Page 82 of Honey Be Mine
“Very good food.” Dane didn’t hesitate to reach for another muffin. “After Kerrielynn posted that video of the hot guy reading to Nova, our Instagram and Facebook got a ton of messages asking where to buy the book. Assuming everyone that messaged actually bought a copy of the book, you’d be looking at a hefty chunk of change.”
Which was another surprise. “Really?”
Dane nodded. “Really.”
“I’m sorry, hot guy reading?” Astrid snorted.
“That’s what they were calling Everett in the comments.” Tansy laughed. “There were alotof comments on that video. Some about Everett but plenty about the book and illustrations. He did a pretty good job of showing it off.”
Rosemary didn’t see what was funny about the hot guy comment. Everett was very...hot. But then, she loved him, so it made sense that she’d feel that way. The bite of muffin she swallowed stuck in her throat.
Tansy took a sip of Dane’s coffee. “Who knew a handsome man reading to a cute kid is marketing gold?”
“Do you want a cup of coffee?” Dane asked her.
“No. I’ve got yours.” Tansy beamed up at him.
“I’m telling you, Rosemary, I know beekeeping is where your heart is, but this could be a really lucrative side hustle for you.” Shelby sat at the table with Bea in her lap. “There’s no reason you can’t make money off of something you love doing—assuming you love doing it?”
“I do.” She had already started working on a bee-centered story that introduced colors and another about counting to ten. “I really do.”
“We can sell them on the farm and boutique website.” Aunt Mags was all about business. “Just think, we’d be selling a book with your name on it, Rosemary. That’s quite an accomplishment.”
“Wholesome Foods left a comment on the post saying they hoped to be carrying them in stores soon.” Tansy fed Dane a bite of muffin. “Who knows, maybe we’ll be getting a call from them to talk distribution.”
Rosemary was excited—reallyexcited. So excited she wanted to call Everett and tell him all about it. That was what best friends did, and heartbreak or not, he was still that to her.
“SHEHATESGARDENING.” Everett ran a hand over his face, his phone pressed to his ear.
“I told her that. But with this new medication, she’s been more like her old self. Lots of energy and sass. She said she wants to give gardening a try now that she’s feeling more like she’s sixty than eighty.” Jenny laughed.
That put a smile on his face. “I like the sound of that.”
“Me, too.” Jenny paused. “If you’re free to bring her home after it’s over? I’ve got a date, or I’d do it.” She paused. “Hold on, she’s right here, and she wants to talk to—”
“Everett?” It was Gramma Dot. “You think you can make time in your busy schedule to drive me home?”
“Let me check my calendar.” He chuckled, teasing. How often did his grandmother ask him for a thing? Rarely, if ever. That was the reason he’d do it—notbecause Rosebud would be there. “It looks like I can pencil you in.”
“Listen to you, all feisty.” But there was a smile in her voice. “You might have to help me pack up, too.”
“Pack up?” They were talking about gardening club, weren’t they? What was there to pack?
“The flier said to bring whatever gardening supplies you have. I figured I’d bring along Albie’s old toolbox full of gardening supplies.” She sighed. “I think he’d like that.”
Everett tilted his chair back and smiled. “I know he would.” Other than fishing, Granddad had loved gardening. He said watching the vegetables, plants, and flowers he tended grow big and healthy filled him with a sense of achievement. Gramma Dot hadn’t been much of a gardener, but she’d sit on one of the wooden rockers outside and keep Granddad company while he worked. “I’ll see you later this evening.”
“Don’t forget me.”
“I won’t.” He was still chuckling when he hung up.
After the morning he’d had, the phone call lifted his spirits some. Last night,@paint.ballershad struck again, and he’d been on the phone all morning. Mayor Hobart had made sure Everett knew this wasn’t acceptable. Willadeene heard not too long after that and had all sorts to say about the city watch’s success—or lack thereof.
He wasn’t any happier about it than everyone else. It had been a solid week since Willow Creek—long enough for Everett to hope that maybe this whole debacle was over.
The damage done to Glendale’s historic bell tower was significant. The limestone tower had been peppered in neon pink and yellow paint. Limestone was porous, old limestone even more so. The cleanup would be even more tedious and complicated than Willow Creek’s.
“Not that any of the cleanups have been easy,” he muttered.
