Honey Pie (Cupcake Club)

chapter 11


“Well, I stopped by the Hughes’s place to see how Honey’s meeting went, and Barbara said you’d been kind enough to give her a ride in.” Alva fidgeted with her ever-present pearls as she did a slow turn to take in the place, all while carefully not meeting Dylan’s gaze.

Nor did she make any other comment regarding the scene she’d walked in on. Considering Alva Liles was a shoot-from-the-hip pistol on the best of days, that was something of a surprise, but Dylan was simply thankful for the unexpected blessing.

“I hope everything was resolved,” she went on. “Our Miss Lani has simply been beside herself with worry about how things got so mixed up in the first place. I told her it would all work itself out, but, of course, she won’t feel right until it has. When I saw your truck parked out front, I had to stop in and see for myself how it went. For Miss Lani’s sake, of course.”

“Of course,” Dylan echoed, more concerned at the moment about the state of his body, or certain parts of it anyway, and hoping Alva continued avoiding his gaze—and the rest of him—until it finished switching gears from how tantalizingly close he’d been to discovering whether Honey’s nipples were as sweet as her namesake . . . to matching wits with the wily octogenarian who always had an agenda he rarely caught on to until it was too late.

All he knew at the moment was that his body wasn’t any happier than his mind was with the sudden change in his agenda.

“My, my,” Alva went on, taking in the dimly lit, musty interior. “I can’t recall the last time I set foot in here.” She sighed in remembrance. “I still miss the old bookstore. A shame no one ever took it on when Beaumont finally gave up.” She turned slowly, staring up at the second floor balcony level. “Imagine my surprise when Morgan mentioned you were the one who’d bought the place,” she went on.

Dylan’s heart stuttered. She is a pistol. Fully loaded at all times, despite the deceptive packaging. He really needed to keep that in mind.

“I hope you’re not going to gut it and turn it into a garage,” Alva said. “Seems a shame to lose all the lovely molding, all that beautiful custom carpentry with those built in shelves. The wrought iron balcony railing and stairs.” She sighed. “Hard to find anyone who cares about such things these days.”

Honey frowned and stepped out from behind him. “So . . . that’s why you had keys to the place.”

Dylan closed his eyes just briefly, then glanced over at her. “I was getting to that part.”

“Well, there you are,” Alva said, beaming as if Honey had just stepped in from another room, when all three of them knew better.

Honey seemed happy to play along with the charade. “Hello again, Alva. Thank you for stopping by Barbara’s and asking after me. I’m still working out details, but it was a productive day.”

Dylan silently applauded her for not giving Alva specifics. If Lani Dunne was as broken up by the events of the past few days as Miss Alva claimed, she could discuss the situation with Honey directly.

“Well, dear, that’s good news then. I was helping out Miss Lani today and she mentioned that if our paths crossed, I should pass along that she’d love for you to stop on by and have a chat with her. She’s talked with Morgan and they’ve got some kind of documentation for you that might help sort all this out from their end.” She waved her hands in a fluttering motion. “I’m hopeless with all the legalese, but I’m thinking it will ease your mind and hers. She was planning to stop by Miss Barbara’s herself after work, but when I saw the truck . . .” Alva trailed off and somehow managed to pull off an innocent little shrug.

All three of them knew her visit was no accident. The garage was the only open business on the old channel road, and since the locals parked in the alley out back, the only way she could have spied Dylan’s truck in front was if she’d been . . . well . . . spying.

“I’ll be sure to do that,” Honey replied sincerely enough. “Thank you.”

Alva gave one last glance around the space and sighed again, though there was a different expression on her carefully powdered face, one he couldn’t quite read. Dylan braced himself.

“Now, Beaumont Senior, my, my, he was the one, wasn’t he?” Alva sighed again.

As did Dylan. In relief. Old flames and even older gossip he could handle.

“Knew it, too,” she went on. “Before your time, of course, but oh, he was a handsome devil, smooth as they come. A kind word for every customer, but especially the ladies. Always noticed if they’d done their hair up a different way, or had on a new perfume. Always had eyes for me, he did. Harold—my late husband,” she added for Honey’s benefit, “never did trust me alone with him.” She smiled and a particularly delighted twinkle lit up her eyes and deepened the crinkles at the corner as she added in a conspiratorial whisper, “I’ll admit I might have encouraged him, just a little, you know. Perfectly harmless, of course. But it never hurts to keep your beloved on his toes.”

Dylan found his lips twitching at that, and Honey was already smiling.

