Dinner at 6. Will’s making his famous fried chicken.
I’ve been craving fried chicken. Tell him to make extra
She smiled as she loaded the groceries into her car. Across the street, the window display at The Lonely Pen had changed since last week—summer reading picks now, bright covers promising escape and adventure and, knowing Francesca’s taste, at least three enemies-to-lovers romances.
Maybe she’d stop by tomorrow. Pick up something to read during those middle-of-the-night hours when Violet seemed determined to practice her kickboxing routine.
She slid behind the wheel, cranked the AC, and pulled out of the parking lot. Will’s chicken was delicious, and baby Grace would be there—Christina could use some practice holding a newborn before Violet arrived.
The road curved through the mountains, green and lush with summer. Christina turned up the radio and rolled down her window despite the heat, letting the warm air whip through the car.
Six more weeks. She could do six more weeks.
CHAPTER 10
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.”
