Chapter 10 Ally
ALLY
Morning light caught the honey jars lined up in Ally’s passenger seat, making the amber liquid glow like captured sunshine.
She’d been up since five, labeling and packing, and now her car was loaded with enough honey to stock two local shops and a full table at tomorrow’s farmer’s market along with the flowers she’d grown in the greenhouse.
The labels gleamed—“Blueberry Cottage Honey” in elegant script, with a watercolor bee and honeycomb border that Sam had designed.
The girl had real talent. Every time Ally looked at those labels, she felt a surge of pride at how far Sam had come since Ryan had found her living in her car with her dog, Bella.
This was hers. This business she’d built with her own hands, from the hives Ryan had helped construct to the extraction equipment she’d saved for months to buy.
No corporate job, no one else’s name on the paperwork.
Just Ally Singleton, small business owner.
And if she was lonely and missed Colton, she had Daisy, his dog.
He couldn’t take her to New York. The old dog would have hated all the noise, so Ally kept her and took Daisy everywhere with her.
She could have walked, but Daisy seemed tired today, so Ally drove around to the other side of the lake and onto the narrow road that wound up toward James Roberts’s place.
The trees pressed close as she drove down the gravel road.
James wasn’t exactly the type to host dinner parties—but Ally had been delivering honey here since spring, when he’d mentioned that local honey seemed to help with his allergies.
The trees opened up, and there it was. James’s house always surprised her, no matter how many times she saw it.
Not the rustic cabin everyone imagined when they thought of the town recluse, but a striking modern structure of glass and weathered wood, all clean lines and floor-to-ceiling windows that seemed to bring the forest inside and had a stunning view of the waterfall.
An architect’s dream, tucked back far enough that if you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t notice it.
She parked beside his truck and grabbed two jars from the back seat. Daisy lifted her head from where she’d been dozing, tail wagging hopefully.
“Stay here, girl. I’ll be quick.”
James appeared at the door before she could knock, which meant he’d been watching from one of those enormous windows. He was dressed in his usual uniform—gray tee shirt, worn jeans, hair that looked like he’d run his hands through it a dozen times already this morning.
“Ally.” He stepped back to let her in. “You didn’t have to deliver. I could have picked it up.”
“I was heading to town, and it’s good to get out.
” She crossed the threshold into the open-plan living space, immediately hit by the smell of old books and coffee.
Bookshelves lined every wall that wasn’t glass, stuffed with volumes that looked well read rather than decorative.
A massive stone fireplace anchored one end of the room, cold now in June, and a worn leather couch faced the windows overlooking the lake.
On the dining table, she noticed a stack of manuscript pages, the top sheet covered in handwritten notes in the margins.
She looked away quickly, not wanting to pry, even though curiosity tugged at her.
His new book, maybe. She’d read all of J.M.
Roberts’s novels—before she’d known the famous author lived across the lake from her mother’s cottage—and she’d loved every one.
“Kitchen counter?” She asked, holding up the jars.
“Fine.” James followed her, hovering in that awkward way he had, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with another person in his space. “How many did you bring?”
“Three jars. Same as usual.” She set them on the granite counter, arranging them so the labels faced out. “The spring harvest was good this year. Lots of wildflower.”
James picked up a jar, turning it in his hands. The morning light through the windows made the honey glow gold. “These labels are new.”
“Sam designed them. She’s got a real eye for design.” Ally showed him the label Sam had created for her flowers. “Picked these this morning. A bit of color.”
“Thank you.” He touched the label. “These are very good.” High praise, from James. He set the flowers down carefully. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Ally waited, watching him struggle with whatever he was trying to say. For a bestselling author, James Roberts was remarkably bad at casual conversation.
“I’d like to order more,” he finally managed. “A year’s supply, if you have it. The honey’s really helped with my allergies. Haven’t had to take medication since I started using it.”
“A year’s supply?” Ally did quick math in her head. “That’s... a lot of honey.”
“I go through it faster than you’d think.” He shrugged, not quite meeting her eyes. “And I’d like to support a local business.”
“I can definitely do that.” She pulled out her phone to make a note. “Monthly deliveries work for the honey? Or would you prefer—”
“Monthly’s fine.” He cleared his throat, and something in his posture shifted—shoulders tightening, jaw setting. The look of a man about to do something uncomfortable. “There’s something else.”
Ally waited.
“Flowers.” The word came out as if it cost him something. “I was wondering if you could deliver flowers. Weekly.”
She blinked. James Roberts, the hermit who barely tolerated human contact, wanted weekly flower deliveries?
“Of course,” she said, keeping her expression neutral. “Any preferences? I’ve got a nice mix of summer blooms right now—zinnias, dahlias, some early sunflowers—”
“Whatever you think looks good.” His ears had gone slightly pink, and he was definitely not looking at her now. “They just... they smell nice. And the house gets a lot of light, so they’d probably last. Brighten up the place, especially this winter, whatever’s in season.”