“I’ll never understand how Beaumont Junior turned out to be such a prune. I knew Senior’s wife Petula, God rest her soul, and, oh she was a delight.” Alva looked at Honey. “Senior might have been something of the island ladies man, but when he met Petula Schipps, that was it for him. A late in life romance and an even more surprising late in life baby, but a happier twosome you never saw.” Alva sighed one more time. “Such devoted, loving parents. Junior was the apple of their eye, he was. But then, I’m convinced some apples just blossom on the wrong tree.” She gave Dylan a slightly extended glance, and he noted the twinkle had shifted to a more decided gleam.

Once again, he’d let his guard down too soon. He’d been on the receiving end of that gleam and he knew it meant trouble. He had the jelly roll to prove it.

“I knew right from the start when he took on the place that his days were numbered. He wasn’t a people person, never did seem to be comfortable in the role. Of course, his father’s shoes were hard to fill, especially for someone as closed off as Junior was. Never married, that one. Still, it was a shame when he had to let the place go. I might not have been a fan of his stiff, overly formal manner, but you couldn’t fault him on his love of books. Why, I used to think he was more comfortable with fictional characters than he was with people.” Her gaze found Dylan’s again. “We all have our coping mechanisms, I suppose.”

“I suppose Beaumont Junior did the best he could under challenging circumstances,” Dylan said cordially enough, but with a steady gaze intended to quell further “innocent” commentary. “Thank you for stopping by,” he added, starting toward the front door in the hopes of herding her straight through it, only he wasn’t quite fast enough.

“Oh my,” Alva gasped as if an idea had just occurred to her. The exaggerated lift of her perfectly penciled on eyebrows suggested otherwise. Never one to let things like a well established wily reputation slow her down, she clasped age spotted hands under the delicate fold of her dainty chin and gave them her best “sweet little old lady” routine. “Why, you’re thinking of taking over this space for your little shop, aren’t you?” she exclaimed, turning her attention squarely on Honey. The woman also knew how to pick her quarry.

It took significant will to tamp down a scowl and force a polite expression as he answered for Honey. “Well now, Miss Alva, I don’t rightly know what I’ll do with the space, but, as I said, I appreciate you stopping by now.” He gestured toward the door and took another step in a gentlemanly attempt to see her to the door, but she smoothly sidestepped him and kept her eyes on her new target.

“What a marvelous, marvelous idea!” Alva gushed, ignoring Dylan as she swept her gaze over the space again, then focused on Honey, eyes in full twinkle. “Such charm and unique style would be perfect for your little carved creations.”

“You know about my work?” Honey asked.

Alva made a token effort to look abashed. “Well, Bea was always going on and on about it, but I confess I didn’t look you up until we met at the bakery when you first arrived. Quite the enterprise you’ve built. And such adorable little creatures. My, what an imagination you must have. Must come from the family gift, I suppose.”

Dylan was surprised they couldn’t hear his teeth grinding, but Honey took it all in stride with a smile.

“Why, thank you. Yes, I learned wood carving from my dad when I was little, and taught myself how to work with clay,” Honey said, clearly intentionally misunderstanding which “gift” Alva was referring to. “I’ve always thought the world could do with a little more whimsy and I’m very, very thankful my customers agree with me.”

“Well, you’d have quite the space here. Daresay more than you would have in Bea’s old place. You could have your work studio and shop all in one.” Alva sighed once again and pressed her still-clasped hands to her chest. “Oh, it would be so lovely to bring life to this old building. I know everyone would be thrilled. And it would build on what our Mr. Ross here has started, rejuvenating this sadly neglected stretch of town. Why, with two businesses here, perhaps others would be inclined to jump in.”

She leaned closer, conspiratorial again. “And I don’t have to tell you that with Miss Lani’s and Baxter’s joint cookbook effort about to launch, we’re fast becoming something of a destination spot.”

She pulled back. “Not that I want to see us go commercial, heaven forbid. We pride ourselves on maintaining our small-town spirit and making the most of what we have. But a little growth would be security for our local economy, and Lord knows we could always do with a bit more of that.”

“I suppose it would,” Honey said at length.

Alva’s face lit up again. “Does that mean I’ve got it right?”

“Well . . .”

“Now, if you don’t want me to pass this along, you know you can trust your little secret with me.”

It took a Herculean effort on Dylan’s part not to snort at that. He made some noise, however, because he caught Honey’s sidelong glance from the corner of his eye. He wished like hell he knew what she was thinking right at that moment. He couldn’t tell if Alva was helping or hurting his cause. Honey didn’t seem particularly perturbed, but then she had her polite face on for Alva’s benefit.

