by Sophie Stern
My eyes roam the room as I lick my lips, wondering what to say or do. There must be 20 different people staring at me. No one looks mean or angry. They just seem curious, like they weren’t expecting an out-of-towner.
Like they weren’t expecting me.
Suddenly a friendly looking young woman appears from the back and waves her hand at the diners.
“Carry on, folks,” she says. “Let’s not be rude.” As if nothing had happened, the room grows loud once more and everyone turns back to what they were doing. How did she do that? This woman is pure magic: that much is for certain.
“Um, hi,” I say, turning to her, and she smiles.
“Can I help you, honey? You want something to eat, or do you just need directions?”
“Food would be good,” I manage to say, and she motions for me to take a seat at the counter. I slip onto the metal barstool. It’s got a red vinyl cushion on the top that’s seen better days, but I love the vibe of the restaurant. It’s completely classic.
The woman appears on the other side of the counter with a glass of water and a menu.
“Take your time deciding,” she says. “Just let me know when you’re ready.” Her ponytail bounces as she walks away and I’m immediately put at ease. Something about this woman feels comfortable and homey. She reminds me of a big sister or a really fun babysitter. If she were older, she’d remind me of a super-cool aunt, but she can’t be more than a few years older than me.
She grabs a coffee pot and begins making her way throughout the diner, refilling mugs and chatting with customers. How long has she worked here? She seems to know her way around the place. When the woman moves, she glides. She can’t be more than 30, I imagine. She’s cute and curvy and seems really friendly.
Maybe Honeypot won’t be so bad after all.
A few minutes later, I’m ready to order, and when she catches my eye from across the room, I nod to let her know I’m all set.
“What’ll it be, darling?” She says, and I’m reminded of every movie I’ve ever seen where the sweet diner waitress is secretly a single mother who works really hard and manages to fall in love. I like this girl already. No matter what her story is or what secrets she might be hiding, I hope she gets her happy ending.
“Is it too late for waffles?” I ask, but she just chuckles.
“It’s never too late for waffles, hon.” She takes my menu and laughs again, pointing at a nearby table where four bearded men are eating stacks of waffles. They look over at us, but I quickly turn away, blushing.
“It’ll be just a few minutes,” she says kindly, and disappears into the back.
I try not to fidget as I wait, but I’m suddenly very aware of the fact that I’m in a strange place by myself. Not for the first time, I’m wondering if this was a bad idea. It wasn’t, I tell myself. It isn’t. I have to do this for myself.
I have to prove I’m better than my past.
Casually glancing around, I take in the records hanging on the wall and the black-and-white pictures. Some of them are kind of weird. Most of them look like a younger version of Honeypot. Maybe that’s what the town looked like long ago. Everyone looks happy and swank. Seriously. These people dress nicely.
There’s a painting on one wall that stands out simply because it’s a painting. It features a man with wings and a young woman with long brown hair. She’s looking up at the man and smiling like he’s her entire world.
For just a second, my heart threatens to crack a little more, but I fight back the sadness. I can’t let this get to me today. Not today. Right now, I have a lot to worry about. The last thing I need to do is focus on love. The past may have hurt me, but I won’t let it keep me down. I won’t let it hold me back.
I take a deep breath and lean forward again, propping my chin in my hands. The counter is clean and smooth: not sticky, the way some diner counters get. I have the feeling that the server really takes pride in her work. She’s the only one I see working, though I assume there’s a cook or two in the back, but she seems to have everything under control.
I twirl on my seat, taking in the rest of the room. The counter where I’m sitting takes up one side of the room and the other is lined with booths. Every single one is full of people laughing, talking, and sharing stories.
I get the distinct impression that everyone here knows everyone else and that Honeypot is a very tight-knit community. This could be a good thing or a bad thing.
