Honey Pie (Cupcake Club)

chapter 4


“I have all the lease documents if you need to see them,” Lani said, seated calmly behind her desk, still smiling. She seemed completely unruffled by the huge announcement Honey had just made.

“The file isn’t here, though,” Lani added. “At the moment, it’s with Kit’s boy—well, with our lawyer.”

Honey frowned. “For any particular reason?”

“No, no, we’re just tying up the final little threads before our grand opening, getting the permits documented and filed. Morgan—lawyer—has been helping with that, so he has the folder with all that paperwork in it. You’re saying Bea left the shop to you?”

“I’m her only living heir. Who did you—well, not necessarily you, but whoever you leased it from—think owned it?”

“To be honest, I didn’t ask. I worked through the management company Bea had set up to take care of the building after her stroke.”

Honey was frowning and completely confused. “Wait, what do you mean? Management company?”

Lani’s face flashed with momentary guilt. “Did you not know about her stroke? I’m so sorry, I thought you two were pretty close. I—”

“No, no. I mean, yes, I knew about her stroke, but not that she’d turned over the shop to a management company. I know she was closed for a time afterward, until she got through therapy and could use her sewing machines again, but she made it out to be a pretty mild thing, overall. I thought . . .” Honey trailed off, her thoughts scattering in a dozen different directions, trying to replay conversations she’d had with Bea in the months after her stroke.

“I’m really sorry. When the management company took over the shop after she moved into senior care over on the mainland, we just assumed it was being handled as the family wanted it to be handled. I mean . . . I didn’t know. None of us did.”

Honey held up her hands, as much to shield herself from news she really didn’t want to hear, as to slow down the volume of it. “I—wait, wait. She . . . when did she move to the care facility?”

Lani’s mouth dropped open, then closed again. “Oh, I . . .” She trailed off, clearly uncomfortable, not prepared to be the one to tell a loved one difficult news about a family member. “It’s probably not—maybe you should talk about all of this with her lawyer.”

“I tried. He’s away at a family wedding, somewhere in the Caribbean, and won’t be back for another week. The other partner didn’t really know Bea or anything about her estate. He looked into it for me and just told me it all appeared to be in good order.” Honey didn’t mention the paperwork snafu because she wasn’t sure there had been one. Clearly, there was a whole pile of other information that needed to be waded through first. How could Bea not have told her any of this? And how could Honey not have known it, sensed it, anyway?

One of the oddities of the curse was that the closer she was to someone, the more deeply she cared about them, the more it clouded her ability to sense, feel, or know anything. She thought that was a blessing, knowing the sheer terror she’d have felt every time one of her parents hugged or kissed her. Bea claimed Honey’s powers were stunted with her loved ones because her subconscious had blocked it out, knowing she couldn’t handle those kinds of truths.

Bea, on the other hand, always knew everything. And she’d so willingly immersed herself in her special abilities that she didn’t always need to touch someone to know things. In fact, her aunt had always called Honey just when she’d needed to hear from her most. Bea had known about Honey’s father passing even before Honey had, and was the one calling to console Honey when her mother—Bea’s sister—had passed, two years later.

Honey, on the other hand, had buried herself as deeply away from the curse as she possibly could. And what had that cost her? She wasn’t even thinking about her inheritance, but about what her aunt had apparently been through in her final days. Honey had had no idea.

“How”—she paused to clear the ache from her throat—“long was she in senior care?” She immediately lifted her hand to stall Lani’s reply. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t put you in this position, but I just . . . I don’t have anyone else to ask. All I knew was that she’d been recovering very well after her stroke, and was happy to be back ‘in the swing’ as she put it.”

Honey shook her head, then dipped her chin to frown the threatening tears into submission. Oh, Bea, why didn’t you tell me?

Honey thought she knew why. Bea knew Honey would have caught the first plane out. And Bea also would have known that for Honey, being on a plane with a few hundred people in close proximity would have been terrifying. No way could she have withstood that kind of sudden onslaught. Driving cross country, seeing the countryside— and the people in it—from the safe little pod of her car had been difficult enough.

Bea should have told her anyway. “She should have given me more credit. I’d have found a way.”

Lani pushed a Kleenex box closer to the edge of the desk. Honey pulled several free . . . then just crumpled them in her palms, trying to get herself under control.