“Of course, if you ask me, I think you should shout it from the rooftops, straight off, get the word out, build anticipation,” Alva said. “Buzz, they call it. Now, with you being Bea’s flesh and blood and all, you’ll already have us supporting you, but it never hurts to advertise.” Her eyebrows climbed up again. “You know, I could probably help you with that! I run a little advice column in the local paper, you see—”

Dylan turned his barely suppressed choking sound into a polite cough, but there was only so much a man could swallow and he was well past his limit. Miss Alva’s “advice” column was more or less a gossip column wherein she answered letters, ostensibly sent in by the locals, wanting her advice on things ranging from how to keep weevils out of their tomato plants to how to keep the mister entertained once the fire had died. Dylan had long suspected, however, that Miss Alva simply made up the letters as an excuse to spread the latest gossip, using whoever had the misfortune to be keeping the grapevine going at the time. Names changed, of course, to protect the not-so-innocent, which was ridiculous since everyone knew exactly who her anecdotal stories were about.

“—and I’d be more than happy to talk with Dwight at the Daily Islander about doing a little article on your new place. We could make it what they call a human interest story. Talk about your dear, departed aunt Bea, and how you came all the way across the country to honor her name and take up her entrepreneurial spirit, filling the void created by her absence. Maybe not with our tailoring needs, but certainly keeping our artistic needs met, as well as perhaps our more . . . shall we say spiritual ones?” Alva’s thoughts clearly spun off along her new train of thought and then she clapped her hands together with surprising sharpness, making Dylan and Honey start.

“Why, you could even hold your own . . . what do they call them? Séances? Now, Bea never did such things, but she hardly had the space in her little shop, did she? Here, why, you could have groups in and—it works better in groups, doesn’t it? I mean, I always see it done with everyone holding hands in a circle—”

“Alva—” Dylan began, intent on shutting this little tangent down before it gained even a fraction of a toehold.

Honey beat him to it, and with surprising directness. “Miss Alva, that’s not something I do. Séances I mean. I think that’s for contacting spirits in the afterlife. I know Bea used to help folks out with the benefit of her second sight, but as I mentioned at the bakery when we first met, that’s not something I’m altogether comfortable with.”

“Well, dear,” Alva said, taking the disappointing news in stride, “perhaps once you get to know us better, you’ll feel more comfortable. After all, if you know something that might be of help, it simply doesn’t seem right not to share it, now does it?” She smiled, and Dylan shifted his weight. The gleaming twinkle was back. With a vengeance.

“Of course, I’ll be happy to help introduce you around, put you at ease. And, it goes without saying that if you need any help delivering your . . . well, your news, so to speak, I can help there, too. Smooth things over, and all.”

Alva leaned in closer. “Not everyone wants to hear the difficult things, of course. Why, I mentioned in my last column that perhaps it would be wiser for men who like to spend every last minute of their spare time with a fishing rod in one hand and a beer in the other, to consider filling their hands with the ripe and neglected body parts of their lonely, devoted spouses, instead. And, wouldn’t you know, Bucky Hibbener got his nose all out of joint. As if he’s the only one on Sugarberry who fishes like he’s in some kind of lifelong tournament.”

She sniffed, then beamed a particularly satisfied little smile. “Of course, Natalie Hibbener sure looks a might rosier in the cheeks of late, so . . . sometimes you just have to put the information out there and trust those who need it to take it to heart.”

Dylan didn’t risk a look at Honey, who had made a gargling noise indicating she was a breath away from strangling the tiny senior . . . or from giving in to a fit of hysterical laughter. Since Dylan was quite certain he would follow either path with the least bit of provocation, he kept his gaze strictly forward.

“Well,” Alva said, “I’ll leave you two to your . . . deliberations.” She winked at Honey, who went blush pink. “Come by the bakery later. We’re staying late tonight to bake for a charity event over in Savannah tomorrow. We’re all contributing something from our own personal recipes. Kit taught me how to make my famous apple pies into little pot pie size miniatures. Isn’t that just the most darling thing? Have you met Kit yet? She ran her family’s pie empire until her brother-in-law sold it out from under her. Evil, evil man. Best peanut pie you’ve ever tasted.”

Alva waved her hand. “Well, that’s another story. Please do come. Everyone will be there. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the club. You’ll love them and I know they’ll love you. You don’t have to bake, of course, but if you’d like to join in, we’ll take all the donations we can get.”

