“There are ways around that, but that’s not the main thing at the moment.”
She looked at him. “Ways around it how?”
“Your aunt was infirm and had no choice but to sign on with a management company. You’re not in the same position—that’s all I’m saying.”
“I don’t know the first thing about doing building repair or whatnot.”
“True, but you’re on a small island where if you ask pretty much anybody how to fix something, they will tell you who to call. I think if you handled whatever came up on a case by case basis, you could cut out the middleman.”
“Because the management company will charge a fee on top of the repair fee.”
“Exactly. When you lived out in that barn of yours, surely things came up that you had to deal with.”
“True, but—” She blew out a breath. “Actually, there are no buts. I didn’t always fix the things that needed fixing, but when I had to, I did. So, you’re right. One less thing to worry about. Maybe.”
He grinned over at her. “Don’t borrow trouble.”
She couldn’t help it—when he grinned like that, she grinned, too. “Yeah, I have enough actual trouble already.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She laughed. “You didn’t have to.”
It surprised her that she wasn’t more spun up at the moment, given the avalanche of crap she had to figure out and the healthy dose of terror that went along with the idea she was going to try to open a shop, anyway. In fact, though there were a hundred different thoughts fighting for first place on the worry list, she was a lot more relaxed than she’d imagined was possible. And she knew she owed that to the man sitting beside her.
She scrunched up her nose. That was funny, because the very last thing he made her feel was relaxed. Maybe it was just having someone to talk things through with again. It helped. A lot. She knew she’d missed her aunt a great deal, but she was realizing the loss ran even deeper than she’d known.
She turned toward him. “Thank you.”
He glanced at her as he took the turn toward the causeway, a lifted brow his only response.
“For . . . well, for all of it, but mostly for the ear. And the shoulder.”
“Everyone needs one now and again.”
“I’m thinking you don’t.”
“Just because I don’t bend someone’s ear or cry on their shoulder doesn’t mean I don’t have my fair share of frustrations. Just ask Lolly. Good thing she’s a dog and not a kid, because she’s heard some very naughty words.”
Honey snickered.
He slid a glance her way again, accompanied by that slow, sexy grin that did shivery, tingling things to her insides. Now that she knew she hadn’t imagined how good that mouth of his tasted, it also made everything that could ache . . . ache that much harder.
She pressed her thighs together and tried like hell to keep her thoughts on the more important business at hand. And tried not to remember the look on his face when he’d lifted his head from that last kiss. Like maybe she wasn’t the only one who’d been completely and utterly poleaxed by it. There’d be time for endless analysis later. And probably one or two very heated dreams as well.
“For the record,” she said, “I might have whined a little, but I didn’t cry.”
“Oh, those eyes of yours were swimmin’ yesterday. How soon you forget.”
“That doesn’t count. I can’t help things like that when I’m . . . seeing stuff. It’s . . . emotional.”
Dylan slowed the truck as he bumped over the grids at the island end of the causeway and looked at her. “How does that work, anyway? Do you just see things, like you’re watching a movie, or—”
Honey shook her head. “I see things like I’m actually there. Sometimes I’m an observer and I want to rush in and help. It’s very frustrating, because it’s like I’m running through mud and what I see is always out in front of me. I can never catch up, never change what’s going to happen. Other times, it’s like I’m the person it’s happening to. Or I’m in their head, seeing what they see. It’s not linear. Images flash, then shift, then other information comes in. It can be a swirl. Sometimes it’s clear and easy to understand; other times it’s like operating in a jumbled up fog. It doesn’t always make sense to me, but if I tell whoever I’m seeing, it almost always makes sense to them.”
“Sounds frustrating and exhausting.”
“You have no idea.”
He idled the truck at the stop sign at the end of the ramp leading onto the island. “You said you see bad things more than good things. Is it because the more dramatic stuff sends out stronger signals? Have you ever wondered if maybe it’s because you attract it?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
He grinned. “Now, don’t go getting all offended, sugar. I just meant that maybe you’re more emotional yourself, more worried about folks, about things, so you, I don’t know, draw that stuff to you. Bea was less . . . deep than you are, and I don’t mean that unkindly. Maybe she only got the more superficial stuff. Or maybe you just get what you can handle.”
“I couldn’t handle any of it.” She snorted. “That’s how I ended up living in the barn.”
He made the turn toward the town square, but didn’t comment, leaving her to her thoughts.
No one had ever just come out and asked about her second sight so directly and matter-of-factly. Her parents had known how uncomfortable it made her, how stigmatized she felt by it, so they went out of their way to pretend it was no big deal and dealt with it only if she brought it up—usually because something bad had happened at school and she was being picked on. Her mother would focus on the bullying itself to help Honey find ways to deal with it, but largely left alone the reasons behind it, not wanting to make her daughter feel more like the freak she was.
Of course, her parents were hardly mainstream themselves, so they were used to being a bit ostracized or looked at a little funny. They’d laugh about it, try to get her to see it from their perspective—that being just like everyone else wasn’t the be all and end all. But then, they’d never dealt with the things she had.
