Honeysuckle Hollow

by Jennifer Moorman

  Tessa sighed and thought of the stack of papers on her bed. She picked up her notepad from the coffee table and flipped to the page that read:

  Should I sell my home?

  1. Tessa: No. It can’t be that bad.

  2. Mama: Yes.

  3. Lily: Yes.

  4. Anna: New opportunity? Yes.

  5. Marty: Probably thinking yes.

  Four out of five people made the decision for her. She closed the notepad. “I’ve decided to sell my condo.”

  Lily whipped her head over to Tessa. “Seriously? Why are you just now mentioning this? Are you okay?”

  Tessa shrugged. “Yes and no. It doesn’t make sense to spend all that time and money repairing it, and you were right. It’s not my forever home. Plus, according to Mr. Fleming, the HOA president, it’s nearly unanimous that everyone wants to sell. I don’t think I’d have much choice at this point.”

  The evening wind blew through the open windows and pushed over the empty cereal box. Tessa leaned forward and picked it up. She breathed in the scent of strawberries and honeysuckle. As she climbed off the couch, she stretched. Then she carried their bowls to the sink and dropped the cereal box into the recycling bin.

  “I brought home a few listings. Do you want to look through them with me?” Tessa asked.

  Lily hopped off the couch. “I’d love to. You know I love shopping.”

  They crawled onto the bed and sat in the center while Tessa spread out the printed listings. Tessa had already organized them by preference with her first pick on top and her least favorite on the bottom. They flipped through the papers, and Tessa explained why she’d chosen each house, while Lily approved or disapproved the choice.

  Lily picked up the last listing and frowned. “Tell me you aren’t considering buying Honeysuckle Hollow,” she said. “It’s up the street from us, but it’s in terrible shape.”

  “No,” Tessa said, reaching for the paper. “The owner wants to sell, and she’s asked me to list it for her. I went over there today to have a look, and it does need work.”

  “From the outside alone, it looks as though it needs a lot of work. I feel sorry for anyone who decides to undertake that task.” Lily glanced at the clock on the bedside table. She yawned and stretched her arms over her head. “How did it get so late? I better get going. I imagine Jakob has allowed Rose to use her big brown eyes to manipulate him into letting her stay up way past her bedtime. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was hyped up on sugar too.” Lily scooted off the bed.

  Tessa glanced at the listing for Honeysuckle Hollow. The house did need work, but she was still waiting to see if Mrs. Steele wanted to put money toward repairs. A flutter of excitement accompanied the thought of seeing Honeysuckle Hollow become a home again. She walked Lily to the door and said goodnight.

  Tessa cleaned the kitchen and loaded the dishwasher. She walked into the bedroom to gather the papers from the bed, but a strong gust of wind, smelling of cloves and forest pines, blew in through the bedroom window. The papers lifted from the bed and danced in a frenzied tornado. The picture of the Borellis on the dresser fell onto its glass face. Then the wind was gone, and the papers fluttered to the floor all over the bedroom. Tessa bent down and started gathering them when she heard the front door close…again. She was sure she’d locked it behind Lily. Something heavy dropped against the living room floor.

  Tessa peeked around the bedroom doorway, and her pulse barreled like a freight train, pounding in her ears. A man stood in the living room, just inside the front door, looking into the kitchen. He didn’t appear to notice her, but she couldn’t take her eyes off him. His dark, wavy hair was disheveled, and he had at least three days’ worth of stubble shadowing his face. Even from a distance she could see his eyes were blue. His clothes were rumpled like a man’s who’d been traveling for days. An army green duffel bag lay beside his worn boots. He stepped into the kitchen, and Tessa looked around the bedroom for a weapon. The only thing near enough to reach was a swollen copy of her high school yearbook still drying on the dresser. She grabbed it and tiptoed through the doorway.

  The man studied the stack of cold pancakes on the table. He picked up one, tore it in half, and took a bite. The man gagged as he turned to look at her. She lifted the yearbook over her head as though she might throw it at him. He spit the pancake piece into his hand, and they stared at each other in silence. Then he broke eye contact, walked to the kitchen sink, and washed his hands. When he turned to look at her, he was grinning.