“I”—Honey stopped and cleared her throat—“I’ll try.”

“A nod is as good as wink,” Alva said cheerily, then took one last look around the place, let out a satisfied sigh that Dylan expected had very little to do with the empty building space or memories of times gone by. And before he could so much as offer an arm, she sailed out quite capably on her sturdy lavender pumps.

Dylan and Honey stared after her for a full minute without saying a word.

He cleared his throat first. “You handled her really well for a beginner.”

“Good to know.”

“It was smart to set her straight right off on the whole séance thing.”

“You said I should just own it, so . . . I did. Begin as you mean to go on, right?”

“Exactly.”

“Felt pretty good, actually. It’s very different. From before, I mean.”

“New place, new people, opinions yet unformed.”

She let out a slow, whistling breath that let him know she’d been a lot more tense than she’d let on. “Yeah. I’m still getting used to that. But, so far . . . it’s been a good thing. Well, that and the fact that in this particular place, with these particular people, I benefit from Bea somewhat paving the way.”

“I thought you handled it just right. If you want the word out, the right person’s ear to whisper in.”

“That much, I’ve figured out.”

Dylan smiled. “Don’t let her unbridled enthusiasm about setting up shop here affect your decisions on things,” he cautioned. “If we could bottle her energy, we could shut down the power grid. She means well, and her intentions are generally good ones, but don’t let her railroad you.”

Honey turned her gaze on him. “When were you going to tell me you owned this place? Before or after you seduced me into staying?”

His eyes went wide at that. He opened his mouth, shut it again, and ground his back teeth together.

Honey broke out laughing. “My God, you should see your face right now. I was kidding. Okay?” She tried to look sober and repentant, but the quivering corners of her mouth gave her barely suppressed giggles away.

“You totally deserved it, by the way,” she added, once she got herself under control. “I think, given the events of the past day or two, the least we can do is be completely up front with each other. You should have told me straight off.”

“I was going to tell you once we’d talked through whether or not the space would even work for you. You’d kind of dismissed it out of hand, if you recall.”

“Because I can’t afford rent on a place the size of Bea’s tailor shop, much less something like this, so there was no point in getting my hopes up.”

“So, are you saying that, if rent wasn’t an issue . . . you think this might work?”

Whatever rational answer she thought she might give him, the fleeting look of yearning in her eyes was all the answer he needed. It was a replica of the one he’d seen in the alley the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. It was as powerful now as it had been then. More so, maybe, because he knew more of what was behind it. And, perhaps, because there was hope along with the aching vulnerability.

“I can’t pay you,” she said, then lifted her hand. “And no, I’m not making any wisecracks about other forms of payment. I really was just kidding. We might not know each other all that well yet, but I think I have a pretty good handle on the type of code you live by.”

“Do you now?” he asked, bemused.

“I think so. Anyway, it’s all moot because no money is no money.”

“This place is sitting here earning me exactly nothing, whether someone is in it or not. To my way of thinking, it’s better if someone is at least in it, right?”

“Fair point, and appreciated, but the renovations—”

“You had some plan for renovating Bea’s place, right?”

“I did, but it’s a much smaller space. I was going to focus on getting the front area set up to show off my pieces, use the back room for my work studio and her apartment upstairs to live in and as my office, then gradually upgrade as I could. I’d save the more dramatic changes for when the farm sells. Then I would get my own place to live, make the entire downstairs the showroom, keep her upstairs apartment as my office, and renovate the rest into a workshop. Maybe even a small classroom.”

He could envision all of that, and she’d be good at it. It was brilliant in its own way, because she’d be instructing and demonstrating, which invited people directly into her world, allowing them to get to know her. At the same time, by keeping her students’ hands on their work . . . she’d have more control in keeping them out of her immediate personal space. It was a way to immerse herself in the community, get close to people, allow them in, but still preserve that tiny bit of physical distance she needed to insure she stayed on an even keel.

He thought back to how extreme it had been for her when she’d been transported back to the garage fire, reliving that terror through his eyes. He realized what a great risk it was to put herself in any position where that might happen in a professional setting. It was one thing for it to happen between the two of them, or even on Miss Barbara’s front porch. But what if she was in the middle of a class? Or ringing up a sale?

Who would help her then? Who would protect her?

The ferocity of his immediate internal response to that question floored him. There was leaping tall buildings, and then there was taking on the impossible task. No one could completely protect her . . . and more to the point, she didn’t expect anyone to, much less want them to.

