“Is Honey here?”
“Max has been talking about her all week,” I add, reaching the desk behind the booth where the rescue is set up.
“What a coincidence.” She peers at Max. “Because Honey has been talking about you too.”
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Max as excited as he is right now, watching the manager step into the rescue bus and reappear with tiny Honey. Max trembles as he takes her in his arms, allowing her to lick his face as he cuddles her.
“She remembers me,” he says in a quiet voice that almost breaks me. If I wasn’t already planning to take Honey home with us, that would have sealed the deal. “Please let me keep her. Pleeeease.”
But he’s five, and I can’t be seen to be a complete pushover. “Maxy, you know how much care and love she needs?”
“I know, Daddy,” he replies solemnly.
“She needs feeding and walks?—”
“Dolly, Maud, and Hamish will show her. She can join them.”
“And she can’t sleep in your room. She has to sleep in her own bed.”
“Stop being such a hard-arse,” mumbles Story, reaching out to stroke Honey’s silky ears.
Ignoring her, I hide the smile at my flash forward to the future where she’s the pushover toourchildren, and turn to the manager, “I’ll sign the paperwork.”
Max looks at me, and I should truly be given a medal for any time I say no to him. “She’s mine?”
I nod and bend down to stroke her. She’s already fallen asleep in the comfort of Max’s arms. “Welcome home, Honey Burlington.”
I sign, and we’re given a booklet of instructions and a little blanket.
“Can we go now? I want to show Honey her new home.”
“We can, but after one more stop.” I grin, holding my hand out for Story. “Maxy, do you want me to carry Honey through the crowd?”
He shakes his head and yawns wide. “Can you carry me while I carry Honey?”
“I think I can manage that,” I say, lifting him carefully into my arms. Honey doesn’t even stir.
“Where are we going?”
“The car.”
Max is occupied with watching Honey, but next to me, I can tell Story is wondering about the destination. She doesn’t say a word as we reach the Defender parked outside Miles’s and get in. Only when we turn left at the end of the road, instead of right, and head up the hill does she turn to me.
“Hen, where are we going?”
Glancing in the rearview mirror, I see Max is totally focused on Honey and use the opportunity to lift Story’s hand to my lips. “I wanted to show Max my favorite place with my favorite people.”
The farm gate has been purposely left open for me, and I drive straight into the field. It’s bumpy and steep, but the car is heavy and powerful enough that we barely jostle, and when we reach the top, Story’s jaw drops.
A blanket is laid out on the flat ledge of the hill, with hot chocolate waiting for us in big Yeti flasks.
Max looks up from Honey and out the window. “Where are we?”
“We’re in the field above Honeysuckle Lane.”
“Why?”
“Because I wanted to show you something. Unbuckle, and we can get out.”