  He nodded his head at her. “Are you going to show me nostalgic pictures or beat me with that?”

  Tessa lowered the yearbook and pressed it against her chest. There was something familiar about his smile, about the way his lips tugged up on the right, creating a dimple in his cheek.

  When she didn’t respond, he continued, “I’ve been smelling strawberry pancakes since I got off the plane. I followed the scent all the way to Mystic Water. They’re one of my favorites, but those are bloody awful.”

  “Salt,” Tessa blurted. Then she pressed her lips together and squeezed the book tighter against her.

  He chuckled. “Are you using them to trap unsuspecting travelers? Tempt them with nasty treats?” He pulled a glass from the cabinet and filled it with the strawberry chamomile tea. He gulped it down and poured himself another glass full.

  Tessa frowned. “Nasty is a little harsh. They’re not that bad,” she said defensively. Great, you’re arguing with a stranger who just broke into your apartment.

  “Not bad if you’re starving,” he said, shoving a hand through his hair. “I hope you didn’t dress up at my expense.” He finished the second glass of tea.

  Tessa could tell he was teasing her, but still her shoulders slumped. She glanced down at her worn out clothes. Not only was she dressed like a teenage hobo, but she also had food stains on her shirt and pants. Great first impression. Wait, why do you care what he thinks? “That’s rich coming from someone who looks like he’s been sleeping in his clothes for days.”

  He looked down at himself and nodded. “Touché.”

  “What are you doing here?” she asked. “How did you get in?”

  He held up a set of keys on a silver ring and jingled them. “This is my place,” he said. “Who are you?”

  Tessa’s mouth fell open. She realized why he looked familiar, why his smile reminded her of someone else. “Paul?”

  It was his turn to look surprised. “Have we met?” he asked. “I apologize ahead of time, but it’s been a long day, and I’m usually good with names, but I can’t place your face.”

  Tessa went to tuck her hair behind her ears and realized her hair was still in bobby pins. She groaned. A handsome man walked into her apartment and she wore dirty, food-stained clothes, and her hair was a greasy, pinned-back mess. Plus, he’d eaten her awful pancakes. Not her best performance.

  “We’ve never met,” Tessa said. “I know your parents.”

  “Why are you in my apartment?”

  “Mystic Water flooded, and I lost my condo. Your parents have been letting me stay here.”

  Paul yawned. “Excuse me. Long day,” he said again. “Sorry about your condo. Nice of them to let you stay here for a while. They weren’t likely expecting me.” He leaned down, grabbed his bag, and walked past her and into the bedroom. He dropped his duffel on the floor next to the bed.

  “They haven’t seen you in five years,” Tessa said, staring at him, feeling panic rise in her chest at the sight of him in the bedroom.

  He untied his boots, and as he pulled them off his feet, her stomach knotted. He gazed up at her with his too-blue eyes. “Hope you’re not planning to scold me for being the world’s worst son,” he said playfully, but Tessa heard the faint hint of disappointment in his voice. He yawned again.

  “Should I?” she asked. “I’m sure they’ll be surprised to see you. Especially since I’m staying here.” Tessa felt the walls of the apartment press in around them.

  Paul s
cooted back onto the bed and then lay sideways across it with his arms splayed at his sides. His eyes closed, and his head rolled toward his shoulder. “What did you put in that tea? A sleeping potion?”

  Tessa’s heart thudded. “Chamomile. And umm…you’re on the bed.” What was he doing on the only bed in the apartment?

  “Nothing gets past you, does it?” he asked, yawning again.

  “But—but I’m a girl.”

  Paul opened his eyes and stared at her. A sleepy grin dimpled his cheek. “Very much so.”

  Tessa’s stomach flipped upside down. The evening wind crept through the bedroom window, smelling of cloves and cinnamon. “I know this apartment was meant for you, but I’m staying here now. If you’re planning on hanging around until the morning, you should sleep on the couch,” Tessa said.

  Paul closed his eyes. “I’ve been up for twenty-four hours, Ms.—” He opened his eyes long enough to look at her again. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Tessa.”