Her aunt had successfully offered her “advice” right along with her tailoring skills, but it sounded like Bea never had the kind of “moments” Honey had. Their familial gifts were entirely different. Bea’s was much milder than her own, Honey had said. And she had come all the way across the country with the idea of trying to have a normal life, with a normal storefront business, normal friends she could actually spend time with. He didn’t know if that made her courageous and brave, or a glutton for the worst kind of emotional and public punishment. But she had his admiration for trying.

“It sounds like you had it all planned out.” He realized how much of a shock it must have been to arrive, only to find Bea’s little shop had been renovated completely and turned into a cupcake shipping outlet. “I know this is a bigger space and it hasn’t been used in a long time, but if you tried to break it down into smaller, doable chunks, the end result would put you in a much better place, right?”

“In terms of size, yes. But I owned the space in my scenario and, no offense, but now I’d be a tenant.”

“A tenant who is still a property owner. I know it won’t bring you income for a few years, but I’m assuming you plan to be in this business for the long haul. In a couple years, you’ll have the lease income. You’ll also get investment capital from selling the farm, and eventually, a profit from this place, as well. I’m assuming you plan to keep your online store going, too, so that’s a good foundation to build on.”

“You make it all seem so doable.”

“Because it is. But only if you want it to be.” He looked around again, then back at her. “You could really do something with a space like this, couldn’t you?”

For all her casual dismissal earlier, her guard had been sufficiently lowered, and the poignant longing, the barely concealed, banked excitement was plain to see.

“I know it took a lot to come here, to try. More space would be a good thing for . . . the rest of it, too, right? Easier to control contact if there was less potential crowding.”

“Yes, it would, but—”

“You put your farm up for sale and drove a couple thousand miles, intent on starting your own place, starting a new life. That’s not something someone does who is iffy on the idea.”

“Juniper Hollow, where I’m from, is a very small town in a somewhat rugged and isolated area. I didn’t think a sale was going to happen right away. If ever. So, it wasn’t like I absolutely couldn’t go back. A risk, yes, but—”

“But, what if it had? What if the farm sells, and you’re here, and it’s not going as you’d hoped. Do you have a backup plan?”

She smiled then, and he liked the spark that came back into her sea green eyes as she lifted a shoulder. “Georgia is in the South, right? I figure it has a lot of barns. Probably one I could buy and move into somewhere around here.” She sighed. “The truth is, whatever happened, I didn’t want to go back to Oregon. Ever. I wanted . . . something new. Something else. Anything else.”

He held her gaze, then let his own smile come out, as certain about his decision as she was about hers. If she could take that kind of risk and had that kind of determination, then hell, he had no choice. He wasn’t leaping the tall building in this case, but the surprise was it felt every bit as good to help her leap her own.

“Then let’s do this. Knowing how you feel about helping hands, we’ll work out a little lease agreement that includes paying back rent for whatever time it takes to get up and running. We can get Morgan to put it in writing and make it all legal. When your farm sells, or when this place is making a profit, you can handle the lease and the back rent repayment however it works best. Like I said, I’m not making money from this place as it is.”

“Dylan—” She broke off and simply stared at him, clearly torn.

“Sugar, how can you expect me to bet on you if you won’t bet on yourself?”

“I do bet on myself,” she said staunchly, but he could hear the quaver in her voice. She broke their gaze and slowly, as if in a dream, turned and took in the space one more time. “I just . . . I don’t even know what to say. I’ve never . . . no one has ever . . .” Her voice drifted off, and he saw her throat work.

“What? Believed in you? Backed you up?”

“Other than my family . . . no. Not that I’ve let anyone in. It’s just . . . a lot to take in. A whole lot.”

“I’ve learned the only person who can get in the way of me getting what I want . . . is me. If you want it, go for it. Whether you believe I’m behind you or not doesn’t matter. Are you behind you? Can you back up your dream with commitment, no matter what? That’s what matters. That’s what it takes.”

She looked at him again. “Is that what it took for you? I mean . . . I don’t know the whole story of your family history and I’m not asking for it, but you’ve alluded to it, and Alva has, and, if we’re being open and honest, Barbara Hughes said a few things.”

He frowned. “Honey—”

She lifted her hand, palm out. “I really don’t mean to pry. That’s not my point, anyway. I was going to say that it sounds like you’ve practiced what you’re preaching. And that means something to me.”

“We all get where we want to be on different paths, but the one thing we have in common is we have to take the path, embark on it, to get there. You won’t get anywhere sitting and wondering. You already know that. So . . . keep going.”

