Unlikely You (Sapph in the City #5)

Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Bren

I was in the midst of setting up my table at the marketplace on Thursday morning when I could feel Honey watching me. As soon as I glanced over, she wasn’t anymore, but I wasn’t that unobservant. Mostly because I’d been watching her back.

I was making sure my display was perfectly spaced and fiddling with the last elements when she came over.

“Good morning,” she said, as if she’d woken up on the right side of the bed and had a cup of sunshine instead of coffee for breakfast. It was a wonder she hadn’t been plucked from Maine to go pretend to be a princess at a theme part or for children’s birthday parties. She had that pure, kind, wholesome energy. For some reason, it made my skin break out in little prickles of heat.

Honey wasn’t my type. I preferred people who were just as brooding or more so than I was. People who had also had a rough time so we could commiserate. That was when I actually dated, which I rarely did. I’d never even had a committed relationship. There wasn’t the time or energy available for it. Everything I had went into my business. Sex was a whole other story.

“Morning,” I grunted, hoping my gruffness would dissuade her from trying to make small talk with me.

“I know we’ve had the spot next to you for a while, but I realized I never gave you a sample of our honey to try. We have hot honey too, if that’s more to your liking.”

I hadn’t turned to look at her, too busy staring a hole in the cloth that covered my table. If I looked at her, I was going to stare, and if I stared, she was going to think I liked her, and I did not like her. She was nice to look at, that was it. Everything else about her got on my nerves.

But then a jar of honey entered my line of vision, pushed toward me by her elegant fingers. Her nails were short but painted a light pink that was probably called Baby Whispers or Sweetie Girl or something insipid. She had a few rings on her fingers, including one that had a little gold bee on it. Guess she was really into the whole bee thing.

The jar of honey was cute, a hexagonal shape, a lid with a sticker on top and a little tag with the logo on it as well, tied with a little bit of twine. Very nice packaging and I did love the logo and the font and everything about the way they’d branded themselves. It was pretty and whimsical, when they could have gone in a completely different (tacky) direction.

“Thank you,” I said because I wasn’t a total asshole. I just wanted her to stop being so sexy and for the rest of her family to stop singing and being loud and intruding into my bubble. I was lucky that I only had them on one side of me. Nearly every other table had one person on either side and sometimes another booth behind as well. I had paid more to only have one other booth next to me. Things had been fine up until the Holloways had gotten here. And now I would have taken being surrounded by other people who weren’t them.

“You’re very welcome,” Honey said, her voice soft. I waited until she walked away to glance over at the booth. The parents were singing as they unboxed jars of honey and set them up. At least they didn’t have an instrument today. Sometimes they did. Those were the worst days. It wasn’t as if they were bad singers, either. No, they were all talented, but it was just…why? Why the singing in the morning in a building with high ceilings and good acoustics when they hadn’t asked anyone around them if they minded?

I’d forgotten my noise-canceling headphones today. That was the origin of my particularly awful mood. Or I was getting my period soon. Both, probably.

My hand closed around the jar of honey and I put it carefully in my bag. The least I could do was bring it home with me. I wasn’t going to use it or anything, but as long as she thought I had taken it, that was what mattered.

I wasn’t going to use it.

So why was I on my phone two minutes later looking up “recipes using honey?”

Despite the bad start to Thursday, the rest of the day went much better. The Holloways were busy, which meant they weren’t in my hair, and I had a lot of business myself. I spent way too long talking with two teen girls about their favorite books and they each bought two book sleeves and tons of stickers and bookmarks. I had to replenish my stash after they left, and I was feeling really great when one of the booths that sold the most delicious challah came around offering samples to everyone. Each piece was slathered in butter or jam from another vendor. I almost grabbed the entire tray, but I held back and took two pieces, one with butter and one with what turned out to be blackberry jam.

Heaven. Absolute heaven.

“Honey goes great on bread,” a voice said, and I opened my eyes to find Honey standing in front of my booth.

“Does it now?” I said, wiping my face to make sure I hadn’t gotten any jam on my chin.

She nodded and pretended she was perusing my table. She’d done that before, but I just assumed she wasn’t interested in anything I was selling.

