Page 6 of Sweet Deal
The distant sounds of children playing and birds calling in the trees above filled the quiet air that had settled around them.
“So,” she ventured, “how long are you staying in Honeysuckle?”
Jim tilted his head, considering. “I don’t know yet.”
“When do you have to be back to work?”
“I don’t.”
She felt her brows slowly ride high on her forehead. “You lost your job?”
He shook his head.
“Then you must have one heck of a great boss.” Though she didn’t know why that statement made him chuckle.
“That depends.” He shrugged, still smiling. “I’m the boss.”
“Ah.” She nodded. “I don’t remember your mother mentioning that. Though I admit, we don’t talk often.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t shout from the rooftops every time I moved up the corporate ladder.”
“She might have if I’d still been living in town, but I only moved back recently, like the others, to help Mom.” There were so many things she wanted to ask him, so many years she wanted to catch up on, and yet, sitting here side by side, even though she didn’t have a clue what was going on in his life, somehow, she felt as if no time at all had passed. How was that even possible?
Jim watched Rachel finish her ice cream cone, the tip of her tongue catching a stray drop of butter pecan. He had to physically stop himself from leaning closer. Love it. The simple conviction in her voice when she spoke about her job resonated deep within him. Until recently, he would have said the same thing about his work. The risks, the challenges, the triumphs, and, of course, the profits. He doubted that Rachel would wake up one day and feel her work was all—superficial.
Thinking back, the passionate streak he could hear in her voice had always been there. The desire to fix things, whether it was a wobbly birdhouse in her backyard or, apparently, the more complex problems of the families she worked with now. It was admirable. It was… Rachel. “Takes guts dealing with the tough stuff day in and day out.”
She shrugged, though a faint blush touched her cheeks. “Comes with the territory. You learn to focus on the wins, however small.” She crumpled her napkin and aimed for the nearby trash can, missing by an inch. “Almost,” she muttered, getting up to retrieve it.
He chuckled. “Some things never change. Remember trying to teach you to skip rocks at the creek? You had more enthusiasm than accuracy.”
Rachel sat back down, laughing. “Hey! I got pretty good—eventually. Unlike some people who insisted on trying to build a raft out of driftwood and nearly floated halfway to Miller’s Creek before Garret lassoed them back.”
“Okay, first,” Jim held up a finger, grinning, “that raft was structurally sound, mostly. Second, Garret only showed up because you tattled.”
“Did not!” She swatted playfully at his arm. “I merely expressed concern for your safety to the nearest responsible adult-adjacent person, who happened to be my brother with a rope.”
“Semantics.” He laughed, the sound feeling easy and unfamiliar in his own ears. How long had it been since he’d felt this light, this unburdened? Sitting here, trading childhood stories with Rachel Sweet, felt more real, more right, than any power lunch or boardroom meeting ever had. He’d come home seeking… something. He hadn’t expected that something might be connected to the place he’d tried so hard to escape.
In passing, she casually mentioned having missed their friendship. He had too, until this very moment, more than he’d realized. “You know,” his tone turned slightly more serious, “leaving Honeysuckle felt like the only option back then. College, career… it all seemed to point away from here.” He looked around the familiar park—the ancient oak spreading its branches, the worn patches of grass where countless kids had played, the faint scent of honeysuckle drifting on the breeze. “Funny how you can achieve everything you thought you wanted and realize the view from the top isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Sometimes the things you run away from are the things you needed all along.”
Rachel studied him, her green eyes thoughtful. “Want to tell me about it?”
“Not much to tell. Didn’t take me long to figure out that in the world of finance, hedge funds was a prime sector for making money—serious money. I set out to do just that.”
“Judging by those loafers you’re wearing, and that you mentioned you’re the boss, looks like you succeeded.”
“So it seems.” He’d packed a single bag with the most basic casual attire he owned, but if he didn’t want to be judged by his shoes, it might be good for him to get some new duds. “Or maybe success, like beauty, is in the eye of the beholder.” And looking at her, seeing the genuine warmth in her smile, the intelligence shining in her eyes, he had a sudden, startlingly clear idea of how petty his interpretation had been.
His gaze drifted over her shoulder towards the dedicated corn hole courts at the far end of the park, bustling even on a weekday afternoon. He remembered the town’s obsession, the tournaments, the endless summer evenings spent tossing bags with his brothers. It was part of the fabric of this place, something he hadn’t thought about in ages, maybe not at all.
A shout from across the park caught their attention. A golden retriever had stolen a Frisbee from another dog and raced in victory circles around the grass, both owners in pursuit.
“Five bucks says the retriever makes at least three more laps before they catch him,” Jim challenged, grateful for the distraction from his inner thoughts.
Rachel’s competitive spirit flashed in her eyes. “You’re on. I say they grab him before he completes two.”
They both leaned forward, elbows on knees, watching intently as the canine drama unfolded. The retriever darted between a young couple having a picnic, sending a bowl of chips flying, then sprinted toward the playground with both owners in pursuit.