“Why did you buy this space? Don’t you have plans for it?”

He shook his head. “The garage had been passed down to me. I owned it when it burned down. We’d been with the same insurance company since the day my grandfather opened. Never filed a single claim. The settlement was a good one. And, between the depressed economy and how long these properties have sat empty . . . well, to say they went for a song isn’t much of a stretch. Where my shop is now was already set up as a garage, so renovation was minimal. I had more money than I needed for the garage property. It made sense to put it somewhere instead of giving it away in taxes. I have a house, so”—he shrugged—“I figured, worst case, the investment would keep me from having neighbors I didn’t want. Best case, if the garage did start a trend and interest in developing the other channel road properties grew, then I could turn around and sell them at a profit. And, sugar, pretty much anything more than the plug nickel I paid would be a windfall.”

She gave him a perceptive look. “You try to pass as this sort of unassuming mechanic, just getting by, running the old family business. But something tells me you’re a lot shrewder than people might guess.”

“Well, darlin’, I’m not entirely a bad bet. Business-wise, anyway.”

She grinned at that. “Yeah, I’m not buying the unassuming part anymore, either, just so you know. On any count. You forget who was almost taking my blouse off not that long ago.” She gestured around her. “Not exactly the most romantic spot, so . . . you’re not without skill.”

“I’m not sure if my ego just got a bump, or took a hit.”

She simply smiled at him. “You have your skills, I have mine. So, tell me honestly, did you have dreams of expanding the garage one day?”

He shook his head. “Expanding means growing the business, which means taking on other types of work, not to mention more employees. I’ve got no interest in that. I like what I’ve got, it suits me just right, and provides enough to meet my needs.”

He let the smile come out again. “And once I have a paying tenant next door, I’ll be making more money without any of the overhead or the headaches. That’s more than I could have hoped for.”

“It might take a long time,” she warned, “a very long time, in fact, before I’m operating in the black, given the much bigger starting size of the shop. And the farm might never sell. What if—”

“Darlin’, we’ll deal with the what if when it happens. I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’m right next door. Unless you get a vision in your head tellin’ me it’s going to burn down or blow away, I plan to still be there when I’m too old to wheel myself under a car.” A smile teased the corners of his mouth. “And if you play your cards right, having good neighbors might net you some free labor now and again from me or Dell when we have the spare time.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t expect—”

“Shhh. For once, just say thank you. If you plan to stay in the South, you’ll have to get used to folks helpin’ folks. You’ll get plenty of chances to pay it forward.”

She smiled again. “Thank you.”

He grinned. “That mean we’re in business?”

She brought her hand up to cover her still smiling mouth, then pushed up her glasses, then covered her mouth again.

“You want it, darlin’, don’t you?”

She lowered her hand. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything,” she blurted in a fervent whisper that tugged at his heart. “It’s perfect.”

He’d purposefully ignored thinking about how it was going to affect him, so it was not the time to be thinking about what it might feel like to hear her say those same words while she was looking straight at him with that same anticipation and excitement banked in those eyes of hers . . . and not talking about an empty, musty building space.

“Then it’s a done deal,” he said, before either of them could change their mind.

Her eyes went wide over the fist she’d pressed against her mouth and she did a nervous little dance-in-place maneuver that had him chuckling.

He spread his arms wide. “Welcome to Honey’s Next Life Adventure.”

Superman, eat your heart out.

He was still grinning at her little two-step victory dance, so was completely unprepared when she impulsively launched herself right into his open arms. He caught her against his chest even as his eyes went wide with stunned surprise. He spun her around to keep from stumbling back as she whooped and laughed, which made him laugh and want to whoop right along with her. He gave her another spin and she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her hands behind his neck as their gazes met again.

“Thank you,” she said, eyes shining with emotion. “Thank you, thank you. I’ll pay you back. Every penny. I’m a good bet, too, Dylan Ross.”

I know you are, sugar, he thought. I know you are.

He was still reeling from having her wrapped around him, having her hands freely and willfully on him for the first time when she took what was left of his breath away by leaning in and kissing him soundly on the mouth. What might have been meant as a fast, hard kiss to seal the deal, quickly turned into something heated and far more intimate. She moaned first . . . or maybe he did. He was thinking about finding the nearest wall and picking up where they’d left off earlier . . . when she went oddly stiff and made a strangling noise in her throat.

“Aw, shit,” he murmured.

Then he held on for dear life. Hers . . . and his.