Six #2
We walked over to the counter where Elwyn was busy rubbing the butcher block countertop with some kind of special oil.
His brown eyes lit up when he saw me. “Hey, Renée, how’s it going?
” Elwyn was probably in his mid-fifties and the nephew of Kitty and Grimm Barrington.
As far as I knew, Elwyn had never been married and had no children.
But he was honestly one of the nicest guys and hardest workers I’d ever met.
“Hey, Elwyn,” I said. “This is Logan Conroy, he’s the McEvoys’ cousin from Boston.”
Elwyn nodded and gave Logan a friendly smile. “I heard about a mysterious cousin coming to work behind the bar. Nice to finally meet you.
“Likewise,” Logan said.
“You hear to sample or grab a jar?” Elwyn asked.
“Sample, then maybe grab a jar,” I replied.
“Let me just wash my hands,” Elwyn said, taking the oil and cloth to the sink behind him.
He rejoined us, and we spent the next fifteen minutes sampling every single one of their honeys on a little wooden stick. Some people couldn’t tell the difference between clover honey and lavender honey, but I could. Logan seemed to be able to, as well.
“So, which one is your favorite?” Elwyn asked.
“Definitely the lavender,” Logan said. “I’ll grab the medium size jar of that, please.”
“They’re just over on the table there,” Elwyn said, pointing behind us.
Customers came in, eager to taste and buy, so we stepped out of the way and Logan grabbed his jar. “I can’t wait to put that on some toast,” he said. “Peanut butter honey toast is one of my guilty pleasures. It’s better than pizza when I’m drunk in my opinion.”
I snorted. “Well, I have bread, and I have a toaster.”
“But I’m not drunk.”
“Do you need to be drunk?” We approached the till where Hershel, another Barrington’s Bees employee, and probably closer to his mid-sixties, greeted us with a warm, toothy smile.
“Always so nice to see you, Renée,” he said, his voice a little wobbly.
Apparently, Hershel suffered a stroke about ten years ago, and while physically okay now, his voice held a tremble, and he moved slower than Kitty said he used to.
I wasn’t sure of Hershel’s connection to the Barrington’s, but Kitty said he’d been at the apiary for nearly as long as it’d been open.
“Hey, Hersh,” I said. “This is Logan, he’s a cousin of the McEvoys.”
Hershel’s hazel-green eyes danced as he smiled at Logan. “Nice to meet you, Logan. How long are you here for?”
“Indefinitely, hopefully,” Logan said. “They’ve got me working behind the bar, and I haven’t found a thing I don’t like about the island so far.”
Hershel’s bushy gray brows shot up his forehead. “And it’s winter, too. Just wait until summer. You’ll definitely never want to leave.”
“That’s what I’ve been told.” He glanced at me. “Though, winter on the island is proving to be pretty great, too.”
Heat filled my cheeks, and I glanced away.
Logan paid for his honey, and we said goodbye to Hershel, then took his purchase back to my treehouse where we made toast and slathered honey on it, before falling back into bed for another round of naked fun.
It was almost three-thirty, and we had to be at work by five by the time we finally put our clothes back on. “I should probably go home and shower and stuff,” he said, buttoning up his black dress shirt.
I nodded. “Yeah, I need to shower, too. Maybe do like half an hour of reading. I’m such a slacker. You make me such a slacker.”
His eyes widened. “Don’t blame your slacking on me, Missy. I was perfectly fine sitting there reading the news on my phone. You could have been reading your textbook, but instead you climbed into my lap and handed me a condom.”
“You could have said no,” I teased, taking our toast plates from the nightstand to my kitchen sink.
“I know I don’t have a genius IQ, but do I strike you as a stupid man?” Then he came up and wrapped his arms around my waist. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay.” My arms drifted up to land on his shoulders. “Try to keep it in your pants while we’re at work, Conroy, okay? I have an image to maintain, and that is of a flirty, single waitress.”
His eyes glimmered. “Oh, so you’re not single anymore? We’re already putting a label on this?”
Fuck.
“Uh …” I tried to remove my arms from his shoulders and back away, my face on fire and my stomach in knots.
But he gripped me by the arms and held me there.
“Renée, I’m kidding. If you’re ready to put a label on this, I am, too.
I really like you. I have for a while. So …
” Color infused his cheeks, and he got this ridiculously sweet, almost shy look on his face.
“Do you want to be my girlfriend, Renée Brewster of Spokane?”
The knots in my belly untangled, and winged creatures, in a frenzy, took flight. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes, Logan Conroy of Boston,” I made sure to put an accent on my Boston, “I would very much like to be your girlfriend.”
A big, happy grin was his only response before he lifted me up until my toes dangled, and kissed me silly.
We were breathless, and I was aroused, by the time he set me back down on the floor. I very easily could have tumbled back into bed, but we really did have to get on with our day—which was more than half over. He kissed me quick once more. “I’ve gotta run.” Then he was out the door.
I stood in the open doorway and watched him climb behind the steering wheel of Chloe’s black sedan.
“Bye, girlfriend,” he called out before shutting the driver’s side door.
Giddiness enveloped me. “Bye, boyfriend.”
I blew him a kiss, and then he was gone.
I had a boyfriend, and for the first time in a very long time, this was one guy I wanted to stick around for a while—possibly indefinitely.