What will that do for my job prospects? Is there any chance I’ll get the position at the ranch? It’s not like I’m the most qualified candidate. I get that. The truth is that I don’t know very much about taking care of animals and I don’t know much about running a ranch. Looking around the diner, it seems like most of the other people here know exactly what it takes to run a ranch.
Almost everyone is wearing jeans or overalls and muddy boots. A couple of people still have cowboy hats on, even though it’s evening and even though they’re indoors. I’ve never seen so many giant belt buckles as I’m seeing right now and if someone walks past me in a gingham dress with twin braids, I won’t be shocked.
“Order up,” the server says, and places a plate of waffles in front of me. She produces two bottles of syrup: one blueberry, one maple. “Pick your pleasure,” she says with a smile.
“Thank you.” My stomach grumbles audibly and I blush, but she just laughs.
“What brings you to Honeypot?” She asks, leaning against the counter. I hesitate, wondering if I should say what’s really brought me to town. What do I have to lose, though? It’s not like everyone isn’t going to figure it out if I get the job. It’s just that when she asks me, I swear the volume of the restaurant has gone down, as if everyone is listening, even though they couldn’t be.
That would be crazy.
“I have a job interview,” I tell her. “Tomorrow, actually.” I choose the blueberry syrup and slather my waffles, then take a tentative bite. Immediately, I groan. “These are so good,” I murmur, and she just laughs.
“Secret recipe,” she says with a little wink. Then she leans forward on the counter, placing her elbow down and her chin in her hand. The gesture reminds me of gossiping with my friends when I was in elementary school. “So what’s the job?” She asks. “You gonna work here with me?” She grins, and I feel immediately at ease.
“This would probably be more fun. Trust me. No, it’s a ranch job. I’ve applied to be an employee at the Blair Ranch. Do you know it?”
Her jaw drops open and for a moment, she’s silent. Then the girl bursts into wild laughter and she giggles.
“Won’t they be in for a treat,” she says. “Oh yes. A big treat indeed.”
“Why’s that?” I ask, not sure what she means.
“Um, they’re three super hot brothers, for one thing. And they’re all delightfully single, for another.”
“Is that so?” I ask. I shove more waffles in my mouth, then sip my water. “Good thing I’m not looking for a boyfriend right now.”
“You might not be looking, hon, but love’s gonna find you and catch you. If you get this job, I guarantee one of them will sweep you off your sweet little feet.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You’re exactly their type.”
Chapter 3
Hope
The waitress, whose name is Selena, gives me some advice on where to stay. When I mention that I’m planning on grabbing a room at the motel across the road, she gently suggests I try a nearby bed and breakfast run by one of her aunts. I’m tempted to ask how many relatives she has in town, but I don’t. She’s being gracious, and I don’t want to ruin it by acting nosy. There will be plenty of time for that later.
“It’s cozy,” she says. “I’ll call her right now and tell her to give you the friends-and-family discount.”
“Thanks,” I say. I’m genuinely grateful. I’m not used to people being kind to me, especially strangers. I pay my bill, leave a generous tip, and head back to my car. Selen
a’s directions are precise and soon I’ve turned off Main street onto a little side road.
Cute cottage-style houses line the road, interspersed with the occasional larger Victorian. Finally, I come across a large house that I would describe as a mansion, but that is really a multi-story Victorian house, complete with turrets.
A sign in the front yard reads The Bee’s Knees.
“Welcome to Honeypot,” I murmur, and grab my keys and wallet. I climb the steps to the front porch and lift my hand to knock, but before I can, the door flies open.
“You must be Hope!” A friendly older woman greets me. Her grey hair is up in a bun and she’s wearing a button-down blouse with a comfortable-looking pair of jeans. The first thing that pops into my head is home. She reminds me of my mother. She reminds me of family, of my childhood, and I bite back the tears that threaten to spill over.
“The one and only,” I answer cheerfully, and the woman ushers me inside. We’re in a spacious foyer with a large staircase that takes up most of the area. To the right is a sitting room and to the left is the dining area.