“I’m so sorry,” Lani said.

“I am, too. I—we talked all the time. She sounded shaky, a little slurred, but she told me that was just a side effect from the stroke that would take longer to clear up. We used to—” Honey stopped as a sob rose in her throat. “We used to Skype, but after the stroke, we didn’t. We just talked over the phone. I missed seeing her, but she said—she didn’t like how the stroke had made her face a bit droopy on one side. I was surprised because she was the least egocentric person I know, but . . . now I realize she was keeping me from not only seeing her, but from seeing that she wasn’t in her apartment any longer.”

A tearful laugh escaped her. “She had to teach me to Skype, can you believe it? I operate my entire business online, but that was something I’d never done. I was kind of afraid, I guess, that if I could see the person live like that, I might . . . know things, and then I just got used to communicating other ways.”

She broke off, realizing she was babbling. To a complete stranger. And about things she had only ever spoken about with Bea. Just because Alva had seemed unfazed by it all. Honey knew better. She scooted her chair back and wiped at her face, embarrassed and feeling more than a little out of her element. “I should probably go. Let you get back to—” She snagged her purse from the arm of the chair. “I’m so sorry to have barged in, not knowing all the facts. I should—I’ll take a cab over tomorrow, and . . . and figure it all out.”

Lani rose and scuttled around the desk so fast, Honey had to jerk back to keep from colliding with her. “Wait. Just . . .” Lani took a moment, pressed her hand to her chest and wiped at the corners of her own eyes. “I really don’t mind talking. And I’m so very sorry you found out this way. I’m sure she was just protecting you. I know it’s got to piss you off and hurt like hell, all at the same time.”

Honey looked at Lani, surprised by the emotion in her voice, wondering how she’d nailed it so perfectly.

“My mom . . . when she passed away, I was in New York, so focused on my career and on what I wanted, and my dad tried to do the same thing. Later on, when he had a heart attack, oh, he was all ‘things are great, I’m fine, don’t bother yourself,’ but I knew. He almost died. I almost lost him. I had to—” Lani broke off at the stricken look on Honey’s face. She started to reach out a comforting hand, but pulled back at the last second, remembering. The look on her face was as good as a pat on the arm.

“Just because I knew he was in trouble doesn’t mean you should have known,” she told Honey. “My dad and I have a long history of him not asking for help and me giving it to him anyway. I didn’t know Bea that well, or for very long. I’ve only been here a few years. But I do know the whole island loved her, and everyone mourned her passing. What I’m trying to say is, she had people. She wasn’t alone. Not when she was here, and not when she was in senior care. There was nothing you could have done to stop what happened, you couldn’t have prevented the aneurysm, no one could have.”

“I still should have been there.”

“But you were there for her. You said you talked all the time. She still had you, just as she always did.”

“I know, but—”

“Honey—God, it’s killing me not to hug you. And I’m not a hugger!” Lani sounded so out of sorts when she said it, then a laugh spluttered out, surprising them both.

Honey couldn’t help herself, she snorted. The tears in her throat made it end on a hiccup, which put Lani over the edge. And somehow, Honey was laughing along with her, only it was cathartic and emotional; the tears that streamed down her cheeks were a release of grief.

“God, I’m such a basket case,” she said, still half laughing, half crying, as she tried to get herself back under control. “I was so worried, first about being here, and dealing with . . . well, with my thing, and then the shop I thought had been sitting empty was occupied and all decked out for a grand opening of someone else’s business, and my car broke down . . .”

Lani motioned her back toward the seat. When Honey wavered, she said, “Don’t make me hug you.”

Which made the laughter threaten all over again. Honey sat. “You have no idea, but this is so not how I pictured this going.”

“Is it going worse, or better?” Lani said, amusement in her words.

“Better. I think.” Both smiled at that, and Honey finally got her tears to stop trickling and her heart to stop racing.

Lani refreshed her coffee and pushed the chocolate cupcake toward her. “Have a bite. Everything makes more sense with cupcakes. Especially ones filled with dark chocolate. And the sugar buzz doesn’t hurt, either.”

