Sweet Like Honey

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1

Honey

J ars jiggling. Wedged heels clopping. Puffing with a slight wheeze.

That’s how the people in Sam’s grocery store knew I was tearing up behind them like a freight train.

Parents grabbed for their children any way they could; shirts, elbows, pants. Shopping trolleys were yanked to the sides with such force they almost crashed into the shelves next to them, narrowly avoiding a tsunami of canned goods. I gave all of them apologetic smiles as I scuttled past, a crate of jams tucked under one arm and my phone pressed between my opposite ear and shoulder, because I wasn’t rude. I was just late, and by the time I got my breakfast from Phoebe’s, I wouldn’t be unlocking the store in time for opening.

I really needed to get that spare key cut for Maddie so she could open every once in a while.

In my left ear, the on-hold music, which had been playing abruptly, cut off before the professional and clean tone of the receptionist spoke. ‘Sorry about that, Miss McBride.’

I forced my breathing to even, though my lungs burnt in protest. ‘It’s no—’ By some miracle, with an alarmed gasp, I managed to reef the crate of jams upwards before an escaping toddler’s head could collide with them. His mother, one I recognised from a farm out of town, gave a flustered apology before continuing to chase him towards the confectionary aisle. ‘—problem.’

‘You sound busy. Is this a bad time?’ I could only imagine what the receptionist must be thinking of me as she sat in a clean and organised clinic.

‘No, not at all.’ As I watched another child have a hissy fit over a packet of cookies his father wouldn’t put in the trolley, I wondered why I bothered making the appointment.

‘Alright then.’ The receptionist didn’t sound convinced but continued. ‘We have an opening in a couple weeks’ time on the sixteenth at eight-thirty am. Is this a suitable time for you?’

I managed to find a quiet section in the cleaning aisle and put my phone on speaker so I could check my calendar. A message from earlier remained unanswered.

Beau: Morning. Gonna be out of service most of the day fencing the back paddocks with Dad. Didn’t want you to worry. Have a good day. Love you.

The horrible thing was, I wouldn’t have worried if Beau hadn’t messaged me all day. These days, I kept myself as busy as possible so I had a plausible excuse to ignore his messages. I tapped onto my calendar. My colour-coded and categorised calendar was the only thing that kept me sane with the millions of things whizzing through my mind daily. I scrolled through my blue calendar, labelled as PERSONAL .

I put my phone back to my ear. ‘That time works fine.’

‘Great!’ the receptionist chirped. ‘Your details haven’t changed in the year we saw you last?’

‘Nope.’

‘We’ll see you on the sixteenth then at eight-thirty am. Have a great day!’

Filled with determination at ticking an item off my never-ending list, I shoved my phone into the back pocket of my high-waisted flare jeans and moved on to find Sam.

‘Honey! Good to see you!’ The grocer came waltzing out from the back just as I made the cheese section, looking like he was from a cutesy romance story wearing a green apron and dark hair slicked to one side, trying to cover impending baldness.

I passed the jams to him, making sure he had a good grip on them before I released. ‘Your jams, as requested.’

I didn’t miss the way he gave a quick look around me. ‘I wish your grandmother would come in sometime, so I could personally compliment the chef.’

‘You’re a married man, Sam,’ is what I wanted to say. Instead, I gave a bright smile and said, ‘You know Granny is happiest on the farm. I handle all the wheeling and dealing for her.’

I didn’t miss the way disappointment seeped into his dark eyes. ‘Well, thank you for dropping these off. See you next week, Honey. Bye now.’

I’d no sooner turned around, feeling time press down on me, before I was colliding into a large and solid belly. Small towns really were a blessing and a curse. Grant Pearson, president of the rodeo committee, looked down at me from beneath his ten-gallon hat. I hadn’t even uttered an apology—or greeting—before a coloured flyer was being thrust at me by a big meaty hand.

‘G’day, Honey. Could you put this in The Honey Pot’s window for us? Ta.’