“Come on in,” she points to the sitting room. “Let’s talk rooms.”
I take a seat on a comfortable blue sofa and lean back.
“Lovely place,” I comment. “I bet you have a lot of fun here.” One side of the room has a bunch of instruments, including a piano and a guitar.
“Oh, some of the guests like to get a bit noisy sometimes. Don’t worry, though. I only let them play on the weekends. Nothing you need to feel concerned about. I know my guests need their beauty sleep and that’s my first priority.”
I like this woman already.
“Now, Selena said you have an interview tomorrow? That’s just fine. If you’re going to be working with the Blair brothers, they do have cottages on their property for employees, so they’ll probably give you a place to stay if they choose you, but let’s go ahead and book you for two nights, just in case they don’t decide right away. Sound good, honey?”
“Perfect,” I say. She shows me the prices for the different rooms and I choose the cheapest one. She takes off 30% and I can’t believe her generosity.
“No big deal, honey. We take care of our own around here and you really made an impression with Selena. She doesn’t take kindly to just anyone, so I want to make sure you have a good experience in our little town, no matter how long you might be here for.”
After I pay Mrs. Marsh, I retrieve a small bag from my car. I’m glad I thought ahead enough to pack a bag for my first few days. Otherwise I’d be sorting through different boxes trying to find something appropriate to wear.
I head back inside and she shows me to my room, but doesn’t come inside.
“If you need anything at all, I’ll be up until about 10:00,” she tells me. “After that, only come get me if it’s an emergency. All right, dear?”
“Of course,” I tell her. She points to the end of the hall where there’s a single door decorated with a wreath.
“That’s my room. Take care, now, hon, and remember that breakfast is between six and nine. Any later than that, and you’re on your own.”
I thank her once more, then go into my room and close the door. I flip the lock and turn back around to take in my new space. There’s a large bed against one wall and a fireplace against the opposite. I love fires, but it’s the beginning of summer, so I won’t be using it. There’s a dresser against the back wall and the entrance to my private bathroom.
Convenient.
I’ve never stayed at a bed and breakfast before, but I had pictured something more communal, like shared bathrooms. I’m glad I have a space that’s all my own. Closing the blinds, I quickly strip down and head into the bathroom to soak.
The tub is huge. It’s more like a hot tub than a bathtub. Three people could easily fit inside. Maybe the people in Honeypot are kinkier than I thought. Blushing, I picture a mini-orgy in the tub. Hands groping, pulling hair, spanking, teasing, touching… Suddenly, I’m sad I’m staying alone tonight.
Mrs. Marsh seemed nice enough and even a bit conservative, but you never know what people are secretly like.
You just don’t know.
Maybe this B&B is secretly used for sexcapades and naughty weekends. The thought excites me more than it should.
The tub fills quickly and I slip into the water. I can’t hold back the moan that escapes my lips. The water feels so good against my skin. I’m much more sore than I planned to be. Who knew that a lengthy road trip would feel more like a trip to the gym than a relaxing drive?
Fighting back the urge to think about all I left behind, I close my eyes. Tomorrow is a new beginning. It’s a fresh start. No one in Honeypot knows anything about me. No one knows my history, my past, my story.
No one knows how my boyfriend completely humiliated.
Most importantly, no one knows that it was all my fault.
If only I didn’t have such stupid, prudish ideas about love. I should have just sucked it up and given Jacob what he wanted. After all, Margaret didn’t seem to have a problem spreading her legs. What was my excuse?
Maybe I just never felt that zing with Jake. I never felt that connection. I liked being with him and I told him that I loved him, but I never really felt like I was in love. It wasn’t the way people described love to me, anyway.
Ugh.
At least the work at the Blair Ranch sounds like it’ll take up all of my time. I can’t imagine ranching is an easy job. Even though the ad just said the position is for an “assistant,” I imagine landing it will keep me pretty busy.
Good.