Honey peeled off the paper more for something to do than because she really wanted a bite. But peeling off the paper released the rich, decadent scents of chocolate and spicy ginger, so she gave in and took a bite. Her eyes widened, even as her body hummed. When she swallowed, she looked at Lani with a whole new level of understanding. “It’s no wonder you all are so ridiculously happy. God, these are like . . . what do you put in them?”

“Love,” Lani said simply. “Works every time.” She handed Honey another Kleenex to catch the crumbs. “What did you mean, ‘you all’? Have you met more of the crew?”

Honey’s cheeks warmed, but she was so far past mortification at this point, she honestly couldn’t let herself care. “I was sitting over behind the auto repair shop yesterday, and I saw you all come in for some after hours baking.”

“Ah, Cupcake Club. You should have come over, introduced yourself.”

Maybe I should have, she thought. “Cupcake Club?”

Lani grinned. “You know, like having a book club. Some women bitch and knit, or bitch and read, we bitch and bake.”

Honey found herself smiling again. “I like it.”

“You’ll have to come next week. It would be a good way to get to know folks here. We’re a good bunch. A little eccentric, maybe.”

“Well, I think it goes without saying, I have you all beat on that score.”

Lani laughed again and Honey found herself laughing with her. Seriously in Wonderland, she thought.

Any minute she’d wake up and this wacky dream would all be just that. Except, she realized, she didn’t want to wake up. Because, as dreams went, this one was a little odd, okay a lot odd, but had the potential to be pretty awesome.

“Besides, if you really do own half the place, I could hardly keep you out,” Lani said on another laugh.

Honey’s smile faded, as, true to form, cold, harsh reality crept right back in. “Yes, that. I still don’t know about, well . . . any of it, I guess.”

“Do you want to go next door and see it?”

Then some other realization struck Lani because her face paled, just a little. “Oh my God. If you thought Bea still lived upstairs over the shop when she passed, then, did you—? Were you planning on living there?”

“Kind of.”

“Oh, shit.”

“That, too.”

Lani’s mouth quirked at that. “You can’t know this yet, but I promise you’re going to fit in here just fine. I can’t wait to introduce you to Charlotte. And Kit. You’ve already met Alva.”

Lani picked up a pencil, tapped it on her desk, her expression growing serious. “We’ll figure something out. We will. I mean, we have to get it all sorted out legally, of course, but—” She stopped and looked up at Honey as another thought apparently struck her. “Double shit. Were you planning on reopening her shop? Are you a tailor, too? I thought Bea said you were an artist.”

“I am an artist. But about the shop space, yes, I was planning to use it. Bea wanted me to open up a storefront. I’ve had a mail-order business for years, but she knew it was time to get out of the barn and into a real life, and she was right.” Honey stopped, knowing it was pointless to explain further. The bakery adjunct was built and ready to open for business. Even if she had the legal right to take the space back, she didn’t have the funds to reconstruct it from a kitchen to her little artisan shop. It wouldn’t have taken much to shift it from the way Bea had had it to meet her basic needs; then, as the shop progressed, she would have made further improvements until she had it the way she wanted it.

And kicking the cupcake ladies out wouldn’t exactly be the way to endear herself to her new customer base or her new neighbors. Not that she wanted to kick them out.

“Listen, I don’t know what will happen,” Honey said, not wanting to think abut the shop she’d finally let herself envision, only to lose it before it even began. “Obviously, I need to talk to Bea’s lawyers. I didn’t come here to make trouble. I came here—”

“To make yourself a home,” Lani finished, and it was only because she was smiling so sincerely, without an ounce of pity in her voice or on her face, that Honey took it as the kind gesture it was intended to be. “I know something about that, too. A lot of something, actually. As does my husband, and a few of my closest friends. Trust me, you couldn’t be surrounded by more understanding people. We know what you’re going through.” She grinned again. “Well, the starting over part, anyway. As for the rest . . . you just tell us what you’re comfortable with and what makes you uncomfortable, and we’ll work around it.”

She said it so simply. As if that was all there was to it. But . . . it wasn’t that simple. Couldn’t be. Honey knew otherwise. Didn’t she?

“Okay, so maybe Franco won’t.” Lani laughed and rolled her eyes. “Oh my god, he’ll love you. But he’s a bit like a big, untamed French poodle, so we’ll have to work on him.”

“Franco?”

