a gift.
What did Honor have? A little talent in the kitchen, maybe, but it wasn’t a gift. It couldn’t be a gift.
If Spence fell in love, he might leave home. Leave her.
If her son fell in love, she would lose the special bond she had with him – the ability to call him with her baking. And that was unacceptable.
“So tell him he can’t date her,” her husband said, later that night.
Ruthanne shrugged. “No, that won’t work. They’re kids. They’re stubborn. They might actually elope if I forbade them.”
“The girl is temporary,” Simon said as he turned off the light. “I’ll talk to him. Make him understand that she’ll break him when she goes. That he has to keep his heart until he meets the right girl.”
“Exactly,” Ruthanne said. “The right girl.” Which wasn’t going to be Honor Thompson, she thought, surprised to feel a mild sense of jealousy towards the girl. Honor was really just a half step above trash, she thought. She couldn’t lose her son to trash. Ruthanne felt her heart harden and she reached for it, embraced it, and relished it. She was not going to share her son with that cheap girl whose own mother was bottom-feeder trash.
Was this how her own mother-in-law had felt? Creating an ongoing strife in the Spencer marriage that had been felt long after she died?
Ruthanne sighed. She didn’t know and didn’t care. Honor was not the woman for Spence and that’s all there was to it.
***
Honor knew other girls crushed on him, but even after a month of dating, she was learning to see behind the walls he hid behind.
“I can see it, you know,” Spence confided to her, his shyness at odds with his usual brash sense of humor. Their hands intertwined as they walked down Main Street. Spencer liked to be there when she helped close the store to walk her home.
Honor felt his love pour through the connection of their palms. She mentally shook her head and rolled her eyes. Sure enough, she was completely twitterpated, she thought. It was silly but if Friend Owl knew everyone became twitterpated in the spring, then why not her? She assumed you could be twitterpated in autumn, too.
She lightly tightened her hand on Spence’s and felt it – that strange surge of emotion entering her soul.
“See what?” Honor asked, leaning in for yet another kiss. Spence’s kisses were as sweetly addictive as watermelon hearts on a late August afternoon.
His lips teased hers and she whimpered slightly, floating on hormones and youth.
He touched the sleeve of her bakery apron. A spiraling trail of sugar crystals billowed into the air, leftovers from her shift at the bakery. “Sugar. Mother calls it my ‘Sugar Sight’ and that every first born Spencer son has it. But no matter where I am or what I’m doing, I can tell when she’s baking.” He paused long enough to let his words sink in. “I can see it on you, too.” His youthfully broad shoulders tensed, waiting for her mockery. Her rejection.
“You can see it on me?” Honor asked, a playful smile growing on her face. Everyone knew of Spence’s legendary sweet tooth. But Sugar Sight? That seemed a little farfetched.
He nodded. “It sparkles around you in a bright glow after you’ve been baking. At first, I thought it was because you’re around my m
om’s baking but it’s different somehow. Mom’s glow is clear. Like diamonds or like the moon on December night. Yours is more colorful. It has a rainbow sparkle to it.”
Honor giggled nervously. “I leave a trail of rainbow colored fairy dust? Like Tinkerbelle?” she asked.
“Yeah, a bit.” He fell quiet as their walk continued. He was quiet as they walked but their earlier sense of serenity and synchronicity was missing.
“The night sky is so alive, don’t you think,” he said, changing the subject as he sensed her skepticism of his claim. Honor nodded in agreement, sensing she had hurt him but unsure how to make it right.
Sugar Sight?
Gradually, as their intimacy increased, she began to believe him.
Believe in them.
***
Light from the bonfire glinted off his dark brown hair and made it appear almost golden. The crisp autumn air was full of the scents of burning pine, open containers, and teenage hormones. The laughter and excited voices were occasionally punctuated by the pop of vapor released from freshly cut firewood.
Honor relished and marked each moment in her memory so she could immortalize the words that night in her diary. She had already titled this entry as My First Time to the Trestles.
“Do you want anything to drink?” he asked, indicating the coolers and snacks appearing by the carload.
“Maybe just a Coke?” she asked, snuggled warmly between a log and the fire. Crisp fall wind teased her hair but she was cozy and content and too lazy to move.
He paused as he stood up. “You don’t want a beer?”
Embarrassment flooded into her along with the acute awareness of her relative youth. She dropped her eyes, flushed, uneasy. Cursing herself.
This was probably why she had never been invited up here before. These kids drank and had sex and probably smoked weed. She was such a dork!
“No, not tonight,” she said, trying to save face. Her earlier contentment shattered and she straightened from her relaxed pose. Maybe her mother had been right. Maybe Spence and his crowd was “too fast” for her. Too old. Too experienced.
He shrugged and came back with two cans of soda. “Thank you,” she said, a little stiffly, aware embarrassment still crept along the back of her neck.
Hummingbird Dreams: A Second Chance at Love (Harper's Mill Book 1) Page 1