Bea had talked to her about it, of course. But the real irony was that because they both had the ability, they didn’t have to talk about it. It freed Honey up to talk about any- and everything else like a normal person, without feeling self-conscious, worrying about being ridiculed, or, later, when she was away at school, that her secret would get out. She’d hoped she’d grow out of it, that if she ignored it and didn’t engage with it, her powers would diminish like muscles not being used.
Her time at college had proven that assumption very wrong. So she’d pretty much shut everything else down when she’d left school and gone back home.
Her father, bless his heart, had gotten a few local shops to sell her work, saying it was his, so they wouldn’t think the freak girl was putting her weird magic into the pieces. It had been enough to give her something of an income, which had been her father’s hope, and a direction to follow. Honey had been so blown away by the idea that folks liked and wanted her work, she’d begun looking for other outlets to sell it, where she could build something in her own name. The internet seemed the obvious direction, and once she’d really started selling her pieces, the business more or less grew itself from there. Since then, with her folks both gone, other than Bea . . . there hadn’t been anyone to ask simple questions, nor anyone who was curious about her.
She wasn’t sure how it made her feel, that Dylan was asking questions and was curious. She did know . . . she was more intrigued by it than nervous. After all, her secret was out already with him. And he was still asking questions—sincerely, it seemed—and wanting to know more.
“I can almost hear the wheels grindin’, darlin’. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You didn’t.” She looked over at him again and smiled. “That’s why the wheels are grinding. I can’t remember the last time anyone just came out and asked me about
. . . those things. Made it seem almost . . . normal. Or at least, not like the freak show folks used to treat it as.”
“Did you ever consider that you were a lot younger the last time you outed yourself, so to speak? So maybe your perspective was a little young then, too.”
“Immature, you mean? Yes. Maybe it was because I got grief from people of all ages that I felt age wasn’t the issue.”
“I’m not sayin’ that folks here will just shrug it off. It’s some pretty unusual stuff you got going on.” He grinned when her mouth dropped open. “I’m just sayin’ that you might not be so quick to assume how we’ll react, until we do. Stand up a bit for yourself.”
She closed her mouth, then laughed at herself. “Own it, you mean? Like Bea did?”
“Might not be the worst thing. Could be a good thing.”
Honey looked back out the window, a furrow between her brows as she realized they were heading toward the town square. “Where, exactly, are we going?”
He glanced briefly her way, then back to the road. “Have a little faith, sugar. You’re killing me with the schoolmarm thing, again. So serious.”
She felt the heat bloom, only it wasn’t embarrassment so much as it was a kick of heightened awareness. Like she needed to be any more aware of him. “You realize you’re fixing things, again.”
“Well, I may not be able to fix your second sight, or whatever you call it, but I might be able to help with the other parts of your Honey Gets a Life program.”
She laughed at that, not at all offended by the label, mostly because that was exactly what she’d come here to try to do. “You’re not even denying it.”
He shot her a fast grin that made her heart skip all over the place. “Sugar, fixing things is what I do. It’s the one thing I’ve always known how to do. Humor me.”
She lifted her hands, palm out, in a motion of surrender. “Lead on.”
She glanced at Dylan again as they turned off the square, then went past the alley that led behind his garage and the cupcakery, and turned on the old channel road, stopping the truck in front of the empty building next to the garage. Actually, except for his garage, all the commercial space on this road appeared to be empty and looked like it had been that way for a very long time. She hadn’t paid much attention when she’d first brought her car in, more worried about her problems and thankful she’d seen the sign advertising the repair shop.
“Do you need something from the garage?” she asked.
He didn’t answer as he turned off the engine and dug a set of keys out of the console wedged on the floorboard between the seat and the dashboard. Then he looked at her. “You took a big chance, coming all this way, sight unseen, hauling your life with you.”
She still had no idea where he was going with this. “Well, technically, most of my life is still packed up in crates and boxes back in Oregon, waiting to be shipped here. I only hauled the part of my life that could be crammed into a Volkswagen Beetle.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “My point is, you took a big risk, which proves you can. They might not get easier to take, but at least you know you can take them. So . . . keep an open mind.”
Oh, he’s opened my mind all right. She had to force herself not to let her gaze drift down to his mouth. Much less think about, even for a second, kissing that mouth—which she’d done repeatedly. And that that mouth had kissed her back.
“Sugar, you keep looking at me like that and we’re going to end up finding out about what happens when I put my hands on you right out here on the street in broad daylight.” His voice was a deep, drawling promise.
And oh, for just a moment, she was tempted to collect on it. She cleared her own throat to dispel the sudden dryness there. “Right. So . . . risks. Open mind. I get it. But that doesn’t explain what we’re doing here.”
He clicked off his seatbelt, then hers, shot her a wink, and climbed out of the truck. Before he could play Southern gentleman and come around to offer assistance in helping her down, she scrambled out her side and closed the door behind her.
