Chapter Twelve. Duncan
The Honey Moon Festival in Vesper Notch was held annually in June, on the weekend closest to the full moon. It started decades ago as a small gathering of area garden clubs and beekeepers to exchange seeds and socialize to celebrate the start of wildflower season. Now, it had expanded out of little uptown Vesper Notch and into the ten-acre park on the southern end of town. The festival began with a Saturday-morning 5K to raise money for a local charity—this year, it was for the animal shelter in Shelby—and later, the park would be filled with carnival rides, live music, food trucks from around the valley, and a bazaar to give Vesper Valley artisans and businesses a chance to showcase their offerings.
The 5K route zigzagged through the festival grounds, and every year a crowd of supporters lined up along it to cheer for loved ones. They fully embraced the festival atmosphere by waving flags, sparkly streamers, and noisemakers. Many of the runners wore flowers in their hair or dressed in colorful yellow-and-black tutus and bee costumes.
Harry and Rowan were in the 5K, and it would be Rowan’s first. Duncan had secretly made T-shirts with Rowan’s smiling face screen-printed in the center, and ROWAN KEEP GOIN’ printed underneath. Dad waved a small pennant flag printed with the same. Everyone pulled the shirts over their regular clothes and waited for the race to begin.
The Bradys set up in a spot between Bennett Goodwin’s dairy table and Florence Holley’s small apiary tent. While they waited for the race to begin, Dad chatted with Goodwin, a plainspoken dairy farmer Duncan had met a few times at the Linden agriculture equipment auctions. He offered rustic paper-wrapped cheeses with different fruits and honey, and a stack of paperback books he’d self-published about biodynamic practices on his farm. Talking to Dad was the first time Duncan had ever seen Goodwin smile. Beekeeper Florence Holley sold honey and beeswax candles, and also gave out samples of her award-winning mead to anyone who wore the bright yellow wristband that designated them of age. She had an elaborate honeycomb tattoo that covered the dusky skin of her entire left forearm.
Duncan had a clear view of the Linden Free Clinic tent, where Temperance worked with a few other volunteers. She was stacking informational flyers in a wooden display case when a young couple approached to chat with her. She came around the front of the table and gave them her full attention, occasionally bending to smile and coo at the baby in their stroller. Her long braid swung toward the little one each time. When the baby managed to grab it, Temperance laughed and sank down to her knees in front of the stroller to pull it free from the little one’s fingers.
In a cream lace tank top and a bohemian patchwork skirt that had begun to fray along the bottom hem, she was a flesh-and-blood true north, drawing his entire consciousness like a compass needle.
Once the 5K began, there was an initial surge of runners followed by a trickle of slower folks over the next half hour. Harry and Rowan eventually brought up the rear, just ahead of two men who jogged with three elementary-aged children. Rowan was red-faced and shuffling but hanging on. Harry hadn’t even broken a sweat.
Ma clanged the miniature cowbell she’d had since Duncan had played high school football, and everyone waved and cheered as they passed. When Rowan saw the shirts, her shoulders shook with laughter and she pressed both hands to her chest, turning an even more alarming shade of crimson. Harry turned to jog backward in front of her, grinning and clapping.
At the clinic tent, Temperance watched, but it wasn’t Rowan and Harry who had her attention. Her eyes were right on him. She twisted the end of her braid in her fingers. Duncan raised a hand in a subtle wave, and instead of turning to pretend she hadn’t seen, she waved back.
Well. That was something.
AFTERthe race, the Bradys began to make their way through the huge mown field where tents and pergolas were set up for the artisan bazaar.
They stopped at the tent for the hobby farm owned and operated by an honest-to-god, unironically named farmer named Barnhill McDonald. He raised goats for artisan cheeses, while his husband, Owen Flynn, made bar soaps with their milk, infused with herbs, dried flowers, and swirls of natural dyes.
Arden gasped and jogged over to the table. “The Boonies! You guys are bringing back the Boonies?”
On the table was a round glass aquarium with a few coins and paper bills in the bottom. A little sign on a wooden dowel poked out, hand-lettered with brING BACK THE BOONIES.
The Boonies had been the drive-in theater between Linden and Westfall, originally built in the early 1960s. Like most other drive-ins in the country, it fell victim to the double-punch of rising expenses and home movie rentals. Now, it was a forgotten relic on a low-traffic county road.
Owen lined up honey-lemon soaps shaped like miniature honeycombs in a tidy row. “Trying. The property backs up to our farm. We bought it this spring.”
