Page 36 of The Bitter Heir and the Beauty

The baby lets out a shriek.

Honey winds up a dial on one of the toys and what sounds like a drunk clown sings while plastic boxes light up with a rainbow of colors.

“The muffins over there are pretty good.”

“Traitor,” she says with a slight laugh like she’s torn between wanting to serve me flapjacks and banning me from the restaurant altogether.

The sound ignites the pilot light inside me—I hadn’t realized it had gone out. At times, Honey’s laughter can be smoky, flirty,or a tease—a taste promising more. She laughs easily, usually robustly, even though it doesn’t seem like her life is easy. To most people in her shoes, it wouldn’t seem like much is funny.

But I cannot get enough of the sound.

This past week, I’ve seen her, Mara, the Coffee Loft owner, and her sister Tallula standing in the street talking, so if they’re rivals, they’re especially friendly ones. And yeah, Honey was wearing a sweater dress with tall boots and had her hair up off her neck one of the times. Another, she had on a crew neck sweatshirt and shorts which revealed a bit more of her long legs than the skirts she normally wears, like the one she has on now. It has a tie around the waist and swishes when she walks. Her fitted shirt has a tiny tear by her shoulder.

Around a yawn, she says, “I used to serve grilled muffins.”

“How about flapjacks?”

“Now? It’s nearly dinnertime.”

The idea of having dinner together floats into my mind and melts like hot butter on a griddle. “Haven’t you ever had breakfast for dinner?”

It’s then I realize that since I walked in, she’s been in motion—flipping theOpensign over, dimming the lights, refilling things. “I’m lucky if I ever sit down and eat.”

“Maybe we should do something about that. So no flapjacks?”

She parts her lips as if she’s going to correct me, but instead says, “Come back tomorrow.”

“Are you inviting me to return to this fine establishment?”

The huff I expect is more like adruff, a droopy huff—the kind that comes from exhaustion. “If by fine, you mean I pass the season health code inspections, then sure.”

The Laughing Gator Grille has a frozen-in-time look with paneled walls, seventies wallpaper print, and lots of alligator kitsch. I hadn’t noticed the first time I came in ... because myattention was elsewhere. My pulse does something weird, and I realize that was mostly because I’d been captivated by the woman behind the counter.

She comes out from behind it now and marches over to the door as if to show me out.

I hesitate. “Well, for the favor I did, you owe me cream brool, at least.”

Honey doesn’t flash the smile I’d hoped for. “I know that you know it’s pronounced crème brûlée.”

“I was just joking.” My stomach growls.

As if unable to turn away someone hungry, Honey says, “I have some leftover boudin.” She pronounces it,boo dan.

“I’m not convinced the estate is ghost-free. Maybe I should leave them someboodan.”

The baby laughs or screeches, I’m not sure.

“Boudin is sausage made with pork, onions, garlic, and some other stuff.”

“Secret stuff?”

“Everyone knows most of my recipes include honey, so it’s not like a secret ingredient.”

I can’t help but think she has some secrets.

“There’s also some leftover potato salad that I was going to put on special tomorrow.”

“Can I take it to-go?”

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