Dylan let Lolly out of the truck bed so she could trot across the road to use the grass on the far side. The grassy strip ran down a short incline and stopped in front of the fence between the road and the wide stretch of the Timucua River and the Wassaw Channel that separated island from mainland. As there were no other active businesses along this short stretch of road, there was no traffic, but Honey walked over after Lolly anyway, watching out for her and taking a much needed moment or two to gather her thoughts.
“You comin’?”
Honey looked up and saw Dylan standing in front of the door to the empty space next to the garage. Her heart sank. Not that she’d held any realistic hope that Dylan actually had a workable solution for her, but he clearly didn’t understand that when she said she didn’t have the money to lease a space, she really meant it. Not even some rundown place.
Honey and Lolly crossed the road together to the narrow sidewalk that ran along the street in front of the closed up shops. “I know you’re trying to help, and I appreciate it more than you know, but unless they’re giving away leases, this isn’t going to fix anything.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“Oh, I’m not being picky about location. My previous work space was a barn, remember? I’m saying that I imagine the owners want actual money for the space, which would be a problem for me.”
Dylan gave her a hint of a smile, then used the keys he’d snagged in the truck to unlock the door to the place. “Take a look anyway.”
He pulled the door open and gestured for her to go inside first. She wondered why he had keys to the place, but the question was forgotten as she stepped inside. The air was thick and still from the heat, and dank from being closed up for so long. The front windows had been covered by white paper, long since yellowed and torn around the edges, but still allowing in enough light to see the space fairly clearly. It was narrow, but deep, and bigger than it had appeared from the outside. The center area opened up all the way to the peaked roof, with a second level balcony that ran around all four sides of the building, narrow on the sides and front, then deeper across the back.
“Oh, how beautiful is that?” She walked over to the wrought iron circular stairs set into one corner, which led up to the balcony. She put her foot on the bottom stair, grabbed the hand rail, and gave it a sturdy shake. Not so much as a groan or squeak.
“I still don’t know if I’d trust that,” Dylan said. “Or the flooring up there.”
She paused, then stepped back a few feet to look up at the second level, trying to see into the shadows up there. “Are those shelves?” She turned around, standing in the same spot, gazing upward. “Oh, they go around all three sides. Wow.”
“Used to be a bookstore,” Dylan said, his voice coming from right behind her.
She started slightly, still not used to having people suddenly in her space when caught unawares.
He didn’t move closer, but nor did he move away. She glanced at him, but his gaze was on the second level. “Came here a few times as a kid. There’s not much room up there. On the two sides it’s pretty narrow, just the walkway and shelves built right into the walls. Across the front, there are windows up there, bench seating built in. Used to be more chairs in the alcove.”
“Like a recessed reading area,” Honey said, charmed, easily picturing how it must have looked. “What’s in the back section?”
“More shelves. On the left side, in the corner, is a small office space.”
Honey looked back at him. “Really? A little office up there?”
“If I recall. Mr. Beaumont owned the shop back then, and he used to keep the door open so he could keep an eye on the kids. The kids’ section was down here and he didn’t approve of us coming to the upper level.” A smile touched the corners of his mouth. “Come to think of it, he didn’t really approve of us at all.”
“A bookseller who doesn’t like kids? Where does he think his custo
mer base originates from?”
“Children who look and don’t touch and mind their parents. Not heathens with no supervision runnin’ wild through the place.” Smiling, Dylan looked at her. “I’d imagine you’d feel the same if the business was yours. I didn’t take it personally.” He glanced back up again, and the smile might have curved more fully. “I took it as a challenge.”
Honey smiled then, too. “Yes, perhaps you have a point. Good thing you’re a responsible adult now.”
He slid a gaze to hers that curled her toes. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that, sugar.”
Just as her breath caught and held in her throat, and she braced herself for him to make a move . . . he did, but it was only to walk off toward the back of the building.
She didn’t realize until she let the breath go that her sigh was in disappointment, not relief.
“There’s a storage space back through here, another office, I think, or more storage. Bathroom. Small kitchen, it looks like,” he said, opening doors and poking his head in. “Gutted, but that’s what it once was, anyway, going by the wiring and cabinets. Maybe it was a break room or lounge.” He turned around and looked back at her. “What do you think? Would it work?”
It’s perfect, she thought. Charming, different, if a good bit bigger than she’d imagined when thinking about her own shop. Of course, she’d always thought small because Bea’s shop wasn’t very big, but this . . . this was more like her work space—open, open, with the soaring ceiling in the middle. It felt right to her, creatively. Her mind was already buzzing with ideas of how to turn this into her own magical little forest workshop. Well, her forest-meets-island workshop. She smiled, just picturing the possibilities.
She could envision making use of those built in shelves on the balcony level, renovating them to display her garden and forest creatures, creating little scenic tableaus inside the deeper, recessed shelving areas. If the storage room in the back of the building was big enough, she could make that her private studio. The other space a small classroom, maybe. Office upstairs for business purposes. She could even have a big work table right out here in the retail space, so customers could watch as she did finishing work on pieces, or started a new one. It was . . . truly . . . perfect.
Cupcake Club 04 - Honey Pie Page 15