I glanced down at the flyer in my hands, resisting the urge to roll my eyes before turning to chase after him for a short distance. Grant was a large presence, in stature and nature. People automatically moved to the sides of the aisle he strolled down as far as they could without him having to huff and puff with a crate of jam. It was like witnessing the panic that ensued when an emergency vehicle approached a busy intersection.

‘Sorry, Grant, but is there much point of putting this in my store? It’s a bookstore.’ I gave a nervous chuckle when he spun to face me, his bushy brows furrowed. ‘Advertising the rodeo doesn’t really match my … aesthetic.’

‘Aesthetic? Right.’ I wasn’t sure what was confusing the old cowboy more, the word aesthetic or that I wasn’t jumping at the chance to support the local rodeo. ‘Well, Honey, I’m sorry, but aren’t you the one always pushing the local businesses to support one another?’

‘Well, yes, but—’

‘Look I get it, what happened between you and Colton all those years ago has made you resent the rodeo world.’ I bristled at his words. ‘Besides, the rodeo festival includes all the local businesses in Twilight Shop Night, an event The Honey Pot has been a part of since you opened. If you have a genuine problem with it though, I’ll be more than happy to hold an AGM with the other business owners and—’

‘No, no.’ I gave a smile too tight to be classed as normal. ‘I will put it up in the window first thing.’

He gave a tip of his ridiculously big hat before continuing his way down the aisle.

I looked down at the bright orange flyer, designed with blocky black font and pixelated images.

‘Definitely not my aesthetic,’ I muttered grumpily.

***

I didn’t know what time it was, all I knew was that I was late—very late—as I clopped down the sidewalk of the main drag in town. A wrapped bacon and egg burger was tucked under my arm and a tray of pretty takeaway cups from Phoebe’s balanced in my hand. It was risky, having a coffee with creamy milk, just the thing that made my tummy gurgle and sound the alarms for an evacuation. But I needed the motivation. Hallmark movies and cute books were the ones to blame for the belief that a takeaway cup of coffee suddenly turned what had started as a chaotic day into one of organisation and calm. Only instead of wearing a peacoat, scarf and ankle boots with glossy hair curled perfectly as autumn leaves twirled around me, I was already sweating up a storm with my feet swelling in my wedges.

Yet I got a hot coffee.

My bloodhound, Duke, who’d come to work with me every day since I’d purchased the store, strolled alongside me. The nametag on his collar jingled with each step his huge paws pressed onto the pavement. His droopy eyes took in the town of an early morning, the tail, which could be like a whip, swaying from side to side as his big snout sniffed at the smells. I barely had to reach to give him a pat, his spine coming up to my waist.

I’d owned The Honey Pot for a few years now, but the warm feeling of achievement still buzzed in me each time I looked at the storefront. Taking the big leap and moving myself to university to work my butt off in business and publishing degrees had paid off. A dream I didn’t think would come true each time I cried for the comfort of home in the unfamiliar concrete jungle full of wailing sirens and busy roads. But it had. The big sign on top of the roof with illustrated bees buzzing around THE HONEY POT and windows decorated with new releases and bestsellers were proof of my hard work. That I’d made it. Despite being seen as the foster girl who’d come from nothing my entire life, I’d purchased the empty store, had cleaned it top to bottom and orchestrated the tradesman who’d installed the new flooring, lighting and shelving. I’d done what I’d always wanted to do.

I’d proved to what could be a small-minded town that I was more—better—than the drug addicted parents I’d been taken from.

Duke left my side to lope up to Maddie like a small horse rather than a dog. His huge head nudged at the girl who’d been working for me since she started high school, the only thing to pull her away from her phone, thumbs ceasing their tirade across the screen. I already knew who she’d be texting. Toby. They’d been together since they were in year seven, walking into high school wearing backpacks nearly as big as them. It was unheard of for teenagers to last the distance after merging into high school together. Boys got hornier and girls got prettier. Futures were mapped out, ones which no longer coincided with the one they thought they’d be with forever. But Maddie and Toby were proving all that wrong … although with how much they were arguing lately, I wondered if their relationship had run its course.

