“I can definitely do that.” She pulled out her phone to make a note. “Monthly deliveries work for the honey? Or would you prefer?—”
“Monthly’s fine.” He cleared his throat, and something in his posture shifted—shoulders tightening, jaw setting. The look of a man about to do something uncomfortable. “There’s something else.”
Ally waited.
“Flowers.” The word came out as if it cost him something. “I was wondering if you could deliver flowers. Weekly.”
She blinked. James Roberts, the hermit who barely tolerated human contact, wanted weekly flower deliveries?
“Of course,” she said, keeping her expression neutral. “Any preferences? I’ve got a nice mix of summer blooms right now—zinnias, dahlias, some early sunflowers?—”
“Whatever you think looks good.” His ears had gone slightly pink, and he was definitely not looking at her now. “They just... they smell nice. And the house gets a lot of light, so they’d probably last. Brighten up the place, especially this winter, whatever’s in season.”
Something softened in her chest. Here was this gruff, solitary man, asking for flowers to brighten up his beautiful, empty house. Asking for something soft and living to fill the silence.
“I can do that,” she said gently.
“Great.” He looked relieved to have the conversation over. “I’ll pay whatever you normally charge.”
“James, you’re already ordering a year’s worth of honey. I can throw in the flowers?—”
“I’ll pay.” His voice was firm. “You’re building a business. Don’t give things away.”
She nodded, touched despite herself. “Okay. First delivery next week.”
They stood in awkward silence for a moment, James clearly unsure how to end the interaction. Ally rescued him by gathering her empty box and heading for the door.
“Same time next month for the honey, then. And I’ll bring flowers on Thursdays—that way they’ll be fresh for the weekend.”
“Thank you.” He held the door open, and for just a moment, his expression softened into something almost like warmth. “For the honey. And for not making this weird.”
She laughed. “James, there’s a goat in town that wears a tutu, and I have a half-brother who builds drones that attack cakes. Flowers are the least weird thing in my life.”
A ghost of a smile crossed his face. “Fair point.”
Back in the car, Daisy greeted her with enthusiastic face licks, tail thumping against the seat. Ally sat for a moment, engine idling, looking at James’s house through the windshield. The morning sun blazed off those huge windows, and she thought she saw movement inside—James returning to his manuscript, probably, to whatever world he was building with words.
A year’s supply of honey. Weekly flowers. Her little business was growing, one order at a time.
She pulled out of the driveway and headed toward town, mentally updating her inventory. The Lonely Pen was expecting six jars today, and Lettuce Eat had ordered a dozen for their new honey-glazed menu items. Tomorrow’s farmer’s market would need at least ten more. If this kept up, she’d need to add another hive or two by fall.
The thought should have made her happy. It did make her happy—mostly. But as she drove past the turnoff that led to the lake house, her chest tightened with a familiar ache.
Colton would have loved this. He’d always believed in her business, even when she’d doubted herself. He’d helped her paint the first “Blueberry Cottage” sign, had insisted on being her taste-tester for every batch, had talked about building her a bigger extraction room once she expanded even as he gave her grief for living in her tiny house. She and Ryan had been switching off taking care of Colton’s horses. Her heart still ached that they couldn’t work things out, but they wanted different things in life, and she wasn’t willing to compromise, not anymore.
She wondered where he was now. New York, probably, or maybe somewhere on a photo shoot, living the life he’d chosen—cameras and contracts and crowds of people telling him how amazing he was. She hoped he was happy. She really did.
Daisy whined softly and pressed her nose against Ally’s arm.
“I know, girl.” Ally scratched behind her ears without taking her eyes off the road. “I miss him too.”
But missing someone didn’t mean you belonged together. She’d learned that the hard way—standing in that hotel room in Manhattan, watching him choose a life she couldn’t share. They’d wanted different things, and sometimes love wasn’t enough to bridge that gap.
She shook off the melancholy and turned onto Main Street, parking in front of The Lonely Pen. Through the window, she could see Francesca arranging a display of summer reads.
Ally grabbed the box of honey jars and nudged open the car door with her hip. “Stay here, Daisy. Two more stops and then we’ll go check on the bees.”
Daisy’s tail wagged at the word “bees”—she’d learned that meant running through the meadow while Ally worked the hives.
