Chapter 26 Honey
Honey
Three days passed, and Honey still hadn’t talked to Ethan about her ideas to turn the Hale family orchard into an experience destination. She was under the suspicion he was purposely avoiding her, which was fairly easy to do considering she was also avoiding him.
Every morning since the kiss—and the heart-wrecking confession that followed—she crept out of her room early, tiptoeing across creaky floorboards with a muffin tucked into her jacket pocket.
She told herself getting right to work helped her get into a productive headspace, which wasn’t entirely untrue, but mostly it let her disappear before Ethan and the girls emerged for their day.
The girls, unfortunately, had not gotten the memo. They continued tracking her down in the afternoon with schoolyard gossip, wildflower crowns, and a million pressing questions about all kinds of things from well logistics, to magical ethics, to whether Honey could teach them how to do eyeliner.
Still, she’d made decent progress. The audit paperwork was nearly finished, and her financial analysis for the farm plan was color-coded and tabbed.
Today, she wore one of the soft cotton shirts Ethan had purchased for her and the slightly-too-baggy boho cargo pants she’d picked up at The Kettle on a solo trip into town.
They weren’t exactly her style, and to be honest, she didn’t really remember deciding to purchase them, but she had to admit they were comfortable.
“Never mind that,” she said aloud, as she tucked the blanket around Pickles and grabbed her file in her hand.
Distraction or not, Honey did need to talk to Ethan soon.
The plan was solid. She was proud of it.
She’d spent every evening poring over the numbers and crafting the pitch.
The audit was almost done, and the hearing was fast approaching.
If she wanted to help—if she could help—it had to be now.
Her phone buzzed. 5:44 a.m.
One minute before Ethan would shuffle out of his room and head straight for the coffeepot.
Now or never.
She stood at her bedroom door, clutching the file folder to her chest. Her plan was simple: hand it off, blurt her pre-prepared speech, and flee toward the wishing well before he had a chance to say anything.
He wouldn’t have time to follow her because he always had to rush any morning orchard chores in order to get the girls ready for school.
It was a perfect, well thought out plan.
She opened the door.
And nearly dropped the folder.
Because Ethan Hale was standing right there.
His fist hovered in the air, but he promptly dropped it. His eyes widened, and for a split second, he looked like he might bolt down the hallway.
Honey blinked. “Oh.”
“I—uh—” Ethan cleared his throat. “Morning.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. This was not how she’d planned it. She instinctively moved the folder behind her back. “Good morning, Mr. Hale.”
“The audit’s going well?”
“Is that supposed to be a pun?”
He laughed hollowly. “I guess it was.”
The floorboard creaked, and they both looked down the hall towards the bedroom where the girls slept. When no other sound came, Honey cleared her throat.
“Was there something you needed?”
“No. No. Just checking in. Anyways, have a good one.”
Ethan walked away, past the coffee pot and out the door to do morning farm chores before getting the girls ready for school.
She turned her back to the door and eyed the goat still snuggled up in bed.
“This is ridiculous,” she muttered to herself. “You don’t just get to kiss a person and then vanish like some emotionally repressed”—she waved a hand, grasping for something appropriately dramatic—“bureaucrat,” she finished, well aware of the irony.
A soft rustle came from the bed. Pickles blinked up at her. He rose halfway to standing, yawned, and promptly lay back down.
“I’m going to talk to him,” she told the goat.
He blinked again.
“I am,” she insisted.
She tucked the file folder tighter under her arm, straightened her spine, and marched toward the orchard.
She’d let him run, but she wasn’t backing down for good.
The orchard was worth saving. The plan was worth hearing.
And if she had to chase him down between rows of apple trees like a clipboard-wielding menace, she would.
She spotted Brody Fitch, who was probably puttering around waiting to walk Emma to school. “Which way did he go?”
He pointed a thumb over his shoulder. “Third row.”
Honey muttered a quick thanks and took off in that direction, pants swishing around her calves. Sure enough, there was Ethan, halfway down the row, a ladder tucked under one arm.
“Hey!” she called.
He didn’t break stride. In fact, he pivoted and ducked into the next row, disappearing behind the trees.
She followed after him. “Mr. Hale!” she called out again.
By the time she caught up, he was halfway up the ladder, head obscured by a thick cluster of branches.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Baxter,” he said quickly, without looking down. “Can’t talk right now. Need to check the sugar levels before school drop-off.”
“This will only take a moment.”
“The girls really can’t be late. You understand.”
She crossed her arms. “We both know those girls haven’t been on time to school a single day since I’ve arrived.”
Silence from the tree. A leaf fluttered to the ground.
“Well,” he finally said, voice muffled, “like I said, I’m busy. If you’ve got something to say, say it from down there.”
Honey narrowed her eyes, lifted her chin, and took a bold step forward. “Fine.” She sat on the ground, opened the folder on her lap, and launched into her pitch.
