Chapter 16
Honey
The Sugar Spoon Showdown took place on the Town Green, a sprawling knoll of grass framed by maple trees just beginning to blush with fall color. Though it wasn’t supposed to start until noon, the Green was already humming with energy.
A long banquet table stretched nearly end to end, covered with mismatched gingham cloths and sagging slightly under the weight of an impressive spread of baked goods.
Golden-crusted pies oozed jammy filling, and there were at least six varieties of apple crumble alone.
Plates stacked with cinnamon-sugar snickerdoodles and sparkly lemon bars sat beside ornate towers of cream puffs.
“Do you see him?” Honey asked.
“Not yet,” Ethan replied. Hands on his hips and his brow furrowed, he continued to scan the field.
Meanwhile, Honey watched everything else.
At the head of the table, a trio of elderly judges in oversized straw hats were locked in a heated debate, their voices rising and fingers jabbing wildly in the direction of a cherry lattice pie.
One woman stood watching the debate, arms crossed over a moss green sweater.
Her dark hair was twisted into two buns held in place by what looked like actual sprigs of rosemary and a bundle of cinnamon sticks.
One black combat boot tapped out a slow rhythm against the grass as she observed the scene with a predator’s patience.
Honey was about to ask who she was when a flash of movement caught her eye—a familiar silver braid and blue bandana charging across the green with Melly flailing behind her.
“Whatever it is, she cheated!” Marlene bellowed, jabbing a finger at the woman in green.
“I take it that’s Clover Marrow,” Honey murmured, nudging Ethan gently with her elbow.
“Mhm. She owns The Kettle. Reigning champion of the Showdown for the last six years, with the exception of…”
He trailed off, and she watched the tick of his jaw.
This pause reminded her that even though she stayed in his daughter’s room, her phone lit up with his messages beyond working hours, and she shared his breakfast table, Honey was an outsider here.
That shouldn’t bother her.
She didn’t care for gossip. She hadn’t asked her neighbor Ruby about whatever drama made the doorman start carrying a taser, though Ruby had told her anyway.
She hadn’t pried when the neighbor across the hall moved in with nothing but a shoebox and a potted plant.
And she certainly wouldn’t ask what had happened the only year Clover Marrow lost the bake-off.
Not that she wasn’t curious.
But curiosity is a funny thing. It was fine when it was about creating a better system, streamlining chaos, or making life a little more efficient. That kind of curiosity served a purpose.
This was something else.
This pause. This town. This man. It tugged at her in a way she didn’t know how to categorize. She didn’t want to know what happened for the sake of her job or for the sake of the farm. She wanted to understand.
The way this place worked.
The people.
Him.
And that realization made her feel off balance.
All her life, she'd followed rules—her own and everyone else's—drawing neat lines between work and feeling, structure and mess. Helping Ethan save the farm, she’d told herself, was about the greater good. But noseying into this small-town drama that had nothing to do with her audit, and everything to do with people breaking the very rules she was trained to uphold? Wanting to learn why Ethan suddenly looked like he’d bitten a lemon when he talked about his former brother-in-law?
That wasn’t about helping.
And admitting that, even just to herself, felt like stepping across a boundary she’d never dared approach before.
She watched Clover wiggle her fingers at Marlene and blow a kiss.
Honey squinted at Clover again. “You really think she uses magic to cheat?”
She hadn’t expected him to confirm it outright. She knew Ethan didn’t trust her, but still, part of her wanted him to say yes. To see her not as a threat but as someone worth sharing the town’s real secrets with.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose. “She won every year except the…Great Marshmallow Incident.”
Honey blinked. “The what?”
“Accident. Sabotage. No one really knows. All I know is that the whole town smelled like marshmallows for a week.”
He glanced down at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And yes. She’s from the Anchor House, so she can pretty much do whatever she wants with her magic.”
Something fluttered in Honey’s chest. It wasn’t just that he’d answered; it was that he’d let her in.
It was a sliver of real trust, or at least something adjacent to it.
The rules of trust weren’t in any manual.
They lived in shared looks, in whispered names like Clover Marrow, and in town lore. And now she had a piece of it.
She tucked it away carefully.
“And before you ask,” Ethan added. “Yes, everyone cheats in the Showdown. It’s tradition.”
“What’s the point if everyone cheats?”
He shrugged.
“It’s not just people with magic that cheat.” He pointed out people in the crowd and continued. “Karen goes to the next town over to buy a pie and tries to pass it off as her own. Deedee uses canned cherries. One year, Kelly switched out Luanna’s baking soda for salt.”
