Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 582(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Are you… Frog? Frog Wellbridge?”
“Yeah. I, uh… I guess that’s me,” I agreed.
Dan narrowed his eyes and hmphed, then turned and followed Flynn to the kitchen.
What the heck was his problem? I’d hardly met the guy, and he had no reason to dislike me unless… unless he and Flynn were together and Flynn had told him about us?
Why did that idea piss me off?
“I can get you a drink,” Castor offered, taking up the empty spot behind the bar. “What kind of mead would you like?”
He gestured toward the other chalkboard above us.
Honeybridge Runway - Stylish and never dull! Raw wildflower back-sweetened with a hint of caramel and finished cool.
Honeybridge Moonflower - Bold and complex! Blueberry honey and California Pinot Noir pyment that’s not too sweet and not too rich.
Honeybridge Moose Call - Mysterious and woodsy! Spicy clove and dark maple acerglyn.
Honeybridge Daydreamer - Artistic and daring! Bright notes of orange mixed with tangy mesquite.
Honeybridge Sunshine - Warm as a summer day! Sweet strawberry and vanilla melomel with resonant floral notes.
“Wow,” I breathed. Despite knowing what Flynn had accomplished here—despite being in town to acquire it, for heaven’s sake—the sight still hit me like a solid punch to the gut, filling me with nostalgia, and regret, and no small amount of pride for Flynn, too.
Not that I’d ever tell him so since I liked my testicles exactly where they were.
Castor followed my gaze up to the board also, like he wasn’t sure what I was seeing, and then his sweet face flushed happily. “Oh, yeah. Guess I’ve gotten used to it.”
“It’s… you. All of you Honeycutt kids. Alden, Georgia, Mac, PJ, and you.”
“Yup. Based on the nicknames Pop Honeycutt gave us,” he agreed. “One of the first things Flynn did after Grandpa Horace died and left him this place was to get new equipment and start creating varietals. Taking things to the next level, you know?”
I nodded. That tracked with everything I knew about Flynn Honeycutt. He’d had big dreams, just like I had, but something had always held him back from leaving this town and making them a reality.
Castor frowned and tapped his lip thoughtfully. “Actually, I lie. That was the second thing he did. First, he tore out the upstairs storage area.” He glanced at the loft area above us, then darted a glance at me and shrugged. “Weirdest thing. The day after Grandpa’s funeral, Alden and I came in, and the place was all torn up. Flynn had done it with his own two hands, spur of the moment-like. Not sure what got into him. But it looks pretty awesome, so I guess he knew what he was doing, huh? He usually does.”
My chest tightened. I was uncomfortably certain I knew what had prompted Flynn to get rid of the storage area in such a hurry.
This did not bode well for the contract I needed signed, damn it.
Flynn barged back into the bar area, smacking the swinging door so hard it crashed into the wall and made Castor flinch.
“Lunch,” he said, setting a steaming plate in front of me with a smirk. “Bon appétit.”
My nose recognized the food before my eyes did, and I clapped a hand to my mouth to stop myself from retching. “Is that…?”
“Uh-huh. Fish sticks. Your favorite. Eat up.”
They weren’t my favorite. Not at all.
There’d been a horrible incident in the cafeteria back in third grade when my cousin Redmond had dared me to eat twenty-two of them… and I had. But then my stomach had revolted, and the ensuing carnage had earned me a nickname that made “Frog” seem elegant in comparison.
“What the hell?” I scanned the menu above his head and tried breathing through my mouth. “You don’t even serve fish sticks.”
“I ran down to Teddy’s All-Nite to get those from the freezer section and microwaved ’em up for you specially to thank you for the mud bath you gave me the other day…” Flynn leaned in and delivered the coup de grâce. “…Sir Spewsalot.” Then he dusted his hands together and strode off down the hall by the bathrooms.
I was pretty sure he wasn’t shaking his ass in those tight jeans purposely, but his intention didn’t matter.
Castor covered his mouth to stifle his laugh, but I stared after Flynn in outrage.
He’d gone too damn far. I was simultaneously annoyed and aroused when I very much wanted to be neither.
I jumped off my stool, grabbed my folder, and stalked down the hall after him. He threw open the door to the manager’s office, but I managed to catch it before he could slam it behind him.
“You’re going to listen to me, Flynn Honeycutt—” I began.
Flynn rounded on me, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s so like a Wellbridge to try to tell me what I can and can’t do,” he sneered. “This is my bar. Hell, this is my town. So take your business proposals and your fancy-ass mud-mobile and leave.”