‘Hey, sorry. I had to drop some jam of at Sam’s, then I got bailed up by Grant Pearson and well … then coffee called.’

By the time I reached the shopfront, I was puffed—again. Maddie’s face was shadowed with heartache of another argument, big brown eyes glum, and I was glad I got her a chai latte, now extending it out to her. With a hand free, I began rummaging through my bag—which was great for fitting everything in but too big to find anything—and pulled out a clump of keys.

‘Did you and Toby have another argument?’

Maddie flicked the cup’s lid as we stepped into the shop. I turned over the sign on the door to read Welcome to the hive! Duke took his usual spot behind the counter, flopping down with a big sigh, while I wasted no time in flicking the air-conditioning on. It started with a loud hum, hot air whooshing out until it would blow cold in a few minutes.

‘I just worry about him,’ said Maddie glumly as we dumped our things behind the counter, her cute crossbody bag looking ridiculous next to my laptop bag spewing pencil cases, charging leads and notebooks.

‘That’s understandable …’ I busied myself with setting up for a day of trade. Mrs Bickering would be in soon, as she always was on a Wednesday morning. Nine-fifteen am on the dot. And she always paid cash.

‘Sorry. I shouldn’t be talking to you about this. Just ignore me.’

Maddie looked sheepish, and when she went to bustle away, I grabbed her slender wrist. ‘Maddie, you can talk to me about anything. Colton and I broke up a long time ago. I know what you’re going through more than anyone else in this town.’

The young girl smiled softly, tucking a curtain of brown hair behind her ear. ‘Thanks, Honey. But now I think about it, I think I’d rather just stay busy for the day.’

I felt guilty for the relief that washed over me. ‘Okay. Well, can you do me a favour and get Granny’s jams out of the ute?’

Through the window, I watched as she plucked the box from the HJ Cruiser ute, which was parked a little way up the road. She reminded me so much of myself at the same age. Young with a mountain of worry on her shoulders. She worked at my little bookstore for as much as I could pay her to support her two younger brothers while their mum was sick and their dad worked away a lot as a truckie. Now with her bull rider boyfriend quickly moving through the sport’s ranks, she fretted about him getting seriously hurt—or even killed. I hoped that she wouldn’t follow him around the world competing, praying that the stories I told her about Colton and I over the years made her determined to live her life for herself. But there was something about bull riders that made even the strongest-willed women buckle at the knees. Was it the thought of them being brave enough to do something so dangerous? The shining buckles that sat between their hips? Or the cheeky winks they gave beneath the brim of those cowboy hats?

Bloody bull riders.

Maddie was snapping aesthetic photos of the shop for Instagram, carefully avoiding the flyer in the window, which ruined my soft pastel décor, when the bell on the door jingled with an arrival. I didn’t even need to look up from my laptop, only glancing at the time to know she was here. Mrs Bickering’s small silhouette appeared in my peripheral and I looked up with a smile. As usual, she was dressed in her best going out clothes as if she were going to the big city rather than her weekly shop in town. First, she came to The Honey Pot to collect the books I ordered for her, then she went to the post office to purchase stamps for letters she sent to her kids who lived in the UK, followed by a cup of tea and scone at the little café before finishing her trip with a shop at Sam’s.

To anyone who didn’t know her reading preferability, she was a sweet old nanna who lived on the outskirts of town with Mr Bickering, her husband, who was always working in their blooming gardens. But I was the one who ordered her books … and a sweet old nanna she was not. Not at heart, at least.

Of course, she’d sworn me to secrecy with such fierceness, I hadn’t even been tempted to blurt a word. Not even to Granny, who would be horrified to learn that her bridesmaid from all those years ago had a craving for erotica. Of course, Maddie knew, not that Mrs Bickering knew that. As far as the old lady was convinced, I was the only one who knew, therefore I was the only one she dealt with.

Being Mrs Bickering’s underground erotica book dealer was well … disturbing.

‘Morning, Honey.’ Mrs Bickering plopped her purse onto the counter, her voice rising louder as she spoke. ‘Has my new edition of Gardens of Australia arrived?’