  “Yes, well, I’ve been up twenty-four hours, Ms. Tessa, drafter of awful pancakes and strong sleeping potions, and I deserve a nice bed to sleep in. If you’re dead set on sleeping in the bed,” he patted the mattress beside him, “then have at it. I’m not sleeping on the bloody couch.”

  Tessa gripped the collar of her T-shirt and pulled it up higher on her neck. Was he serious? She wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping in the bed with a stranger, even a handsome one. She stared at his prone form lying on the bed. She opened her mouth to argue, but she heard his soft snores. Tessa exhaled a loud sigh and turned off the bedroom light.

  “This was unexpected.” She walked into the living room and dropped onto the couch. She picked up her cell phone and texted Lily, even though she was sure Lily wouldn’t believe her.

  There’s a jerk in my bed, Tessa wrote. A few minutes later, Lily responded, Don’t feed him the pancakes. Tessa sighed and thought, Too late. She lay back onto the couch and closed her eyes, wondering what she would do in the morning with Paul Borelli, the Prodigal Son.

  8

  French Toast

  Tessa woke up with a sore neck and with one leg and arm dangling off the couch. She flopped onto her back and groaned. Sunlight poured through the living room and kitchen windows, and she rubbed her eyes and yawned. Then she remembered Paul, and she sat up so quickly that black dots swam in her vision.

  The bedroom door was open. Tessa tried to comb her fingers through her hair, but her fingers caught in knots and yanked out the bobby pins. She stood and smoothed her hands down her wrinkled, day-old clothing. Her mouth tasted like stale coffee and Cap’n Crunch, and when she breathed into her cupped palm, she grimaced. She definitely needed to brush her teeth. Maybe Paul was still asleep and she could sneak into the bathroom, take a shower, and dress in something that didn’t look like she’d found it beneath a couch cushion.

  Tessa tiptoed toward the bedroom and peeked around the doorframe. The duvet had been straightened, looking as though no one had ever slept in the bed. Her papers were stacked neatly on the dresser, the photograph of the Borellis had been righted, and Paul’s traveling bag was tucked against the wall. Great, Tessa thought. He’s already gone and seen me looking like a disaster on the couch.

  Tessa imagined herself drooling with her mouth hanging open wide enough to catch bullfrogs. Then she straightened her shoulders. It wasn’t her fault she’d been seen drooling on the couch. Any decent man would have let the woman sleep in the bed. Clearly, Paul wasn’t decent. Not Paul, who’d been awake for twenty-four hours.

  She stomped her way through the bedroom, took a scalding shower, and pulled on her last pair of clean slacks and a slate blue blouse. Tessa slipped on a pair of flats and grabbed the house listings from the bedroom dresser. She’d make time to go by and see the ones she and Lily had chosen, and she needed to try and get an answer from Mrs. Steele concerning moving forward with Honeysuckle Hollow.

  When Tessa walked into the kitchen to brew a cup of coffee, she found a plate piled high with French toast made with fat, rounded bread slices. A card sat tented on the table beside the plate. A small carafe of syrup and pats of butter on a small dish had been placed on the table as well as utensils and an empty mug. The morning wind slipped through the open window, and Tessa breathed in the fresh scent of mint. She reached for the card.

  Dear Ms. Tessa,

  Please accept my apologies for my brutish behavior last night. If it were a full moon, I would blame my werewolf-like state on it, but there is no moon to sully at the moment. I can only confess that the lack of proper sleep stole my manners. Thank you for allowing a weary traveler to rest in a proper bed. I hope you will enjoy one of my favorite childhood treats: French toast made with challah bread, compliments of my mom. Come downstairs and say hello before you start your day. I believe we should be properly introduced.

  Sincerely,

  Paul “the Brute” Borelli

  P.S. — I am only somewhat loath to admit I ate the rest of your caramel crèmes. I’ll restock.

  Tessa couldn’t stop her smile. Maybe Paul wasn’t such a jerk after all. She glanced over her shoulder at the coffee table. The pink bag of caramel crèmes was gone. She reread his words; it was by far the most proper letter she’d ever been written. On paper, he sounded so charming—the complete opposite of his rudeness the night before.