“Everyone in this damned valley is trying to bring something back from the brink,” Nate said. He wore nine-month-old Leo in a backpack carrier, and he had to bounce continually in place or the baby would pull his hair with tiny fists. Nate also cradled a basket of deep-fried cheese curds against his chest.
Duncan watched Temperance approach. Quietly, he said, “Shame not to try, when it’s worth it.”
Temperance greeted Maren and Mercy, and Arden gave her a quick hug, too. At the table directly across from Duncan, she lifted a bar of rose-scented soap to her nose. Her long braid seemed to have more hair flying free from it than what was bound inside. When she looked up at him, there was genuine pleasure in her eyes. He gave her a nod in greeting, and she slid her gaze away.
Arden tucked a crisp ten-dollar bill into the jar. “I was in junior high when the county tried to revive it the first time around. I went to a double feature of the first two Mummy movies with six other kids in the back of Grace Pennypacker’s mom’s conversion van. Chad Yearwood tried to touch my boob midway through the Nefertiri fight scene.”
Duncan scowled. “Chad whom?”
“I know you’ve done far more at the Boonies than a thwarted boob grab, Duncan.” Mercy hip-checked him.
“Holster your outrage, Ducky. I told Grace’s mom, and she made him sit outside the van on a lawn chair with her.” Arden sighed wistfully. “That scene was my bisexual awakening.”
“You and me both,” Owen said.
To Temperance, Duncan said, “Got any fond memories from the Boonies, Teacup?”
She lifted a honeycomb-shaped soap to her nose and shot him a warning glare. “Oh, I don’t really remember much happening there.”
Duncan chuckled. Like hell.
Their last summer together, the Boonies had been their favorite spot. Even on the weekends, attendance had declined so dramatically they’d often be one of only a few dozen vehicles there. In a lot designed for hundreds of cars, it meant plenty of privacy. They’d taken full advantage of every minute of darkness with an air mattress and an old comforter in the bed of his truck.
“I never noticed your tattoo, T.J.” Arden pointed to the barely visible ink on the inside of Temperance’s ring finger. “What is it?”
Temperance returned the honeycomb soap to the table and rubbed her thumb over her finger. Sometimes, she wore a Band-Aid over it, or a wide sterling silver ring. “It’s just a little bee.”
“Does it have a meaning?” Arden said.
“Because she’s sweet,” said Duncan.
“Because I sting,” Temperance said at the same time.
She narrowed her eyes at him.
Arden and Mercy exchanged a long look.
“I’ve always liked bees,” Duncan said, lightly.
“Do you?” Temperance raised a blond brow. “Remember that summer at Bethany Beach, and you got stung on the lip?”
“Obviously I don’t like bees in my soda cans.”
“Your mom made you keep a smear of toothpaste on the sting for hours—” She reached up to drift a fingertip across his upper lip. “It was hilarious.”
Duncan’s smile dropped, and Temperance snatched her hand away. She put distance between them, suddenly interested in Owen Flynn’s assortment of lip balms at the opposite end of the table. Maren and Nate both stopped their silliness to watch. Even Owen paused restocking a line of lavender soaps to stare.
“Anyway,” Temperance said. “When you mess with a bee, you should expect to eventually get stung.”
He followed her around the table. “Ah. So, you’re saying I got what I deserved that day?”
“I’m just saying it’s not fair to get upset with bees for doing”—Temperance made a vague gesture with her hands—“bee things.”
“I’m sorry. Are you two,” Arden began, “flirting?”
“No,” they said in unison.
Nate said, around a mouthful of fried cheese curds, “We used to call that place the Boobies.” He chuckled, then hissed in pain when Leo ruthlessly yanked his head sideways by a fistful of hair.
“Who is we?” Mercy said.
“Me and—ow—Patrick.”
Mercy rolled her eyes. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Plus a few of our buddies,” Nate said. “Ah—most of the guys in my high school graduating class, actually.”
“Gross,” Arden said.
“Charming,” Maren said.
“Listen, sweetheart,” Nate said to Maren. “If Owen and Barney get that place running again, I will take you there and give you the most thrilling tit grab you’ve ever had.”
“Aw, and they say romance is dead,” said Maren.
Nate held his basket of cheese curds aside to go after her for a greasy kiss, and Maren spun away, laughing. In the carrier, baby Leo squealed and battered his dad’s head with tiny fists.
When Duncan looked back to where Temperance had stood, she was gone.
“DUNCANBrady!” Millie Bristow leaned out the window of the barbecue food truck she ran with her two sisters. She wore a purple bandana over her hair, and her cheeks were a lively red from the heat inside the truck. “Hey, handsome. You got a minute?”