“Oh,” she said softly, pulling one of my book sleeves out of the basket. It was one of the simpler fabrics and just so happened to be yellow hexagons that might look like honeycomb. Of course.

“You’re really into the bee thing, aren’t you?” I said before I could consider if it was smart to talk to her like a regular person.

“What can I say? I love them.” She pulled her necklace forward which, you guessed it, had a bee charm.

“I’ll take this one,” she said, tapping it with one of those pink nails.

Was this a joke? Was she messing with me? I narrowed my eyes and then decided she was way too sweet for that. Way too nice. The earnestness just dripped off her. I had to get her away from me as soon as possible.

Normally I would have chatted with a customer as I processed the transaction, but I didn’t do that with her. I simply pointed at the tablet where she could swipe her card and didn’t ask her if she wanted a bag or to have a good day.

She declined the receipt and put her card back in her leather wallet (which had a bee stamped on the front) and gave me a smile as if I’d made her entire day.

“Thanks. I’ve been meaning to get one of these for ages. Have a great afternoon.” With that she flounced back to her table and I was left wondering what the actual hell had just happened.

Why do nice people make me want to stab something? I sent to Melliferal later that night when I’d gotten home.

Every nice person? Or just certain nice people? Because that would be a lot of stabby thoughts to have on a daily basis.

I guess it’s just certain people that make me want to stab. And you know I don’t REALLY mean stab.

Joking about murder and fantasizing about it in detail were two different things. With someone online, you never knew exactly where they were coming from, so it was important to clarify for her that I didn’t actually mean stabbing.

I know. You’re not really as mean and stabby as you want me to believe you are. I know we’re just internet friends, but I think I know you pretty well. Not details, but I know important things.

As much as I’d tried not to tell her personal details, she knew other things. For some reason it was easier to talk to a stranger on the internet about truly intimate things than speak to someone you’d known for years. There was no baggage, no history that might cloud the advice. I trusted Melliferal with more of myself than anyone else. I’d given her far too much already, but there was no putting all of that back in a box or pretending I hadn’t opened up to her.

As long as I didn’t share too many other personal details, I wouldn’t sink deeper. She wouldn’t get any more of me than what I’d already given.

You don’t really know me, Melliferal. And I don’t know you. I regretted the message the second I sent it.

I’m sorry. It’s just been a long day. I don’t think I should be talking to anyone right now.

There.

I waited for a response, but one didn’t come. Sighing, I set my phone down and went to check on my printing machines. I was working on a new set of stickers that I was really excited about. The designs were super cute, which was different than my usual more dramatic and darker style, but I wanted to have a range for my customers.

To be honest, I’d tried to channel Honey Holloway when I was designing them. She’d want cute, rounded shapes and fonts and bright colors. I hadn’t known how much she was truly into bees until today. I’d figured most of it was just because of the business, but it seemed like she was really into them. So I might have just finished a little bee sticker and was printing it out with the others.

It didn’t mean anything. She’d just given me an idea. I also had some flower stickers, so the bee went along with them. Besides, bees were popular. Lots of people liked them. Didn’t mean that I’d made the stickers just for her.

It didn’t mean anything .

Melliferal didn’t get back to me until much later that night. As much as I knew it was my right to put up boundaries with her, I hadn’t needed to be such a bitch about it.

I wanted to apologize again, but I’d wanted to wait for her to reach out first to see if she was still interested in talking with me. Melliferal and I hadn’t really had that many disagreements in the past. There had been no need to. She’d backed off whenever I’d told her things were getting too personal for me.

I don’t know why, but I wanted you to see this. The message was attached to a video of a little girl sitting beside a fence with an accordion. An adult (probably a parent) encouraged her to play, so she did. Within moments, cows started appearing in the background, as if drawn by the music.

It was adorable and silly and made me smile.

Thanks, I did need to see that. Sorry about snapping at you earlier.

It’s okay. I’m used to you being a little bit prickly. I can handle it.

She was always like that. Always smoothing over my rough edges and saying she would take me as I was.

Well, the parts of me she knew. Melliferal would never know all of me.

Thanks. Good mice, Mel.

Good mice, B.