Page 12 of Blame it on the Kiss
She tucked the list back inside the pages of the book, hugged the hard cover to her chest, and unfolded herself from the couch. From this moment on, she’d dedicate herself to the list and honoring Payton the best way she knew how. For once, she’d do something right.
Chapter Three
Friday mornings meant cinnamon-flavored fried dough stuffed with gooey apple chunks and dusted with powdered sugar. Perfection otherwise known as apple fritters. How Rachel, the owner of the Beach Café, crammed so much goodness into the tiny breakfast treats, Honor didn’t know, but they had to be laced with something addictive because everyone in town craved them.
Honor knew this because a hundred people stood in front of her in line. Okay, not a hundred, but enough to put her on a hungry edge since her fritter need had started well over an hour ago. She held the glass front door propped open with her foot, the delicious smell of baked bliss wafting to her nose before it drifted right out into the cool, misty air.
She also needed coffee.
Dreams of her misdeed with Bryce had interfered with all her good sleep. Leaving bad sleep. And bad feelings. She covered a yawn with her hand.
Someone waving his arm caught her attention above her fingertips.
There was a God.
She moved toward the front of the line, saying hello to everyone she passed, pausing for a second to give white-haired Mr. Case, owner of the building housing her new shop, a kiss on the cheek. She reached her favorite old guy right after that. “Uncle Tuck, hi.”
“Hello, Sunshine. Thought I’d buy you breakfast.” He wrapped her in a hug that made her feel six years old all over again. She hung on a little longer than necessary.
“Thank you. Good surf this morning?” His board shorts were damp and his hair smelled like saltwater. Tucker Mitchell had been one of the best pro surfers once upon a time.
“Not bad. Kicked a few of the young guys’ keesters.”
“I’m sure you did.” Her great uncle still did aerial maneuvers that drew gasps from beachgoers.
They stepped to the counter where she ordered large everything. Seemed like a good idea considering the full day ahead. Sophie’s parents and extended family were arriving later this morning, and Honor had offered to make sure everyone got settled into the White Strand Cove Inn. Then the bridesmaids had a date to pick up their dresses before everyone gathered for the rehearsal dinner.
“I hear there’s a wedding this weekend,” Tuck said, handing over a bag of fritters and her mountain roast coffee as they stepped away from the counter. “You still aiming to dodge that bullet?”
“You know how I feel about those bullets.” Tuck wore bachelor like a badge of honor. He’d been engaged once, but the morning of the big day he’d called it off. Blamed his fickle heart and thought his fiancée deserved better. Honor understood the feeling.
He pulled on her ponytail. “Don’t let your mother hear that.”
“You’re the only one who hears it.” She took a sip from her cup. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
“You’re the only chick I know who drinks her coffee black.”
“Why mess with a good thing?”
“Nicely said, Padawan. You got time to sit?” He nodded to a table in the corner.
Honor opened her white paper bag and breathed in the sweet perfection. “I wish I did, but I’ve got to run to the shop and then do a bunch of wedding stuff.”
“Hello, Tucker,” Mrs. Landry said with a saucy ring in her voice. She gave a kind, genuine smile to Honor as she scooted past them.
“Morning, Evie.” He reached out with his arm and…
“You did not just pinch Widow Landry’s butt,” Honor said, wishing she could unsee the deed. Everyone in town knew the two of them had a thing for each other, but jeez….
“You’re right, I didn’t. More like squeezed.” The corners of his thin, weathered lips lifted high enough to reach his pale blue eyes.
“TMI, Uncle Tuck.” She kissed his cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. Love you.”
“Don’t be a stranger,” he called as she hurried out the door of the café and down the palm tree lined street.
She slowed her steps to enjoy the quiet morning and pulled her first fritter from the bag. Still early, the shops were silent, and she gazed into the windows as she walked and ate. She crossed over Bluff, glancing south to the sea, dustings of sunshine sparkling off the water a few blocks away.
Two more fritters, another block. The sun grew more insistent. A car horn sounded, drawing her attention to the street. Dylan, Cooper’s best friend, waved from his beat-up convertible and shouted, “Hey, Honorlicious.”
