“Lemon,” I say, passing it to her. “For bravery.”
They stare at their honey sticks as if I’ve handed them magic wands. Jesse watches me do it, smiling lightly as he does.
“You don’t have to keep feeding them every week, you know,” he says quietly. “They’re gonna start thinking you’re a fairy godmother.”
I duck my head, tucking a strand of hair back under my hat. “It’s just honey.”
“Hey,” he counters. “Nothing is ‘just honey’ when it comes from you.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks so fast I’m surprised my labels don’t catch fire.
Eliza tugs on his sleeve. “Daddy, can we go now? Pleeease?”
“In a second, butterfly.” He pulls his wallet from his back pocket and looks at me again. “How much do I owe you, honey queen?”
“Oh, um.” I fluster, almost dropping the little chalkboard price list. “For the jar? Ten, please.”
He raises his brows, pretending to be scandalized. “Ten whole dollars? That better be the best mood of my life in there.”
“It will be,” I say, before I can stop myself. “If you let it.”
His gaze snags on mine, and for a moment, everything goes quiet, market noise fading to a dull hum. His smile shifts, less teasing, more… intense.
It stirs a flutter deep in my chest.
“Guess I’d be a fool not to,” he says softly.
He hands over the money, brushing his fingers against my palm in a way that feels suspiciously like it wasn’t an accident at all. My skin tingles.
“Daddy,” Caleb huffs, exasperated. “The dragon is going to be boring by the time we get there.”
Jesse laughs, stepping back. “Fine, fine. Warriors, move out.” He lifts the bag with the honey jar in a little salute, then tips his chin at me. “Thanks, Abilene.”
“For the mood, or the honey?” I ask, because apparently my mouth has decided it wants to die of embarrassment today.
This time, his grin is slow and wicked and far too charming. “Both.”
I forget how to breathe.
Then he turns, herding the twins toward the bounce house. Eliza skips ahead, waving her honey stick, and Caleb hops along at his father’s side, head tilted back as he chatters about dragon roars and battle cries.
I watch them go until they disappear behind a wall of people, Jesse’s broad shoulders the last thing I see before the crowd swallows him up.
I just stand there, fingers curled around the edge of my table. My heart is racing like I’ve run a mile, not stood in one place and talked about honey, same as always.
“Pull it together,” I murmur under my breath, giving myself a tiny shake. “He’s your neighbor, not a… not a rom-com hero.”
Still, my pulse refuses to settle.
The breeze shifts, carrying the mingled scents of kettle corn, grilled sausages, and fresh bread down the line of stalls. Children shriek and laugh from the bounce house, someone’s dog barks, and a fiddle starts up at the far end of the market where a busker plays under the shade of a pine tree.
With a smile, I straighten the jars I nearly sent tumbling, and tuck a stray tag back under a ribbon. I know what to do with my hands here.
I know how to line up labels and talk about bees and pretend my heart isn’t still doing jump rope tricks in my chest.
“Excuse me?”
I look up to find an older woman at my booth, hair in a neat gray bun, eyes crinkled at the corners. She’s holding one of my beeswax candles, the one molded in the shape of a little beehive.
