That wasn’t about helping.
And admitting that, even just to herself, felt like stepping across a boundary she’d never dared approach before.
She watched Clover wiggle her fingers at Marlene and blow a kiss.
Honey squinted at Clover again. “You really think she uses magic to cheat?”
She hadn’t expected him to confirm it outright. She knew Ethan didn’t trust her, but still, part of her wanted him to say yes. To see her not as a threat but as someone worth sharing the town’s real secrets with.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose. “She won every year except the…Great Marshmallow Incident.”
Honey blinked. “The what?”
“Accident. Sabotage. No one really knows. All I know is that the whole town smelled like marshmallows for a week.”
He glanced down at her, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And yes. She’s from the Anchor House, so she can pretty much do whatever she wants with her magic.”
Something fluttered in Honey’s chest. It wasn’t just that he’d answered; it was that he’d let her in. It was a sliver of real trust, or at least something adjacent to it. The rules of trust weren’t in any manual. They lived in shared looks, in whispered names like Clover Marrow, and in town lore. And now she had a piece of it.
She tucked it away carefully.
“And before you ask,” Ethan added. “Yes, everyone cheats in the Showdown. It’s tradition.”
“What’s the point if everyone cheats?”
He shrugged.
“It’s not just people with magic that cheat.” He pointed out people in the crowd and continued. “Karen goes to the next town over to buy a pie and tries to pass it off as her own. Deedee uses canned cherries. One year, Kelly switched out Luanna’s baking soda for salt.”
Honey gasped. “Good god.”
Just then, a truck bumped up over the curb and parked on the dirt patch of grass that now had an explanation.
“There’s Trent,” Ethan said, nodding toward the truck.
The man who stepped out wore worn black jeans, work boots, and a pale green T-shirt that read Official Taste Tester in looping script across the front. His hair was curly and sun-lightened, and he had the kind of easy, unbothered energy that made Honey antsy.
Ethan started walking toward him, and Honey trailed after him, weaving through the growing crowd. People wereclustering around the bake-off table like bees to sugared fruit. Honey smiled politely at the many stares thrown her way. It wasn’t unfriendly exactly, but it made her feel like a new species being cataloged.
She tugged at the hem of her shirt, suddenly very aware of the drool marks from Pickles earlier. Great. Nothing said “competent professional” like walking around with slobber on your chest.
They passed Poppy, who looked resplendent in a vest and a straw hat. “Glad you could join us!” he called out, grinning broadly.
“Nice to see you, Mr. Bloom,” Honey said, and meant it. There was something about Poppy that reminded her of the grandfather figure in children’s books, and she felt a touch calmer just being near him.
Before they could move on, a far-off bell tolled once, low and resonant. A hush fell over the crowd. A few people leaned in close to whisper while others craned their necks to look around.
Honey glanced at her watch. “It’s only half past ten.”
Poppy smiled at her, a twinkle sparking in his eye. “Half past? Darling girl, those bells don’t ring on the hour.”
“They don’t?”
He leaned toward her, lowering his voice conspiratorially as murmurs rippled through the crowd. “They ring when someone falls in love.”
Honey’s brows lifted in surprise, but Poppy was already scanning the green.
“There,” he said, elbowing Ethan. “Your little Emma and that Fitch boy. Over by the lemonade stand.”