“Always.” He met Millie around the back of the truck. It was dimmer there in the shadows, and the air was heavy with the syrupy tang of caramelizing barbecue sauce and the savory scent of potatoes frying in peanut oil.
Millie took her bandana off and swiped the sweat away from her cheeks. She pulled out her phone to take a photo with Duncan, angling it so she captured the festival in the background.
“How do we look?” Duncan leaned in to peek at the screen.
She tilted the phone up so he could see. “Adorable, as usual. Possibly the cutest fake couple that’s ever existed.” Millie added the photo to her Instagram account and tucked the phone away in her back pocket. She gave him an affectionate smile. “I’m sorry to take you away from your family.”
Duncan chuckled. “Nah. I’m going to miss this.”
“Only a few more weeks of it, then you’re off the hook for good.”
“Have you figured out our sad-but-mutually-decided-upon breakup?” Duncan asked.
“I’ll probably just say we decided a long-distance relationship wasn’t a good idea while I was away at school. That’s believable, right?”
Duncan barked a laugh.
“What?” Millie said.
“That’s the story of my life, Mill. I can’t escape it—in real relationships or fake ones.”
Millie stuck out her tongue.
“I’m just teasing,” Duncan said.
“I know. Mama really loves you, but I think all that will matter to her is that I’m a safe distance from Gavin. You really are a saint for doing what you’ve done for me, Duncan Brady.”
“Just a friend helping a friend,” he said.
“Once I leave, you’re going to make a move on Dr. Madigan, right?” She knuckled him in the center of his chest.
Duncan grunted. “See, when you call her ‘Dr. Madigan,’ it reinforces how far out of my league she is.”
“Mm. Sounds like a you problem, sweetheart.”
He cracked his knuckles. “I’m going to look like a real piece of work if I start publicly chasing Temperance right after our presumptive breakup.”
Millie’s eyes went soft. “I feel terrible that this could interfere—”
“Listen. Don’t. When we started this, the odds of me going to the moon were better than me ever having a chance again with her.”
“You told her the truth, right? About us?”
“Ah, shit, Millie. It’s complicated.”
“Why?”
“I haven’t told anyone I went back to school.” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“So?”
“They’ll want to know how you and I reconnected. I’m shit at lying.”
“Just tell them we matched on Tinder or something.”
Duncan’s laugh was dark. “Temperance already thinks I’ve spent the last ten years fucking everyone in a fifty-mile radius.”
“Haven’t you?” Millie arched a playful eyebrow.
“Ah. Well—ten miles, maybe,” he joked.
“You’re not, like, using me for emotional leverage with her, are you?”
He twisted a bit of his beard between his fingers and made a thoughtful face. “Considered it.”
She punched him lightly in the arm. “Jerk.”
“Ow. Come on, I have nothing else on her. She’s so far out of my league, we’re not even playing the same sport.”
“Duncan, you don’t need to have something on her. That’s not how it works. And even if it was, you’re a catch.” She rubbed his arm in the same place she’d popped with her fist moments ago. “If you don’t tell her the truth before I leave, I’m going to tell her.”
He jammed his fists in the pockets of his jeans and looked down at the grass between his feet. “Truth has always been complicated between Temperance and me.”
“No. Truth is truth. It’s never complicated, because it is what it is, and nothing else.”
“Getting deep over here, Mill,” Duncan mumbled.
Millie grinned. “Good thing you’re tall.”
“Listen, no offense, but—”
“Stop.” She held up a hand. “Anytime someone leads with no offense, something offensive is about to come out of their mouth. Every time.”
“Not true.”
“It has the same linguistic flavor as gentle reminder and just wondering.”
“What flavor is that?”
“A shitty one.”
They both laughed.
Around the front of the truck, one of Millie’s sisters jangled the antique dinner bell that hung from the awning. They did it whenever anyone left a tip of ten dollars or more. Millie smiled and swiped the back of her hand over her forehead.
“How’d your truck manage to get a spot at the Honey Moon?” Duncan said.
“Birdie came up with a new honey-mead barbecue sauce.” She tied her bandana back over her bright hair. “We slap some hand-cut fries into a paper boat, top them with our pulled pork, cheese curds from Goodwin’s, then drizzle it all with that sticky, boozy sauce. We call it ‘Valley poutine’—”
Inside the truck, a metallic crash was followed by an impressive string of profanity.
“Ooookay. I need to get back in there before Midge breaks something.” Millie gave him an affectionate side-hug squeeze. “Try to have some fun today. You work too hard.”