“One of the cupcake crew. You’ll love him, trust me. A better friend and a more staunch ally, you couldn’t hope to have. Plus he’s very tall and can reach the high things. Win-win, really. So, I’m sorry, I don’t remember. What kind of art? It’s sculpting or something, right?”

Honey felt . . . dazed. She sat there, trying to keep up and regroup at the same time, wanting to step away from her own spinning head and thundering heart long enough to take stock of this moment, of what was happening, so she could understand how things could simultaneously be so horribly wrong, and yet feel almost magically right.

“Oh,” she said, when she saw Lani’s expectant face and realized she’d lost the thread of the conversation. “Yes, I work with clay; I’m also a wood carver. Not a serious one. I mean, I’m serious about my work, but my eye lends itself more to the whimsical than the thought-provoking. As a kid, I learned to whittle from my dad and started making little fantasy creatures and woodland critters.” My own circle of friends, she thought. “My mom would tuck them here and there in her gardens and around the property. Then I discovered clay and . . . well, it kind of mushroomed, as my dad loved to say, into a business.”

“I’m sorry to say I’ve never checked out your catalog, but I will now. Do you have somewhere to stay? Oh, right, you were here yesterday if you saw us at bake club—and your car’s in the shop. Wow, welcome to Sugarberry, huh?”

“It’s been . . . memorable.” Despite all the incredible things that had happened in the past hour, the first thing that came to mind when Honey thought of memorable welcomes was Dylan Ross. And his hands on her arms. And his grin when he told her a little crazy was a good thing. And that he didn’t plan on touching her again.

And how much she really wished he would. And that she could let him.

“So, where are you staying now?”

Honey snapped out of thoughts she had no business thinking about. “At the Hughes’s place. My car is going to take a while. Barbara—Mrs. Hughes, lent me her bicycle to use. Is it always this hot in the spring?”

“No, this is unusual, even for the South. Listen, why don’t we do this? Let me get someone to cover the shop tomorrow morning, and I can take you over the causeway to get the papers and whatever copies you need from the county, and then we can come back over here and see Morgan—our lawyer and Kit’s significant other as it happens. Kit is the manager next door. At least we can get that part settled. I don’t know what to tell you about your plans and about the shop itself. I’m pretty sure my lease is valid and—”

“You’re right. I need to get up to speed on, well, on a lot of things, it seems. I appreciate your willingness to drive me, but please don’t go to the trouble. I can get a cab and—to be honest,” she added, when Lani started to reassure her, “I’d like to handle it on my own.”

“I completely understand. I am really sorry. I wish it wasn’t happening like this, but, trust me, between me and Char, and Kit, and Morgan, Baxter, everyone . . . we’ll find a solution that works.”

“Honestly, I don’t know if I’ll stay, but—” Honey was surprised by how stricken Lani looked at the news. They’d just met, after all.

“Bea wanted you here. And you wanted to be here, or you wouldn’t have uprooted your whole life to come all this way to start over. Don’t let this—well, it’s not a small thing. It’s a huge, giant pain in the ass thing, I know, but don’t give up on us, okay? I wanted to run back to New York a hundred times, a thousand, when I was getting ready to open my bakery, but thank God I didn’t. You’ll be happy you stayed.”

Honey didn’t mention that getting the shop situation figured out was only part of her problems with relocating. In fact, it might end up being the least of her worries. Alva’s and Lani’s easy breezy acceptance of her little “eccentricity” notwithstanding, if what Alva said was true and the islanders actually thought she would put out some kind of fortune teller shingle, they were going to be sadly disappointed.

She wanted a normal life. Or as normal a life as she could have. She’d deal with her stuff, figure out how she was going to handle it as things happened. She’d been a much younger person the last time she’d allowed her curse free reign. She hoped a bit of life wisdom and maturity would help her to deal with it better this time around. She sort of had to, if she was ever going to get the life she really wanted.

She was beyond gratified—amazed and stunned was more like it—that the locals she’d met so far seemed so unfazed by her curse. Or the idea of it, anyway. They hadn’t had to deal with it yet. Bea had been open to her gift, had nurtured it, strengthened it, utilized it. Honey’s “abilities,” however, were significantly stronger than Bea’s. When Honey let go and opened up the portals again, allowing people in . . . well, the good, kind folks of Sugarberry really might not want to know what she’d find out about them.