The last thing I need to do is spend my time feeling sorry for myself. No, I’m ready to move on. Jake made his choice and so did Margaret. While I will always miss her and her friendship, I have to wonder why they didn’t just tell me.
Am I that bad of a person?
Maybe if she had told me, we could have salvaged the relationship. Maybe if she had admitted the truth, if she had been honest, then Jake and I could have stayed friends.
But neither one of them told me.
It was lie after lie after lie.
Now my entire world has been uprooted.
By the time I’m done thinking, the water is cold and my fingers are wrinkled. Reluctantly, I climb out of the tub and dry myself, then climb into bed buck naked.
The mattress is the softest one I’ve ever been on and within minutes, I’m fast asleep, dreaming of a world without my stupid problems.
**
When I wake up, I take a quick shower, then blow-dry my hair. I imagine that as soon as I’m out in the hot, sticky air, everything will frizz over, but as of right now, I look great. Quickly, I braid my long blonde locks neatly and spray some hairspray on top. That should keep the frizzles at bay, at least for an hour or two.
Mrs. Marsh was pretty direct about being on time for breakfast, so I grab my purse and scurry downstairs at 7:30. When I reach the bottom of the steps, I take a big, long whiff of the scent that’s wafting from the kitchen.
“Good, right?” A voice says. A man is standing in the doorway and he’s chuckling at my display of hunger. I should be embarrassed, but instead I’m completely scoping him out. Why are there so many sexy men in this town? First the cop and now this guy. Seriously, does Honeypot only produce models? Even the women are freaking gorgeous.
“It smells delicious,” I admit sheepishly. “Although I might be biased since I haven’t eaten since last night.”
“You aren’t biased at all,” the man assures me. “Mrs. Marsh makes the best breakfast in all of Honeypot.”
“Are you a guest here?” I ask him, but the man shakes his head.
“Nope. I’m her son, Sawyer.
“But you called her Mrs. Marsh,” I insist, and Sawyer just grins.
“Well, you know. Everyone else does, so sometimes I slip up. What brings you to town?”
“I have a job interview,” I tell him. “At the Blair Ranch. Do you know it?”
<
br /> “I know it,” he says, but doesn’t say anything else. Sawyer doesn’t offer me a “good luck” or a “break a leg.” Instead, he jaunts past me, tugging playfully on the end of my hair as he passes, and I’m filled with sudden excitement and nervousness.
Are all the eligible bachelors in Honeypot this bold about touching women? Are they all so confident in their flirting? I think of the cop yesterday who told me wearing a low-cut shirt won’t hurt. While most women would find the comment sexist or inappropriate, it only turns me on.
I haven’t felt sexy in a long time. Jake certainly never made me feel sexy and nobody is going to feel attractive when their man finds someone better. Maybe I’m having post-relationship blues or single girl confidence issues, but Sawyer made me feel young and carefree when he tugged on my braid.
My feet move of their own accord into the dining room, where a buffet table has been set up with biscuits, gravy, hash browns, scrambled eggs, waffles, and sausages. I grab a plate and fill it, then find a seat at an empty table to start digging in.
“Coffee?” Sawyer asks, appearing at my table with a coffee pot.
“I thought you were here for breakfast,” I say.
“Well, Mrs. Marsh puts me to work.”
“You mean Mom.”
“Yes. Mom puts me to work.”
“Coffee would be great,” I say. He pours me a mug, then heads back into what I assume is the kitchen, and I practically devour my food. When I’m finished, I carry my dirty dishes into the kitchen and thank Mrs. Marsh for the breakfast.
“No problem at all, dear,” she says with a wink. “Good luck today with the interview.”
“Thank you,” I tell her, only suddenly I’m feeling very nervous. This really is my one shot at freedom. If I don’t get this job, I’m going to have to move back to Holbrook and live with friends or relatives until I can figure something out. Plus, there would be the entire issue of gas money to get home. I need this job. I need Honeypot.
