“We’ll canvas the area, check with other shop owners,” Charlie promised.“But don’t get your hopes up—this feels like professionals passing through.”
Right.So she was on her own.Time to fix this.
Kitto arrived as Laura and Charlie were leaving, art supplies slung over his shoulder for the Saturday market.
He took one look at the chaos and dropped his bag.“What the hell happened?”
“Professional thieves with expensive taste,” Sienna said, grabbing her car keys from behind the counter.“I need you to clean this up and open the shop.Tell anyone who asks that we’ll have stock by noon.”
“But where are you going?”
“To find honey.”
She was already heading for the door, running through every farm contact she’d made over the past month, every favor she might call in.
“Can you handle things here?”
Kitto nodded, his ears perking up under his hat.“Course I can.Go fix this.”
“Make signs,” she called over her shoulder.“Local Artisan Emergency Collection.Make it sound exclusive, not desperate.And Kitto?If anyone asks about the break-in, tell them we’re sorting it.”
“Got it.”He was already rolling up his sleeves.“Sienna?Kick their arses.”
The first farm was twenty minutes out of town, run by old Tom Brennan, who’d doubtedsome young girl from overseaswhen she’d first introduced herself.Now she prayed that skepticism hadn’t extended to helping her in a crisis.
Her phone rang as she pulled into his drive.Kitto.
“The shop’s clean, the sign is up, and I’ve already had three people asking about the emergency collection,” he reported.“Whatever you’re planning, they’re buying it.”
“Good.I’ll be back in two hours.”
“Better make it ninety minutes.Mrs.Patterson’s coming in specifically for the manuka honey.She’s bringing her book club.”
Sienna rubbed the back of her neck.Mrs.Patterson was their best customer, and the precious manuka stock was sitting in some thief’s car, not on her shelves.“I’ll find some,” she promised, and hung up before Kitto could ask her how.
Tom Brennan emerged from his barn, wiping his hands on a rag, his weathered face guarded until Sienna explained her situation.
“Professional job, eh?”He scratched his chin.“Heard there's been a spate of them up north.I’ve got some wildflower honey, but it doesn’t have pretty labels.”
“I’ll take whatever you have available.”
Twenty minutes later, her car boot held twelve jars of excellent honey in plain mason jars.The second farm—Sarah Mitchell’s organic operation—yielded eight jars of premium clover and a stroke of luck.
“I’ve got three jars of manuka I was saving for a special order that fell through,” Sarah said.“Forty-five each?”
“Sold.”By eleven-thirty, Sienna had loaded her car with thirty-two jars of honey from four different farms.Not quite her original stock, but enough.Her phone buzzed as she pulled back into town.
Kitto’s text read:Queue forming outside.Whatever your plan is, it’s working.
By noon, Sienna’s hastily arranged display looked better than it had before the theft.Kitto’s hand-lettered signs—Emergency Local Artisan Collection, Limited Spring Harvest, and Exclusive Farm-Direct Selection—made the mismatched jars look intentional rather than last-ditch.
Mrs.Patterson arrived with her book club as promised, eyeing the manuka honey with approval.“Oh, how lovely!You’ve sourced from Sarah Mitchell’s farm.I’ve heard wonderful things about her organic methods.”
“We like to support local producers,” Sienna said, amazed at how easily the words came.
By two o’clock, she’d sold more stock than on any Saturday since opening.The emergency collection had become a selling point, with customers drawn to the story of exclusive farm partnerships and limited batches.
“Bloody brilliant,” Kitto said as they counted the till receipts.“You’ve turned a disaster into our best day ever.”