‘Why yes, Mrs Bickering, it has,’ I replied in the same volume, plonking the paper bag next to her purse. Maddie peeked around one of the shelves with stifled giggles. ‘I hope you enjoy the … flowers … in this edition. They’re very horny—I mean— thorny .’

The elderly woman leant forward, whispering in a tone that was obviously quiet to her half deaf ears, ‘Great job! No one will ever suspect a thing!’

It wasn’t until she disappeared outside with a jingle of the bell, the paper bag clutched tightly to her chest, that Maddie came from her hiding spot.

‘Do you think Mr Bickering knows about her … interests?’

I giggled, returning my focus to one of my client’s manuscript appraisals on my laptop. ‘No way! He’s the real-life version of Mr Pernickety.’

‘Who?’ Maddie’s dark eyebrows bunched together.

‘You know, one of the Mr. Men ? Dark green, tall, has the moustache, obsessed with cleaning his house!’ I sighed at her blank stare. ‘You make me feel old.’

‘I reckon he’s as twisted as her.’ Maddie leant on the counter next to me, cupping her chin in her hand, a wicked gleam in her eye. ‘I bet they have a sex dungeon in that sweet old house.’

‘I doubt they have a whole Christian Grey thing going on, Mads.’ I chuckled, flicking through my textbook to begin drafting notes for an email. ‘Besides, I don’t think Mrs Bickering’s reading choice is more than a fantasy. That’s the beauty of reading. You can immerse yourself into a world completely different to your own.’

Maddie began organising Appleyard Farm’s display on the counter with the new jams. ‘I reckon when they die and their kids have to clean out the house, they’re gonna find all these boxes of leather outfits and whips and chains in the attic.’

‘We’re not in America, Mads, we don’t have attics.’

‘Brush off my theories all you want, it’s always the quiet ones.’ She gave a cheeky grin.

She wasn’t wrong there.

***

I sat beneath the wrap-around verandah later that night, watching with anticipation as the thunderheads began rolling across the ranges. Granny’s hanging baskets swung in the growing wind while I held my dialling phone pressed against my ear.

‘Hey.’ I hoped the chirpiness of my voice was convincing when the line connected.

‘Hi.’ Beau’s voice sounded tired.

My heart skipped a beat. Thunder rumbled in the distance. ‘Is everything okay? I swung past your place after work but no one was home.’

‘If you answered my calls, you’d know that things are definitely not okay.’ His voice, usually calm and soothing, had a sting of venom to it and I flinched. ‘I’ve been at the hospital in the city with dad all day. He nearly lost his arm in the fencing auger.’

Another clap of thunder made me jump. My body turned hot and tingly. There was a slight ringing in my ears.

‘Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry. Is—is he okay?’ I began pacing, my bare feet brushing against the decking.

‘Yeah, he’s fine. We’ll be home in a few days but we’ll be back and forth with therapy.’ His voice was distant.

Tears sprung to my eyes. ‘Beau, I really am sorry. I’ve been busy at work and—’

‘You have an hour lunch break.’

‘I worked through it today. I’m so behind on this manuscript appraisal then I got sidetracked with some content creating for The Honey Pot’s Instagram page … I promise I’m not making up excuses.’

‘The fact that you have to clarify that makes me think the opposite.’

My heart squeezed at the heavy silence. How could I be so awful to my boyfriend? How did things become so complicated?

I decided to use diversion. ‘Do you need me to do anything? Feed the horses?’

‘No. I’ve got it sorted.’ A siren wailed in the background. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you whenever you want to talk to me.’

‘Beau—’

But the line was dead. Thunder reverberated. Lightning bounced across the darkening sky. Duke looked up at me from droopy eyelids as I flopped back into the deckchair. My excitement for the storm had evaporated, killed by the guilt of Beau being in the city all day with his dad who could’ve died while I’d been screening his texts and calls. A burning hot shame poured over me as the first raindrops began to fall. I needed to sort my head out.

Before I hurt Beau more than I already had.