Page 16 of Summer with the Single Dad

“Our fireweed honey is also very popular,” Elwyn explained, squeezing dollops from that bottle onto other peoples’ thrusted out sticks. Justine mimicked them, waiting for her fireweed honey.

“It’s good,” Bennett agreed. “But I’m partial to the clover honey. To me it has the best flavor. Hints of hay and freshly-cut grass. With plummy and cinnamon notes. I like the way the flavor lingers on the tongue.”

Someone behind him snorted. “Are we at a honey tasting or a wine tasting? Plummy? Freshly-cut grass?”

Bennett glanced over his shoulder to see the popped collar tourist wearing his Oakley sunglasses indoors, smiling with his too-big veneers like he’d just cracked the best joke of the year.

Bennett let his gaze slide slowly up, then down the man. They were the same height, but Bennett had more breadth. And more brains. That was clear.

“I think we’re at a honey tasting,” Bennett said calmly before turning around. Justine watched him as he grinned at Elwyn. “Can I have a sample of the clover honey, please?”

Elwyn was all grins and nodded, grabbing a fresh sample stick for Bennett and squeezing a dollop onto the end of it. He did so for Justine as well.

At the exact same time, Bennett and Justine put the sticks in their mouths, their eyes locked as they sucked off the delicious, fragrant elixir of the gods.

“Mmm,” she hummed, smiling around the stick.

Bennett’s dick jumped in his shorts.

A rush of color to her cheeks and the widening of her eyes had her pivoting to face Elwyn again.

“Well, hell. Give me some of that then,” the douche in the yellow polo with the popped collar said, elbowing his way beside Bennett and holding out his stick.

It was obvious to anyone with an ounce of awareness that Elwyn was painfully fighting an eye roll. But he was the utmost professional, nodding and squeezing a dewdrop-sized dollop of honey onto Mr. Popped Collar’s stick.

“Doesn’t taste any different than the other ones,” Popped Collar said with a scoff. “Dude, you’re making this shit up.” He scoffed again, shook his head at Bennett, and went off to find his citiot friends.

Elwyn, Justine, and Bennett all snickered and smiled at each other.

“Ah, such unrefined palates,” Elwyn sung. “I bet he’s the type of guy who buys expensive wine because of the price tag, not the taste. But in truth, can’t tell the difference between a bottle of Petit Syrah from Golden Sunrise, or a box of red for six fifty from the Lucky Buck liquor store.”

Justine snorted. “To be fair, I’m not sure I could tell the difference either. My palate isn’t that refined.”

Still smiling, Elwyn grabbed another stick, then put a dollop of the lavender honey on it while motioning for Justine to hold out hers. He put a dollop of the clover honey on that one. “Try them back-to-back.”

She did as she was told, and her eyes lit up in surprise. “I do taste a difference. The clover one is a lot …” She looked up at Bennett, “earthier?”

He snorted. “Yeah. Do you taste the grass?”

“A little bit, yeah. But I don’t taste the plums.”

Elwyn snorted again. “An adolescent palate, but at least you’re not as immature as Mr. Yellow Polo over there.”

They all snickered again, then Justine and Bennett moved over so new people could sample Elwyn’s wares.

“I don’t usually cook or bake with honey. And I drink my coffee black,” she murmured, more to herself than to Bennett, given the way she seemed to almost be ignoring him as she picked up the various labeled jars and turned them around to read the backs. “And I have muesli for breakfast. Unsweetened, since that’s better for your heart.”

“You could get the honey as a gift. For your parents?” he offered, slightly behind her and off to the side. She was tall, and it was impossible for him not to smell her hair, given that her ponytail was right in front of his nose. It smelled incredible. Like some tropical flower and sunshine. The paradox wasn’t lost on him in the least. Her hair smelled like joy and hope while the person projected nothing but sadness and despair.

He pulled in one more big inhale, then took a step forward and to the side. “Unless your parents also don’t cook, or bake, or consume honey? Are you vegan? Are you from a family of vegans?”

Her smile only curled up one side of her mouth, and it lasted for maybe two seconds. “No. We’re not vegans. We are all fairly health-conscious though.”

“All?”

“My parents, my two sisters, and I.”

“Ah.”

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