Page 29 of The Sweetness of Life

“Hmm,” he mutters, obviously lost in thought. I wish I knew what he was thinking, but then again, maybe I don’t.

A few minutes later, we pull off the expressway and into our first stop.

“What are we doing here?” He looks at me, confused.

“Shopping.” I’m grinning from ear to ear and feel like a kid who’s about to be unleashed in a candy shop.

“Here?” He turns around and looks at the buildings.

“Yes. Come on, Wolff, get out of the truck—or don’t. I’m going in.” I grab my bag and hop out of the truck.

The Western North Carolina Farmers Market is one of the best in the southeast. The atmosphere, the variety of local vendors, and the overall freshness of the produce is something that brings me back here every time I’m up this way. I’m giddy with excitement, and hearing Zach’s truck door slam, I smile to myself, knowing he’s following me.

“What are we doing here again?” he grumbles as he steps up next to me and takes in the market.

“You’ll see.” I grab his arm and drag him between two of the buildings to the entrance. Hanging a left, I find my favorite place, throw my arms out in a look-at-all-this-good-stuff gesture, and grin at him.

His eyes scan over the hundreds of jars of pickled vegetables, jellies, jams, and honey. He doesn’t seem impressed. Undeterred, I grab a tasting stick, stick it into the first open jar I see, and then taste the delicious flavor. So good.

“All of this is over honey?” He’s standing there stock-still with his arms crossed over his chest and clear irritation in his voice.

“Not just any honey. This place has the best honey for miles and miles around.” I twirl around, and my skirt flares out.

Zach’s face is priceless. I can’t tell if he’s annoyed or intrigued, and I don’t really care. I’m that happy being here.

“Years ago, when Meg and I first had the idea of opening a restaurant together, we were standing on Orange Blossom Avenue and that’s how it got its name. It really was that simple, and it just so happens that we also love orange blossom honey—well, we love any honey, actually, but orange blossom honey and lavender honey are two of my favorites. Keeping with the honey theme, we have a bookshelf full of honey for guests to pick and choose from when they come in to dine.”

He pulls his hat off, runs his hand through his blond hair, and then slides it back into place. The ends of his hair curl out from under the edge, and the look is downright sexy.

“Funny, it never occurred to me to ask what OBA stands for. I’ve just called it that,” he says as he picks up a jar of honey to read the label.

“Most do. It’s easier to say, and we have the initials enlarged as a monogram on all of our marketing materials, too.”

Spotting the lavender honey, he stops in front of it and grows quiet. His face is thoughtful before he turns to look at me. “So, you like lavender?”

“Like it? I love it! And I was crazy excited to see how much of it you have planted and growing around the winery. Don’t be angry if you find some missing when I leave—I do plan to take some clippings back with me.”

“My mother likes lavender. She planted them,” he says fondly.

“Your mother has good taste.” I smile at him.

“Yes, she does.” He smiles back, and it’s a warm expression. The affection for his mother evident.

“Come on.” I bump my hip against his. “Taste the honey with me. I’m going to buy some to take back to the restaurant.”

“I’m not tasting the honey.” He groans, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yes, you are.” I find an open jar and dip in another sample stick. “Here.”

Begrudgingly, he takes the stick and drops it into his mouth. Looking at me, his eyes narrow and he swallows before confidently saying, “Sourwood.”

I glance at the jar, and he’s right. My eyes widen in shock and I look at his smug face. “How did you know that?”

“You’re not the first woman in my life to like honey.”

I’m not sure how I feel about this comment. Is it because he called me a woman in his life, or because he’s referencing others? I don’t know, but I decide to just brush it off.

For the next half hour, Zach and I taste a dozen different honeys and buy almost as many. We wander through the market, stopping to purchase some fruits and vegetables for a few recipes I have in mind, and not surprisingly, we argue over what tastes better.