Something softened in her chest. Here was this gruff, solitary man, asking for flowers to brighten up his beautiful, empty house. Asking for something soft and living to fill the silence.
“I can do that,” she said gently.
“Great.” He looked relieved to have the conversation over. “I’ll pay whatever you normally charge.”
“James, you’re already ordering a year’s worth of honey. I can throw in the flowers—”
“I’ll pay.” His voice was firm. “You’re building a business. Don’t give things away.”
She nodded, touched despite herself. “Okay. First delivery next week.”
They stood in awkward silence for a moment, James clearly unsure how to end the interaction. Ally rescued him by gathering her empty box and heading for the door.
“Same time next month for the honey, then. And I’ll bring flowers on Thursdays—that way they’ll be fresh for the weekend.”
“Thank you.” He held the door open, and for just a moment, his expression softened into something almost like warmth. “For the honey. And for not making this weird.”
She laughed. “James, there’s a goat in town that wears a tutu, and I have a half-brother who builds drones that attack cakes. Flowers are the least weird thing in my life.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Fair point.”
Back in the car, Daisy greeted her with enthusiastic face licks, tail thumping against the seat.
Ally sat for a moment, engine idling, looking at James’s house through the windshield.
The morning sun blazed off those huge windows, and she thought she saw movement inside—James returning to his manuscript, probably, to whatever world he was building with words.
A year’s supply of honey. Weekly flowers. Her little business was growing, one order at a time.
She pulled out of the driveway and headed toward town, mentally updating her inventory.
The Lonely Pen was expecting six jars today, and Lettuce Eat had ordered a dozen for their new honey-glazed menu items. Tomorrow’s farmer’s market would need at least ten more.
If this kept up, she’d need to add another hive or two by fall.
The thought should have made her happy. It did make her happy—mostly. But as she drove past the turnoff that led to the lake house, her chest tightened with a familiar ache.
Colton would have loved this. He’d always believed in her business, even when she’d doubted herself.
He’d helped her paint the first “Blueberry Cottage” sign, had insisted on being her taste-tester for every batch, had talked about building her a bigger extraction room once she expanded even as he gave her grief for living in her tiny house.
She and Ryan had been switching off taking care of Colton’s horses.
Her heart still ached that they couldn’t work things out, but they wanted different things in life, and she wasn’t willing to compromise, not anymore.
She wondered where he was now. New York, probably, or maybe somewhere on a photo shoot, living the life he’d chosen—cameras and contracts and crowds of people telling him how amazing he was. She hoped he was happy. She really did.
Daisy whined softly and pressed her nose against Ally’s arm.
“I know, girl.” Ally scratched behind her ears without taking her eyes off the road. “I miss him too.”
But missing someone didn’t mean you belonged together. She’d learned that the hard way—standing in that hotel room in Manhattan, watching him choose a life she couldn’t share. They’d wanted different things, and sometimes love wasn’t enough to bridge that gap.
She shook off the melancholy and turned onto Main Street, parking in front of The Lonely Pen. Through the window, she could see Francesca arranging a display of summer reads.
Ally grabbed the box of honey jars and nudged open the car door with her hip. “Stay here, Daisy. Two more stops and then we’ll go check on the bees.”
Daisy’s tail wagged at the word “bees”—she’d learned that meant running through the meadow while Ally worked the hives.
The bell above The Lonely Pen chimed as Ally pushed inside, box balanced on her hip.
“Honey delivery!” she called out.
Francesca looked up from her display, face brightening. “Perfect timing. I just sold the last jar yesterday. Mrs. Patterson bought three—she’s convinced it’s the secret to her prize-winning biscuits.”
“Tell her I’ll have more lavender honey next month.” Ally set the box on the counter. “Where do you want these?”
“By the register. People grab them on impulse.” Francesca started unpacking the jars, turning each one so Sam’s labels faced out. “These are gorgeous, by the way. Sam’s really talented.”
“She is.” Ally pulled out her phone to check the time. “I’ve got to run—Lettuce Eat is expecting me in ten minutes, and I still need to prep for tomorrow’s market.”
“Go, go.” Francesca waved her toward the door. “And tell your mom I’ll see her at book club on Thursday.”
Ally was already halfway out, mentally running through her list. Lettuce Eat, then the farmer’s market setup, then home to check the new hive she’d installed last week. The queen had been slow to settle, and she wanted to make sure the workers were building comb properly.
Her phone buzzed as she climbed back into the car. A text from her mom.
Dr. Timmons put in a standing weekly order for flowers for his office, said they really brighten up the place. You’re really doing it, honey. So proud of you.
Ally smiled and typed back.
Just getting started. See you at dinner. I hear Will is making his famous fried chicken.
She started the engine and pulled back onto Main Street, Daisy in the passenger seat, the remaining honey jars clinking softly as she turned toward her next delivery.