Bree was opening up the farm stand when Lucy got there a few minutes later. As Bree set out the Carousel Honey sign, Lucy inspected the new note cards. They showed an old-fashioned straw skep, the forerunner of the modern hive, sitting under a blossoming cherry tree abuzz with fanciful bees. “These are great, Bree. Your best yet.”

“Do you think so?” Bree repositioned a small metal table under the shady oak. She painted there between customers.

“Definitely. They’re going to sell like crazy.”

“I hope so. Labor Day’s only a month away, and then …” She made a vague, helpless gesture.

Lucy wished Bree would let her cover the initial printing costs of mass-producing some of the note cards. But even though Lucy had presented it as a business proposal, Bree was too proud to accept. On the positive side, Bree had found a new sales outlet through Pastor Sanders, the minister at Heart of Charity Missionary Church and owner of the local gift shop. He’d just started carrying some of her products.

“How did your nautical excursion with Mike go yesterday?” Bree said, too casually.

“Great. I had fun.”

“Then Mike must have fallen overboard.”

Lucy pretended not to notice the edge in Bree’s comments. “Nope.”

“Too bad.” Bree snatched up a bag of tiny sampling spoons and poured them into a basket she set next to a dish of the individually wrapped chocolate-dipped honey caramels Lucy had finally perfected.

Lucy spoke carefully. “I like him.”

“That’s because you haven’t been around him long.” She wrenched the lid off a fresh container of comb honey she set out for customers to sample. “I’ve known him since he was younger than Toby.”

“Yes, he said he wasn’t exactly Mr. Popular.”

“You have no idea.”

“I sort of do. He told me what he did to you.”

She went still. “He told you?”

Lucy nodded. “He’s an interesting person. Unusual. As open about his mistakes as he is about his accomplishments.”

“Yes, I’m sure he loved telling you how important he is.”

“Not really.”

Bree finished arranging the honeycomb and spoons, along with some stick pretzels for dipping into a cocoa-flavored honey she’d started putting out as an experiment. “I don’t like Toby spending so much time with him.”

“Mike cares about Toby.”

“Yes, they have a real love fest going on,” she said bitterly.

Lucy cocked her head. “Are you jealous?”

“Of course I’m jealous.” She swatted a fly swooping too close to the honeycomb. “Mike doesn’t have to nag him into taking a shower or going to bed at a reasonable time. Mike only does the fun stuff, and I’m the wicked witch.” She stopped, her expression troubled. “I know I’m right about Mike. People don’t change that much. But …” Another of those helpless gestures. “I don’t know … Things are getting confusing. I’m not even sure why.”