  She slid the plate of French toast into the microwave and warmed the pieces for a few seconds. Then she sunk into a kitchen chair and reached for the fork. He’d had breakfast made for her. She allowed herself to smile again, to relish the idea that a handsome man brought her breakfast. No one had ever cooked breakfast for her. Okay, so his mama cooked breakfast, but the thought is there, right? She poured syrup over a slice of toast and cut herself a bite. Perfect, she thought as she chewed. Tessa finished eating one whole piece and scarfed down another without a shred of guilt. Then she wrapped plastic over the plate and shoved it into the refrigerator.

  She rushed to the bathroom to check her hair and makeup. Then she fretted about what she was wearing until she realized she was being ridiculous. He’s a stranger, and it’s not like he’s going to stick around, she thought. Paul Borelli was a free spirit, a wanderer. She glanced one last time at her reflection and collected her work for the day. Then she locked the apartment and made her way downstairs to the diner.

  Scrambled’s booths and tables were packed with the early morning breakfast crowd. Tessa pushed open the door and scanned the room. Laughter barreled out from the kitchen, wrapping around Tessa and tugging her forward. She caught a glimpse of Harry. His face was split with a wide grin, and his eyes were brighter than Tessa had ever seen. When Cecilia floated out of the kitchen smiling like a jack-o-lantern at Halloween, Tessa knew Paul must be in the kitchen too.

  Tessa’s palms felt sweaty, so she wiped them against her slacks. She licked her dry lips. Paul stepped into view of the kitchen pass through, and he saw her. His crooked smile dimpled his cheek, and he leaned through the opening, resting his arms on the stainless steel top. Tessa couldn’t stop her return smile or the warming in her cheeks. She lifted her hand in a small wave and tucked her hair behind her ears. Paul made a motion for her to come to the back just as Cecilia stepped in front of her.

  “Paul came home,” Cecilia said immediately as she pulled Tessa into a surprise hug.

  The air whooshed from Tessa’s lungs. “I know,” she said breathlessly. Cecilia smelled like rosemary, and electricity emitted from her as though she’d been plugged into a wall socket.

  Cecilia pulled away, and a line wrinkled between her dark eyebrows. “You do?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” she said and nodded toward the kitchen. “Looks like he’s in the kitchen.”

  Cecilia glanced over her shoulder and shook her head at Paul. She made a shooing motion with her hands, and he pulled his head back into the kitchen. “Come on,” Cecilia said, “let me introduce you.”

  She dragged Tessa behind her. Cecilia’s sm
ile, displaying nearly all of her white teeth, was wide and contagious. Energy radiated from her, and as she passed the tables in the dining room, ice rattled in glasses and bacon sizzled on plates. Cecilia pushed open the swinging kitchen door, and they found Harry and Paul laughing over a grill of frying hash browns.

  “Tell me you didn’t eat the sea urchin,” Harry said, flipping the hash browns and pointing to a pan on the burner. “Start that omelet, please.”

  Paul ladled beaten eggs into the hot pan and grabbed a spatula. “Dad, it would have been rude of me to say no. I didn’t have a choice. It was either eat it and see the forbidden caverns, or say no and be shunned by the people. And it wasn’t the sea urchin I ate. They were the reproductive organs.” He shuddered.

  Harry burst out laughing again. “Don’t tell your mother.”

  “Don’t tell me what?” Cecilia asked.

  Harry glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Good morning, Tessa. Two surprise kitchen guests. This is turning out to be a great day already.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Borelli,” Tessa said and lifted her hand in a wave.

  “It’s Harry,” he said as he reached for a mug and filled it with tea from the carafe. “Mint tea.” He handed the mug to her.

  “Thank you, Harry,” Tessa said, bringing the tea to her lips for a sip. She could use some tension reliever because her insides felt unusually jittery. She blew across the steaming liquid. When she took a small drink, nothing happened. She held the mug closer to her nose and inhaled. No relaxation. No calming nerves. Hadn’t the mint tea always caused her to feel different? “Is this—is this a new type of tea?” Perhaps the smell or the taste was off.

  Cecilia huffed. “Not my mint,” she said. “Paul didn’t know any better. When Harry asked him to make tea, Paul grabbed the extra mint I use for backup from the cooler. He didn’t even think to take it from my garden.”