“We turn the orchard into an experience destination,” she said, her voice crisp and confident despite the man literally hiding in a tree.
“Pick-your-own apples in the fall, peaches and berries in the summer are the obvious first steps along with the petting zoo. You’ve got the goats coming.
Maybe Marlene could spare a couple alpacas each weekend.
Maybe a miniature cow if you're feeling brave. For whatever reason, people seem to love a tiny cow. Next, weekend hayrides. Lantern-lit ones in the fall, romantic couple’s rides in October, and a Santa Sleigh Ride version in December.
All of this will require permits, of course. ”
She glanced up at the tree. A foot shifted. He was listening.
“You could build out a small stand. Apple cider, donuts, maybe branded merchandise. I have pricing breakdowns. Profit margins. Estimated foot traffic based on similar regional draws. I even have a tentative schedule with low-season offerings—storytime at the orchard on weekday mornings, private proposal packages. I know Brim’s Hollow is not some big tourist town, but you’ve got something really special here.
People will feel that. They just need a reason to come. ”
She took a breath, flipping the page to the budget projection spreadsheet she’d color-coded by feasibility tier.
By the time she reached the end of her business plan, she was practically buzzing with energy and pink in the cheeks. “I know it’s a lot. But it could work. I really think it could work.”
Ethan stayed up on the ladder for a moment, not moving or saying anything.
The leaves rustled distantly. Her pulse ticked louder in her ears with each second he didn’t answer.
Honey stayed where she was, the rising sunlight between the orchard rows spilling over her knees, her business plan still clutched in both hands.
She’d laid it all out, he’d listened, but she couldn’t tell if he’d heard yet.
When he finally climbed down the ladder, she braced herself for a polite thanks-but-no thanks. Instead, he said, “Let me show you something.”
Honey hesitated just a second, then followed. He led her through the orchard, past the now familiar rows of trees and into the barn. Inside, the air cooled instantly, smelling of straw and old wood.
“Up here,” he said. He climbed a narrow set of stairs tucked behind a stack of crates and led her into the loft. It was dusty and dim, and the slanted ceiling was low enough to make her duck. Boxes were stacked neatly to one side, and in the corner sat a cedar chest.
“Here it is.” He lifted the lid carefully.
Inside lay neatly folded keepsakes, photo albums, frames, and on top, a stack of neatly folded t-shirts. He lifted one gently. A child’s handprint was stamped in green across the front, and the words Thorn & Petal Orchard curled above it in orange script.
“My grandmother and her sister named the orchard,” he said, thumb brushing the handprint. “They used to joke that Marg had the petals and Lois had the thorns. But together…” He trailed off, touching the edge of a folded shirt. “Together they made everything grow.”
Honey swallowed, the image of two women running this place, raising their families and their grandchildren here made her chest ache in the best way.
“That’s what I’ve wanted for the girls,” he went on. “This place is not just a roof over their heads, it’s roots. A place where they can know where they come from and have the space to figure out who they are.”
“Then let’s bring it back,” Honey said. “The shirts. The name. We build the experience around their legacy. Not just fruits and hayrides but stories, warmth, and connection. Something that feels like home.”
He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at her the same way he did the other night outside The Kettle.
Ethan gave a small nod. “They’d have liked you.”
Honey felt something pinch in her chest, like her ribs were pressing too tight around her heart. Her cheeks burned as her mind offered up an image of the kiss they’d shared.
“Don’t do that,” she said, looking away first.
“Do what?”
“Don’t flirt with me while you’re still looking for your wife.”
Silence swallowed the air between them. Ethan didn’t flinch, but he didn’t smile, either. “It’s not—”
“Don’t say it’s not like that.”
His jaw shifted. “I probably won’t find her anyway.”
The words hit like a slap, and she swallowed hard. “Enough, Mr. Hale.”
A long pause stretched between them. Dust floated in the shaft of light across the attic floor. Outside, a rooster crowed, as late and confused as Honey was.
“No, Honey. That came out wrong. You know that’s not what I mean.”
“How could I possibly know that?” Honey said. Then, because if she didn’t pivot she might break in two, she took a step back and said, with more conviction than she felt, “You’d better get the girls to school. Wouldn’t want to be late.”
She busied herself refolding the shirt and tucking it back away in the chest, not letting herself watch him as he stood there, mouth opening and closing, until finally, he sighed and walked away.
Once he was gone, she gently lifted one of the old shirts from inside. The cotton was faded and soft. She held it for a moment, running her thumb over the letters.
Marg and Lois. Petals and thorns.
She’d always figured she was more thorn than bloom—too sharp, too much, better at keeping people out than letting people in.
But somehow, in this little town, the edges had started to soften. She’d thought it was only the girls, and then Ethan, but now she could see how the rest would follow—Theo, Clover, Marlene, and all the others who’d accepted her into their strange little world.
She suddenly realized that maybe she’d just been petals all along.