Page 13 of Honey Be Mine
“I was thinking.” He was watching Everett a little too closely as he said, “Rosemary would be perfect for Lorna’s job.”
He swallowed his initialhell noand managed, “Offer Rosebu—Rosemary the job?”
“It makes perfect sense to me.” Dane’s eyes narrowed just a bit. “I don’t see why not. Do you?”
Everett thought a moment. “She’s overqualified.” Which was true.
“Maybe.” Dane shrugged. “But it can’t hurt to ask.”
Everett glanced down the street at the sisters. They were talking and laughing, doling out the fliers as they went. Dane had a point. It could be good for both of them. Hadn’t she just said she was looking for something to do with her time? He needed someone familiar with the festivals, who could take on the outreach classes, and who knew the area. He needed someone he could rely on. Rosebud more than fit the bill. And—contrary to Dane’s belief—he was no longer in love with her. There was no reason not to ask her. “Maybe I will.”
“ALBIE, ITOLDyou she’d be back.” Dot Taggert smiled at the framed photo of her husband that sat on her vanity. “I told you and I was right.” With her brush, she pointed at her reflection in the mirror. “Iwas right. Wasn’t I, Pigeon?” Her gaze darted to the fluffy white cat sprawled across her comforter.
Pigeon responded with a slow flick of her tail.
“You’re no help, Pigeon.” She chuckled and went back to brushing her long white hair. Ever since she was little, it was one hundred brush strokes every night, then braiding it for bed. “I can’t help but wonder if Everett will finally put his heart out there.” She sighed. “I hope so, Albie. I know he’s lonely. He’s too young to be lonely.” She ran her fingers along the seahorse-covered glass frame. “I wish you were here to guide him.”
When Albie died, a part of her died, too. There wasn’t a day that went by where she didn’t turn to ask him a question or hope to see one of his quick, mischievous smiles. Every time she realized he wasn’t there, it was like she’d lost him all over. The hurt was enough to make her wonder if a person could grieve to death.
Albie wouldn’t like her thinking that way. He said every morning you opened your eyes was a blessing, and you owed it to live it to the fullest.
“I’m trying.” She swallowed against the jagged lump in her throat. She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to the smiling photo of the love of her life. “I promise I am. I can’t go anywhere until that boy is happy now, can I?”
She stood, crossed to the bed, and pulled back the covers.
Pigeon mewed.
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Pigeon.” She slid between the cool cotton sheets and leaned back against the pile of pillows. “Come on.”
Pigeon sat up, stretched leisurely, then sauntered across the quilt to lay along Dot’s legs—where she’d stay all night.
“That’s my girl.” She rested a hand on the cat. “What would our Albie say to Everett now, Pigeon? Hmm? I wonder.” She stroked Pigeon’s back absentmindedly. “I’m afraid he’s wasting time, Albie.”
She’d never forget the day Albie had come home from one of his special fishing trips with Everett. While Albie never said as much, Dot had always known her late husband was closest to Everett. The two of them clicked—likely because they were so alike.
“Dottie, our boy has found his seahorse.” Albie had grabbed her around the waist and spun them around the kitchen.
Everett had been twelve years old, but neither of them had doubted the seriousness of their grandson’s devotion. He’d always been a thoughtful boy. Careful and considerate with others—especially little Rosemary Hill. She’d seen it the very first time he sat quietly beside the girl, using a goat kid to try to lift her spirits. When she laughed, the look on his face had been priceless.
The question was, did her laugh still make her grandson look that way? And if it did, how could she help her grandson win the love of his life? She glanced at Albie’s photo and sighed. “Don’t you worry, I’ll figure something out. But I wish you were here.”
CHAPTER THREE
“YOUREALLYSAIDTHAT?” Rosemary’s stomach hurt from laughing, and it was wonderful. Closing up their family’s Main Street shop, the Hill Honey Boutique, was a chore—but with Nicole there to help, it was almost fun. Nicole, one of her oldest and dearest friends, had the unique ability to make any story amusing—even if the topic wasn’t all that funny. Like now: Nicole’s latest run-in with her mother, Willadeene Svoboda.
“I did. Am I thrilled that I’ll be little Ginger’s guardian until her mother is deemed fit by the state? No. But would I be able to live with myself if such a sweet and shy little girl was handed over to CPS?” Nicole’s lavender-streaked locks shimmied as she shuddered.
Rosemary was just learning about how Nicole had suddenly become guardian to her cousin’s five-year-old daughter. Nicole had shared what little Ginger had been through before arriving on her doorstep, and it was heartbreaking.
“Or worse, Willadeene? Absolutely not. Not that Willadeene would take a kindergartner in—she’s not fond of young children. I guess there’s not enough real drama at that age?” She paused. “Oh, and Benji told her to stop trying to manipulate me.” She puffed up with pride. “I hate that he feels the need to champion me, but...he had a point. Should I worry that my son has no filter?”
“Kind of like his mother?” Rosemary sprayed cleaner on the glass countertop. “What did Willadeene say to that?”
Nicole made the face she always made when they were talking about her mother—simultaneously tense and puckered up like she was sucking on something sour. “Oh you know, the typical stuff about Benji not being grateful or respecting his elders and how she won’t be around forever.” She shot Rosemary a narrow-eyed look. “You don’t want to know what I was thinking when she said that.” She shrugged, straightening the selection of bee-centric aprons. “Anyway, she stormed off after that. She has to have the final word, or she will literally come back in a room just to ensure she gets it—and then make a grand exit.” Nicole twisted up her hair and shoved a long golden hairpin through the unruly knot. “I told Benji respect should be earned, and as far as I’m concerned, his grandmother needs to earn his respect back.”
“You’re a good mom, Nicole. Don’t let her make you doubt that.” Some things hadn’t changed at all in Honey. Like triple-digit heat in the summer, Astrid being able to predict when a beehive needed to be split or requeened, and Willadeene Svoboda sowing dissension and getting into other people’s business wherever she went.
“Thanks for having my back.” Nicole blew her a kiss.