Honey gasped. “Good god.”
Just then, a truck bumped up over the curb and parked on the dirt patch of grass that now had an explanation.
“There’s Trent,” Ethan said, nodding toward the truck.
The man who stepped out wore worn black jeans, work boots, and a pale green T-shirt that read Official Taste Tester in looping script across the front. His hair was curly and sun-lightened, and he had the kind of easy, unbothered energy that made Honey antsy.
Ethan started walking toward him, and Honey trailed after him, weaving through the growing crowd.
People were clustering around the bake-off table like bees to sugared fruit.
Honey smiled politely at the many stares thrown her way.
It wasn’t unfriendly exactly, but it made her feel like a new species being cataloged.
She tugged at the hem of her shirt, suddenly very aware of the drool marks from Pickles earlier. Great. Nothing said “competent professional” like walking around with slobber on your chest.
They passed Poppy, who looked resplendent in a vest and a straw hat. “Glad you could join us!” he called out, grinning broadly.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Bloom,” Honey said, and meant it. There was something about Poppy that reminded her of the grandfather figure in children’s books, and she felt a touch calmer just being near him.
Before they could move on, a far-off bell tolled once, low and resonant. A hush fell over the crowd. A few people leaned in close to whisper while others craned their necks to look around.
Honey glanced at her watch. “It’s only half past ten.”
Poppy smiled at her, a twinkle sparking in his eye. “Half past? Darling girl, those bells don’t ring on the hour.”
“They don’t?”
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice conspiratorially as murmurs rippled through the crowd. “They ring when someone falls in love.”
Honey’s brows lifted in surprise, but Poppy was already scanning the green.
“There,” he said, elbowing Ethan. “Your little Emma and that Fitch boy. Over by the lemonade stand.”
Honey looked. Sure enough, Emma was giggling, and the Fitch boy—tall and mop-haired—was looking at her like she hung the stars.
Ethan made a sound somewhere between a groan and a sigh. “Oh no he doesn’t,” he said, already angling toward them.
Honey stepped in quickly beside him. “You’d be better off leaving it alone. You’ll only embarrass the poor kids.”
“I’m just going to remind a certain boy that Emma has a father with a shovel and no problem digging deep holes.”
Honey snorted. “Subtle. But don’t we have a matter of goats to attend to? Let them have their young love.”
Ethan looked for a moment like he might charge toward them, but finally, he tore his eyes away from Emma. His fists stayed clenched at his sides. “If you’ll excuse us, Poppy, we’ve got to talk to Trent before judging starts.”
Poppy’s bushy eyebrows shot upward, and his mouth formed a little “o.” “Well then. Glad to see you two are speaking again. The frost has cracked on Mount Stubborn, I see.”
“Must be spring in August,” Ethan bit out.
“See you around, Ms. Baxter,” Poppy added as he turned and beelined for the judges like the gossip was a hot potato he couldn't wait to pass. Honey knew the gossip mill would be grinding by the time she took her next step.
They intercepted Trent on his way to the judges’ table, and the moment he caught their approach, he scowled.
“Trent,” Ethan said.
“Ethan.” His tone was flat, and he looked everywhere but at Ethan. “Where are my nieces?”
“With Marlene.”
Trent’s gaze slid to Honey. “And who’s your friend?”
“Honey Baxter, sir.” Honey stuck out her hand.
Trent gave her hand a long, suspicious glance but didn’t take it. “You shackin’ up with a fed?” His mouth curled like he’d just bitten into something sour. “Figures.”
Honey’s spine straightened a little.
She didn’t like Trent. Not just because of the rudeness, though that was certainly enough. It was the way he looked at Ethan like less than manure on his boots. Watching Ethan take it on the chin without flinching stirred something else entirely.
“Don’t start,” Ethan said, stepping between them. “She’s got nothing to do with this.”
“Lot of outsiders showin’ up lately. I don’t like outsiders.”
Honey tilted her head, keeping her voice calm and her expression pleasant. “Statistically, over 40% of rural communities rely on seasonal outsiders to sustain tourism-based revenue. Plus, I’m not a ‘fed’ as you say. I’m with the Bureau of Magical Compliance.”
He squinted at her. “I know your type.”
“Is that right?” Honey lifted her chin.
“This is what you people do,” Trent said. “Cozy up to people and take what’s not yours. My sister. My family’s legacy. What next, fed? Planning to marry into it too?”
Honey didn’t flinch. She calmly met his gaze head-on.
“I didn’t steal anything,” she said, voice clear and resonant. “But your sister should have known. If you don’t take care of the things you value, someone else will.”